They’d reacted exactly the way he’d expected. Rejecting his ideas, vehemently protesting the impossibility of even considering such a thing until he had pulled out his big guns.
When Doctor Ramirez joined them to describe some of the discoveries made by The Initiative around the operant conditioning of demons and behavioural modification there was at least a willingness to listen. And after the presentation by Preece outlining how Buffy Summers had used Angelus during her fights with the Master and Mayor Wilkins, the atmosphere had shifted towards curiosity. Every Watcher who worked in the field accepted that they may be called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice and the idea of doing so deliberately and being endowed with a soul was infinitely preferable to the stake that typically followed such a death. Added to that was the understanding that as Senior Watchers none of the board would be selected, and all of them had been quick to suggest suitable candidates from their own pool of workers.
The fly in the ointment had been Eric Markham. Hardly old school and far from conservative in his outlook, Markham was descended from a long line of Watchers all of whom had an impeccable record, and thus carried a disproportionately high level of influence within the organisation. Not to mention his role as head of the Personnel and Training department, which handled all day to day matters concerning potential Slayers. Travers thought back to their clash, the way the younger man’s lips had twisted in disgust while his eyes blazed with intrigued ferocity. Their eyes locking across the table and the others pulling away from the battle of wills that unfolded before them.
"It’s unthinkable. The entire concept is badly considered, inappropriate and undoubtedly foolhardy. You’re suggesting we place vulnerable girls under the tutelage of demons - souled or un-souled, it makes no difference."
"And there is precisely where your misconception lies, Eric. I have it on excellent authority that this is in fact not the case and that when ensouled, vampires have the potential to become exceptional warriors for the side of light."
Markham was shaking his head, his mane of dark silver shot hair swaying as he spoke. "There is too much at stake. The girls are young, susceptible to bad influence and we have no idea whether the original Watcher’s personalities, intellects, moral frameworks would survive… No, this is impossible Travers. Without further evidence, I for one am not prepared to take the risk."
Evidence. Not such a difficult task.
"And if I could provide that evidence. Produce such an unlikely creature for further investigation by the Council, and allow all of us to satisfy ourselves beyond any possibility for doubt that both personality and intellect survive the turning. Would you then consider it, Eric?"
His words drew a sceptical laugh from the other man. "There is no such beast. A Watcher turned vampire that survives is unlikely enough but to find one with a soul. Why there is only one ensouled vampire, Quentin and you know it. And Angelus’ roots, as we all know, lie far from the Watcher’s Council."
That was the moment he’d played his trump card. From the file in front of him, Travers produced two photographs, both grainy reproductions of sepia prints. The first small, obviously a sectional enlargement taken from a collective class portrait had the label William Bartlett, Esq. (1853-1880). The other, one that had appeared in several academic works, bore the Council designation, ‘Catalogued: 1897. Location: Deserted Aurelian lair, Paris. Identity: William the Bloody.’ Despite the poor quality they were without doubt pictures of the same person.
Dismissing the rest of the meeting from his mind, after all he had gained their reluctant approval to continue, Quentin turned to the latest report that had landed on his desk; the documentation surrounding the initial debriefing of Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. As expected Preece had followed his instructions to the letter, concentrating primarily on the man’s experiences with Angelus and only sliding in the occasional question about the other vampire.
Curiously even that tactic, normally a guaranteed way of extracting information from the unsuspecting informant, had elicited little in the way of results. Wyndham-Pryce was evasive and close mouthed each time William’s name was brought up, and they were no further forward in explaining the connection between the two of them. And there was some sort of connection. Travers was unwilling to believe that it was pure coincidence that had placed the vampire at the Watcher’s apartment within minutes of his departure, risking exposure to the sun by venturing into the car park during the day. That information suggested they knew each other very well.
The intercom buzzed before he had finished and Cooper’s voice asked if he was too busy to take a call from Mr Giles. Perfect, absolutely perfect.
"Rupert."
Giles could hear the insincere smile on Travers’ face, and answered with an equally hypocritical one of his one. "Quentin, how are you?"
"Fine, fine. And looking forward to discussing your latest submission for the journal. Fascinating work. Such an opportunity, so unfortunate you didn’t have…"
"Travers, do you have Pryce there with you?"
There was the slightest pause followed by a remarkably smooth recovery.
"Wyndham-Pryce? Not in the office at this precise moment, but I believe his is holed up somewhere in this rather extensive building. Why Mr Giles, I didn’t think you cared. Didn’t he give you some small trouble last time you met? Something about the way he handled the Faith problem?"
Giles rolled his eyes, grateful that the Senior Watcher couldn’t see him and bit back a comment about there not having been a Faith problem until the Council determined to get involved.
"I had a phone call from Willow Rosenberg; a friend of Buffy’s…"
"The Wiccan. Yes, I remember her. Tell me are her studies progressing apace? Nigel informed me that she and her…friend considered themselves level five, quite an achievement for such young women. I will, of course, be expecting their registration documents to arrive in the next post."
Sanctimonious prat. "Wesley’s friends in Los Angeles are concerned about him. Apparently he was extracted before he could let them know he was recovered."
"Friends. A strange term for Angelus, particularly from your lips, Rupert. I would have expected a slightly more circumspect attitude considering your experiences. Ones which I have to tell you Pryce’s ‘friend’ manage to exceed in every regard on this particular outing."
That was not good news. Giles had been hoping that somehow Wesley had fared better at Angelus’ hands, however unlikely it seemed. "Will he be all right? Not medically, I do have some faith left in the American healthcare system. I was thinking more along the lines of…" He huffed, deciding not to mince his words. "Let’s face it, Angelus is not exactly renowned for his subtlety when it comes to breaking minds as well as bodies."
There was a level of gravity in Travers’ voice that Giles was not used to hearing, certainly not with such sincerity anyway. "That is not the easiest question to answer truthfully, because truthfully I do not know. He was under the vampire’s thrall for sometime and such a thing leaves an indelible mark on even the strongest of minds. Added to that of course is the entire trauma surrounding the rapes."
"R-rapes?"
"Yes. Hardly Angelus’ usual modus operandi with Watchers, as you know. I can’t think why he should have selected that particular form of torture for poor Wesley."
"Unless it was meant as some form of punishment." Giles’ mouth was running on autopilot now with little or no regard for what he was saying and whom he was saying it to. "From what I understand Angelus has a somewhat proprietorial attitude towards anyone he believes belongs to him, if Wesley somehow over stepped those boundaries with Cordelia or Fred… or even Spike, then it’s entirely possible he would seek that form of reprisal."
"It is interesting that you should include the vampire in your list. Surely there would have been less chance of such an indiscretion with him than with the women."
"Actually no. Spike was staying at Wesley’s apartment last year so… look, can I be of any help. I realise that Wesley and I are far from friends, but we do have this in common at least. Maybe if I came and spoke with him…"
"What a capital idea, Rupert. Truly splendid of you to volunteer. See you tomorrow then."
***
"Willow? It’s Giles. I’ve seen Wesley."
The words were more than welcome to her ears. The Witch had spent a large proportion of the previous evening on the telephone to several irate humans and vampires from LA demanding to know when they could expect to hear something. That and the whole ‘find some way of magicking this bloody thing out of my head.’ But hey, at least she didn’t have to worry about broken bottles in the face these days, so that was an upside.
"Giles, thank god. How is he? I mean they wouldn’t have let him out if he was dying or anything but…"
"Willow did you know about…" There was a tension laden pause and a deeply inhaled breath. "You-you were the first person to see him, yes?"
She could hear the distress behind Giles’ words and decided to make things easier for him. As he obviously already knew she was betraying no real confidences. "If you’re trying to ask if I knew that Angelus had raped him then yes, Giles, I knew. But I thought it was up to him to share if and when he wanted to."
"I-I just don’t understand why. Did he make some move on Cordelia? Is that what happened? I know I was out of the loop, but I’m sure one of you would have told me if Angel and Cordelia had stopped seeing each other. Even then I can’t see Wesley courting her. I know he was very attracted to her in Sunnydale… disgustingly so, when I come to think about it, but I was under the distinct impression that the attraction had come to nothing. And I can’t think of any other reason why Angelus might have done it. His usual methods with Watchers are usually much more direct, he went so far as to mention chainsaws when he was torturing me. And Wesley won’t talk about it, so I’m left wondering why and the only solution I can come up with is Cordelia."
Willow listened as Giles talked round and round the issue, waiting until he had exhausted himself before answering. "It wasn’t Cordelia, it was Spike. They were lovers last year." And okay, Spike hadn’t said as much, but neither had he stopped her reading the letters and it hardly took a genius to work out what all the ‘miss yous’ and ‘lonely without yous’ were hinting at.
There was silence from the other end of the phone and it went on so long that Willow spoke again. "Giles? Are you still there?"
And when he answered she could hear the cold disapproval in his voice. "Yes, Willow. I’m afraid I am. And what you’ve told me explains everything."
***
"I heard you the first time, Deadboy, and I don’t care how much you yell the answer’s still gonna be the same. He didn’t turn up. Wills was all with the waiting, spells ready to do the casting thing and no-show Spike." Xander rolled his eyes as the angry tirade started up again at the other end of the phone and handed it over to Willow.
Conversations between him and Angel were difficult at the best of times without the whole ‘what the hell have you done with Spike’ element that ran through this one. He stood back and listened with half an ear while Willow went back over the same ground, apparently getting the irate vampire to listen this time.
Angel did have point though. It was odd that Spike had disappeared just when Willow thought she’d made a breakthrough on removing the chip. Okay, it wouldn’t be the first time Spike had taken off without letting anyone know where he’d gone, but it was still weird. Then again when Willow had called LA to tell him to come to Sunnydale so she could try out a couple of ideas, the vampire had been less than enthusiastic, and Xander had put that down to an unwillingness to be a witch’s lab-rat. That he could get. Best friend or not, the idea of Willow playing witch-doctor on his brain would be enough to send this Scooby heading for the nearest convenient exit. So maybe that’s what happened. Somewhere between LA and Sunnydale, Spike got cold feet and went AWOL.
Switching off the ongoing conversation, Xander pottered into the kitchen and hunted through the fridge for a soda. He needed something to kick-start his body this morning, both he and Willow had fallen asleep on the couch waiting for the vampire to arrive and they’d woken up cold, stiff and sore. He liberated a can and was about to crack it open when there was a knock at the door. A quick glance through the spy hole showed it to be Mr Franklin, three doors down and a weasly mister-over-polite. Plastering a fake nice-to-see-you smile on his face, it didn’t do to annoy any more of the people in his block, Xander opened the door.
"Alex. Just dropping by to check on you and your friends." The smile on the new-neighbour-from-hell’s face was as plastic as his own and Xander just knew that the reason for the call was much more than simple concern.
"Friends?"
Franklin was now trying to peer past him, and Xander half closed the door to occlude his view into the apartment where Willow was still arguing on the phone with Angel. "Quite the party you kids were having last night. That sort of noise level normal for around here?"
"No partying going on here, no-sir. Quiet as quiet little mousy things."
Disbelief passed over the man’s face, but with no evidence he could hardly challenge the veracity of Xander’s words. "Okay, that’s your story. But if one of your ‘friends’ that ‘weren’t here’ discovers they’ve lost something, tell them it’s in the janitor’s room."
Shutting the door behind the retreating neighbour, Xander breathed a sigh of relief. He was still on unofficial probation after the ruckus Spike had caused when he was dreaming, at least this time it hadn’t been his fault. As he walked back into the room he scooped a dried flower off the side and popped it back into the pot pourri container Willow had brought with her to try and rid the apartment of the smell of cigarette smoke, the damn stuff lingered for weeks.
***
"So we can expect delivery within the month… Excellent. And no problems? Splendid. Give my congratulations to the whole team on a job well done."
The program was proceeding nicely, it had got to the point where all Travers had to do was sit back and, with only the lightest of guiding hands on the reins, watch as all his players trotted into line.
***
When the last of the bags were unloaded from the boot of the taxi and stood alongside the others in the gravel driveway, Wesley felt like he could finally breathe. For three weeks he’d been a ‘guest’ at the Watchers headquarters in London and, to be fair, they had treated him with every courtesy. But however kind the doctors and interviewers were, it had still been difficult to relax and impossible to totally let down his guard.
"I only have the one guestroom and there’s no en-suite I’m afraid, so we’ll be sharing a bathroom. I hope you don’t mind?"
He smiled genuinely at the man unlocking the door to the flat and briefly wondered whether the expression, which felt so unfamiliar on his face, came over as he supposed. It would be unconscionable if it was read in any other way when the feeling behind it was so sincere. He was truly grateful to Giles for giving him a temporary home, his only other option would have been to return to his parent’s house, and Wesley wasn’t sure he was ready to face his father just yet.
"I’m sure it will be fine."
His houseguest busy settling in, Giles retired to the kitchen to make them both a cup of tea and pondered why he had allowed Travers to talk him into this. Helping Wesley was one thing but inviting him into his home was something else entirely, the man had been a pompous ass in Sunnydale. Though from what he’d managed to ascertain of the younger man this time, there had been enough changes to Wesley’s personality to make living with him at least bearable. He was quieter, more thoughtful and the self-importance that had once been the mainstay of his personality was completely absent. In other words, the insecure Watcher unsure of his place within the organisation and the world, was gone, as was the man who could see no further than his nouveau riche background and reacted with aggressive defensiveness to every perceived insult or threat.
The change would hopefully make for more pleasant company but Giles wondered at its cause. Their few communications over the years had reinforced his belief that Wesley was still something of an ass, so maybe it was his recent experiences with Angelus that had wrought such changes. Though he supposed it was possible that they did go back further, even as far as the disaster with Faith. It was one of the things he was determined to find out, though not perhaps the first. His initial task was to use the trust the younger man appeared to have in him to continue their conversations about what had happened in LA. Carrying a tray laden with teapot, milk, cups and biscuits, Giles retired to the living room expecting to have to call Wesley down for his tea, only to find his houseguest already seated and flicking through a copy of the paper Giles had recently submitted to the Council.
When he sensed the other man enter, Wesley looked up, smiled at the presence of the tea then gestured at the document he held open on his lap.
"Most of your conclusions are wrong, you know."
Giles put down the tray, sat in an adjacent chair and started to pour. He hadn’t left his work on the table deliberately but its presence could actually be fortuitous. "Not the most complimentary thing you could have said about my work, but on this occasion I’ll let it pass."
Wesley took the proffered cup and sat staring at the paper for a few moments before continuing. "You’ve made the same assumption that all Watchers make. That when the demon moves in the human is completely obliterated leaving only the remnants of personality and memories."
"And you would know better, I assume." Settling back into his chair, cup in hand, Giles waited for Wesley to enlighten him.
"I wouldn’t claim to even start to understand it precisely but my understanding is that the human is still very much present, along with all its flaws and vulnerabilities."
Again there was a pause while tea was sipped and biscuits were nibbled, and when it seemed that Wesley was going to say no more Giles gave him a verbal poke, ignoring the look of painful remembrance that passed over the other man’s face at his question.
"I can’t say that I noticed a vast amount of humanity in Angelus. Would you claim differently?"
"No. In that you are entirely correct. In this incarnation of Angelus there is no trace of humanity."
"This incarnation?"
"Yes. Spike seems to feel that being trapped by a soul for such a long period strengthened the demon to the point that it was able to entirely overcome what remained of Liam’s… I’m not sure how to describe it, presence maybe, humanness? He said that Angelus used to be different, before the soul."
That was fascinating. The fact that Wesley bothered to take the time to question was amazing enough; Watcher training hardly encouraged such curiosity. One of its cornerstones was the belief that demons neither possessed the ability to change nor made reliable informants about their own condition. But the fact that he had managed to get a vampire to open up about these things was remarkable. "And you believe him?"
"I do." There was a hint of wonder in Wesley’s voice as if his own level of trust surprised him. "He had no reason to lie."
"Except that he’s a demon and, as we both know, they have a world-wide reputation for honesty and candour."
"You believed him sufficiently to write a paper." Wesley indicated the document he had replaced on the coffee table, now closed and displaying the title printed on the front page. ‘Snapshots of Change: A Brief Study of the Ensouling of a Master Vampire’.
"I only wrote about things I witnessed with my own eyes not what he said, and from what I could tell there has been little in the way of real change beyond the feelings of guilt and remorse." He had been about to continue when Wesley interrupted.
"I’m hardly in a position to comment, having had no contact with Spike before he got his soul but the man I got to know in Los Angeles could be quite different to the one you describe there."
This was the perfect opening. "And you don’t feel your views were biased by the fact that he was your lover?"
Wesley’s reaction was exactly what Giles expected, shock and outrage springing onto his face. "How did you find out? I haven’t told…"
"Relax, Wesley, please. It isn’t general knowledge. Willow told me when I called her to ask about your, err, injuries." Damn, he should be able to talk about this without being reduced to cleaning his glasses, but off they came anyway.
"Oh." There were a quiet few moments then, "Spike must have told her. I must say I’m surprised he did."
And this was a great opportunity to find out how it started. "Why? I would have thought he would have wanted everyone to know he’d managed to seduce a Watcher."
"That was the whole point, don’t you see. Yes, he chased me. He chases everyone, you must have noticed that much even in Sunnydale but ultimately it was I that did the seducing." Wesley laughed softly at the memory of the shocked expression on the vampire’s face when he’d finally made his intentions clear. "I think it was the first time a man, a human man anyway, had ever taken him like that."
Again there was a slight break in the conversation before Giles articulated his thoughts with a resigned sigh. "Which would entirely explain Angelus’ particular form of ‘punishment’."
"Punishment? I’m not sure I understand." There was an expression of complete bewilderment on Wesley’s face.
"Then let me explain and forgive me if this comes over as slightly prurient." Giles waited for Wesley’s assent before continuing. "From what you describe, in the vernacular Spike allowed you to ‘top’ him, but between vampires such an act has more to do with dominance and submission than sex. Thus in Angelus’ eyes, you dominated his Childe something he automatically saw as…"
"An overt challenge to his place as the dominant male in Spike’s life." The sentence was finished for him and understanding replaced confusion on Wesley’s face. "Yes, that makes sense. I just hadn’t considered it in those terms or thought about the possible consequences. A somewhat foolish omission on my part in retrospect."
"Indeed. Though, as I am sure you are aware the result could have been very different. Typically the men Angelus uses in this manner do not have the privilege of living to regret anything."
Teapot in hand Giles returned to the kitchen leaving Wesley alone with his thoughts. And what thoughts they were, veering between contented memories of his few short weeks with Spike and the endless tormented days he had spent with Angelus. When Giles returned Wesley was ready for another cup of tea and to share a little more.
"I don’t think Angelus ever intended to kill me, let’s be honest I would be dead if that was what he wanted. He was… thorough, but not unduly cruel. My injuries were almost coincidental and could be put down as much to a misunderstanding of the human constitution as to a lack of compassion."
Giles nearly choked on his hot drink. "C-compassion. From Angelus?"
"An unfortunate choice of words, perhaps. Maybe concern or regard would be more accurate. There are examples of vampires displaying such behaviours in the past."
"To their own families or clans maybe but not humans. Although…?" When Giles’ words tailed off, Wesley encouraged him to continue.
"Although?"
"I was thinking about a few specific instances when Spike’s behaviour could have been interpreted in those terms, primarily when we were being pursued by Glory. To be perfectly honest with you I’ve never really thought about it."
He paused, sipped his tea and smiled. "Most of the time I try not to think about him at all, he is quite the most irritating creature I have ever had the misfortune to meet, trying to worm his way into the Slayer’s circle while never actually committing himself to the welfare of the group."
"Precisely as he was trained."
"A hunting strategy you think? That would make sense, yes."
"No. As a Watcher." Giles’ cup froze between mouth and saucer, and then he put both down and went to get something stronger.
***
Xander woke with a start, staring at the sunlight, which had started to trek across the ceiling, reflecting yellow from the saffron coloured curtains that hung at the windows. <Yellow - yellow eyes - dream eyes> Blinking sleepily he stretched, kicked back the duvet and rolled over to look at the time. <Time - lost time - missing hours? Nah, dream-time> An hour and a half before he had to be at work, before that he needed to shower, have breakfast and… do something else. What was it? His memory sucked these days. It must be his age. Or maybe the fact that there was no one here to remind him of things he needed to do. There used to be someone. Anya? No. Someone else. He shook his head, trying to clear his muzzy brain, which still felt crammed with dreams. He hadn’t shared the apartment with anyone since Anya left; his mind was just playing tricks again.
***
The room was littered with spell books and Willow sighed heavily as she collected them into a pile preparatory to replacing them on the shelf. A strange assortment, transfiguration, teleportation, plus a couple of biochemistry and anatomy books she hadn’t used for years. What had she been trying to do with this lot? Honestly, her memory was so bad. With a marathon stretch and a yawn that made her jaw crack, Willow picked up the pile and wandered over to the bookcase. Maybe if she could get a decent night’s sleep without unpleasant freaky dreams it would help.
***
Angel still spent his spare hours wandering the hotel corridors, though now with more than thoughts about Cordy’s death and Wesley’s brutalisation on his sleepless mind. Over two weeks with no word and he was starting to accept that maybe Spike was gone for good, and this time it was definitely his fault. He’d thought that the short chat they’d had three days before Spike had left for Sunnydale had cleared the air between them, but obviously not. Now he wished he’d tried harder. Maybe if he’d found some way to make his feelings clearer about how much he wanted and needed Spike around at the moment, the younger vampire wouldn’t have taken off. Then Angel wouldn’t feel so lonely and cut adrift.
Fred and Gunn were doing their best to keep him company but they had their own lives, and the hours they spent at the hotel were becoming fewer as renovations on their new apartment progressed rapidly. In another week or so, they would have moved out and then Angel would be alone the majority of the time. And he hated that idea. It brought back memories of when Darla had been there, when he had deliberately isolated himself and this time he didn’t want that to happen. In a complete about face to his mood a couple of weeks ago, now he craved the company, desperately wanted something to distract him from his troubled thoughts, which he sensed were going to get him nowhere except further into a mire of self-hatred and regrets.
"Angel?" Fred’s voice came up the stairs and the vampire hurried down. With any luck she’d turned up a job that would get him out of the house and killing things. "Nest of vamps down on Madison. Gunn’s still out can you take it?"
Could he ever! Angel didn’t quite jump for joy at the idea but it was a close run thing. Instead he concentrated on loading up with some weapons and getting out of the hotel as fast as he could before someone changed their minds.
As the door closed behind him, Fred smiled over at Cordelia who was watching as he left. "He seems better."
"Uhuh."
"Less broody, more outgoing."
"Uhuh."
A wicked little smile spread over Fred’s lips. "Still the hottie though."
Cordelia let out a big sigh. "Oh, yeah." Then she flushed and turned away from the door. "Pathetic much, huh. Can’t touch him, can’t speak to him and I’m still behaving like a hormone bomb. Somebody shoot me, please."
The physicist frowned. "I don’t get that. How come he can’t see you. All the rest of us can, no problems. So why just him? I mean, is it a guilt thing? Is that why? ‘Cos I don’t see why he feels guilty. Everyone’s told him that Angelus didn’t kill you."
"Maybe."
"Have ya tried touching him, doing the instant communication thing? It worked with Charles and with me. If you hadn’t done that I still wouldn’t trust him. Not that I do now, except in the working with him everyday and not wanting to stake him way."
The ghost wandered over to the desk and leaned forward giving every impression of resting on her arms. "No, I haven’t. Somehow it doesn’t feel right. Sort of intrusive. Like he needs to get there in his own time."
Fred leaned alongside her, unconsciously mimicking her pose. "Yeah. I guess. Just seems kinda sad, him still feeling bad when it wasn’t his fault."
"That’s a surprising and not-unwelcome change of heart. You were all, ‘ooh Angel’s evil even with his soul’ before you left."
Shrugging off the sarcastic tone Fred tried to explain. "I still don’t trust him. Won’t ever. Charles has told me too much and with what Spike said…"
"You never did say exactly what that was, but if it gave you the wiggins, I’m thinking sharing would be good right now."
Cordelia watched as her friend picked up a paper clip and proceeded to twist it out of shape with slightly shaking fingers, and it was several minutes before the physicist spoke again, her voice quiet and tense.
"When he was staying at our house, he had a dream, a bad dream. Made him wake up all growly and that’s nothing new ‘cos I know Angel had those but… I talked to him after and he told me what it was about and it was horrible, about this girl and what he’d done to her. And even then I thought, you know, demon. And I said that, you know, that it wasn’t him and that’s when he said it."
Pause and Cordy prompted the silent woman. "Said what?"
"That it was him, not the demon."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Oh."
"No. I mean, oh as in I guess he really thinks that."
"Huh?"
Now it was the ghost’s turn for silence as she worked out what to say and when she spoke, it was to contradict everything Spike had said. "It wasn’t him. Not really. Umm. I probably didn’t say, what with everything that was happening, but when I got back, you know, from wherever the Powers sent me, I knew things. Lots of things. Most of it’s gone now but I do remember that the man he was couldn’t have done anything nasty… to anyone."
"You think?"
"I know."
"So why does he think that? I mean, I get Angel being all broody and tortured and blaming himself for everything. But Spike? He doesn’t strike me as the condemn himself for nothing type."
"Dunno. Wasn’t William though? So he’s just being a big sad loser thinking it." She paused for a moment, considering what she’d said then shrugged. "Come to think of it, maybe that’s the problem."
"What?"
"He was such a spaz; he probably does blame himself."
***
"I’m still not happy with this, Quentin." Markham was lounging in his seat across the desk from his boss, shaking his leonine head vigorously as he spoke. Today’s meeting was much smaller than the previous one with only those who had an immediate interest and responsibility present. Thus it was just the four of them. Markham, Preece, Ramirez and Travers himself, plus Connors in the corner taking notes. "The risks in even bringing…"
"There is absolutely no cause for concern, Eric." Travers interrupted. "The site in Yorkshire has some of the highest security available. There’s a garrison just down the road, an airbase fifteen miles away, not to mention Watcher trained guards on twenty four-hour patrol."
He was outlining the security measures as much for the record as for himself. Unfortunately, Markham had insisted that all meetings pertaining to the program should be minuted exhaustively. Just in case, he said, something went wrong.
"What about other measures. Security is all very well, but I’d feel much better if we had some sort of…"
"Leash?" It was Ramirez who interrupted this time and Travers raised his eyebrows. The American doctor was obviously feeling more sure of himself, potentially a good thing, so long as he didn’t try to run the show.
"You could put it that way, yes."
"Doctor Ramirez has been given permission to reopen certain files and access secure computer codes that pertain to this case. By the time our guest arrives we will be more than equipped, I can assure you."
"And that will be…?"
Travers flicked open his desk diary and made great show of consulting it, though the date was imprinted on his mind. "In ten days the container will be unloaded in Fishguard. From there it’s a full day’s drive to the centre, so we will need have our preparations complete by the night of the seventeenth."
Markham frowned as he sat forward, his elbows leaning on the desk. "So long? I would have thought airfreight would have been a better option."
"I did give that alternative serious consideration but security at Heathrow is unfeasibly tight at the moment, and even with direct government approval our imports are being opened and examined. Under the circumstances it was easier to bring him in through Fishguard, thus avoiding any possible discovery and subsequent inconvenience. I’m sure you understand Markham that utmost secrecy must be the watchword on this. There are people in the highest places that, should they get wind of what we are doing, would shut us down before we have a chance to explore this potentially valuable line of enquiry."
Opening his mouth to say something, Markham stopped, looked at Quentin and closed it again. Protesting at this point would get him nowhere. He needed to choose his battles carefully, plus he couldn’t suppress a slight frisson of excitement at getting to observe such a fascinating demon firsthand.
***
The minute Dawn left the room, Buffy expected the usual treatment to start so she kept her head firmly buried, feigning fascination in the demonology text Willow had given her earlier. When nothing happened, she glanced at her friend out the corner of her eye and nearly dropped the book when Willow let out a whoop of glee.
"Got it, I’ve got it. Hah, so you thought you could get away from me, you sneaky little… running away demon."
"A sneaky running demon? Couldn’t we have a walk-y demon? My feet are tired." Buffy had quipped and pouted before she remembered that she didn’t do that with Willow any more. No, now their research evenings were strictly business only, and until they’d forgiven her for hiding the letters, she wasn’t expecting anything else.
"No fun for Buffy." She whispered under her breath, before getting back to the book.
"Buffy? Didn’t you hear me? I’ve found it. That Ecivie demon with its clan mark and everything. Look."
And maybe tonight was the night that forgiveness came her way. With a slight smile at Willow’s enthusiasm, Buffy stood behind her to look at the picture on the computer. "Can I just say yuck with a side order of eww? Is that much slime really necessary?"
"Yes. Yes it is actually. It’s like a slug with the sticking to things and… and the crawling up things and the slime helps with the sticking and with the crawling."
"I’m still going with eww."
"Howdy ladies. Look no further ‘cos the Xan-man is here to lend a helping hand." Dropping the obligatory box of doughnuts on the table, Xander came and leaned over Willow’s other shoulder. "And is that what we’re fighting, ‘cos I’m thinking NBC suits."
The women looked at him bemused.
"Never mind. Just my stupid male hormones." He opened the box and offered it around before helping himself to two. "So anything else cooking or can we look forward to a quiet night of bondage fun… I mean, bonding fun."
A wide grin spread over Buffy’s face at her friends’ relaxed demeanours. It looked like she’d finally been forgiven.
***
"I’m really not happy with this, Quentin." The tape was removed from Giles’ hand before he could change his mind. "The poor man has been through so much in recent weeks and I fear that discovering I’m taping our private conversations may turn out to be the final straw."
"It’s for his own good, Rupert. You’ve seen the doctor’s report and you can see how important it is that he share the details of the attack. Wesley’s mind will not heal if he doesn’t get the correct treatment and right now the doctors seem to think that is you."
"Yes, well, quite. I’m sure you’ll find that interesting then." With a wave of his hand Giles indicated the tape which Travers was slipping into his desk drawer. "Unfortunately, it seems there was a lot more to his involvement with Spike than I first believed."
"There’s a possibility he’s been under the thrall of two master vampires then."
"Maybe. I really couldn’t say for sure. Anyway, it’s all there on the tape. If you want me to ask anything more, give me a call."
Giles stood up and headed for the door. The role Quentin had given did not rest easy; it was too much like spying on someone he was starting to tentatively regard as a friend. His hand was resting on the doorknob when Travers called him back.
"Rupert. Tell me. The paper you submitted, how did you come by the raw data?"
With a sigh, he turned towards the man sat at the desk. "I had the unfortunate experience of being landed with the idiot when he got back from Africa. Can you believe he made no plans whatsoever for getting to the States, and only got as far as me by calling in a clan favour from a demon in Mbale? It was pure luck that he managed to do that much."
Travers leaned back in his chair and studied the man in front of him thoughtfully. "I take it there is no love lost between the two of you then, despite your long experience of living in the same town."
"No. Like I told you. He’s a fool. Of the worst sort. A dangerous one." Resigned to the meeting going on for longer than he’d hoped, Giles sat back down. "From the moment he first set foot in Sunnydale he was nothing but a thorn in everyone’s side. Frankly, I’m fervently hoping we’ve seen the last of him now he’s with Angel in LA."
Was it worth the risk? Travers was well aware how much Rupert Giles resented the task he’d been given, but would he feel differently if he was given the whole story. Maybe a little more fishing would elicit the answer. "Is it their souled status that aggravates you so much?"
There was another sigh and Giles’ glasses came off so he could rub the bridge of his nose. "No, not really. I just find the pair of them so frustrating. Angel spent the first year he was in Sunnydale popping up unannounced, dropping a couple of cryptic clues and then sneaking away again before we could ask any more questions. And from what I hear, since he’s been in LA he’s spent as much time totally screwing things up as he has helping. As for Spike. Sometimes I just despair."
Seeing that there may be some meat to the story, Quentin produced a bottle of decent Scotch from his drawer and when the other man nodded, poured two shots and handed one over.
After a small sip, Giles continued. "Not long after he finally moved out from Xander Harris’ basement, I had a small problem with Ethan Rayne. Remember him? Yes, well. It’s a long and slightly humiliating story that I don’t wish to discuss but as it happened Spike was able to help me out." Off Travers surprised look, Giles laughed cynically. "Not out of the ‘evilness of his heart’. He expected paying of course."
"I presume this was after the implant?"
"Yes, yes. About six months after. Anyway, I went to him, with the money of course and suggested that maybe he should look on the chip as an opportunity to change sides and help us. Of course he refused. Which was only to be expected really, I mean the chip was hardly a soul. And then he started this ridiculous obsession with Buffy, which lead to heaven knows what two years ago, only for him to skip town one night without telling anyone. The next thing I know he turns up on my doorstep expecting help."
"And yet you didn’t turn him away."
After another sip of whisky Giles sighed again. "No. I really hadn’t the heart. He was a complete mess, half-starved and virtually raving. It took the best part of two weeks to get him to tell me what had happened. And then there was the fact that he did help us the summer when Buffy was de… seriously ill." That had been close. The Council still didn’t know the full details of what had happened that year and Giles wasn’t about to tell them.
"So he was of some use then."
"Well, yes. And that’s what annoys me the most. With a little guidance, the pair of them, Spike and Angel, could be of great help to everyone. Take the Council for example. Imagine if one of them could be a Watcher. The number of times I could have helped Buffy if only I’d had the abilities of a vampire. But do they apply themselves? No. Angel spends half his time without his soul and the other half brooding about loosing it, and Spike seems to think the only vaguely important thing in his life is who he’s going ‘shag’ next."
There was such a note of frustrated desperation in the other man’s voice that Travers almost laughed when he heard his own plan offered back to him. It seemed he and Rupert Giles were closer to understanding each other than he thought. The next comment did however leave him speechless.
"Now the Powers have made him their Seer and he’s living high off the hog with his Sire in Los Angeles, leaving Buffy to struggle along as best she can. Really, sometimes fate seems…"
"Did you say Seer?"
"Yes. Ironic isn’t it. An individual who has tried to end the world on two separate occasions that I’m aware of, now gets to tell everyone else when it’s going to happen."
Quentin couldn’t contain the emotion in his voice. "I had no idea."
"It’s not desperately important. There’s no reason you should know."
"Well actually there is. What are you doing on the seventeenth?"
***
Myriad lights flooded the small windswept yard. The blue/white light fashioning a false daylight where the men were working confined by a high chain link fence topped with razor wire. Yet the glaring illumination only served to deepen the darkness of the night surrounding them, lending an ominous tone to the violent bend and sweep of the huge trees lurking just beyond the perimeter.
"Back, back, back… stop." The high pitched beep of the pedestrian alarm cut off as the container lorry juddered to a halt outside the entrance to the huge building, and a grinding shriek soon pierced the air as its rear door lifted painfully slowly.
Preece stayed in the shadows watching as the well practised team worked to unload the crate, their shouted instructions ringing out over the ever-present sounds of generators and vehicles as the forklift manoeuvred into position. These men were the same ones that had carried out the extraction and they would see the job right through to completion. Previous experience had shown the Council that this was the best technique, as those who packed the cargo were in the best position to unpack it safely. Not until the demon was transferred to the holding pen inside would Preece take over official responsibility, in the meantime, he would keep out of their way and do what he did best - watch.
As the workers and guards flowed and moved efficiently around him, Preece was reminded of an ant’s nest, the way each individual knew their exact task and hurried to complete it, the entire pattern only becoming visible to the onlooker and then only through constant vigilance. And this task certainly demanded that. To an outsider this may appear like overkill, but past mistakes could not be repeated even if they had come a long way in their techniques over the last few years. Outmoded crossbows had been replaced by tasers, although they were still interspersed by the occasional flame-thrower, after all some of the old methods still had something to offer.
He followed the forklift into the building, moving in more closely as a crowbar was jammed under the lid of the crate prizing it open and finally revealing it’s contents. The casket was steel with sliding panels inserted into the front, one of which was slid back to reveal layers of nylon webbing, another recent improvement meaning an end to cumbersome chains and manacles.
Two men stepped forward, one jabbing into the box with a taser, which he fired off several times until the body within fell still. Only then did the other lean over the opened panel, slice through the webbing with a diamond edged blade and plunge a hypodermic into an exposed thigh. There was an almost palpable wave of relief once the anti-psychotic was administered, it would hopefully buy them at least an hour to get on and unload properly without having to worry. After such excitement and tension Preece found he was somewhat disappointed when the casket was finally opened. By rights this creature should be ten foot tall and breathing fire - okay that was unlikely given that it was a vampire - but even so the slight, human looking figure inside hardly looked capable of the deeds he was credited with.
But appearances can be deceptive, and as everybody knows most sociopathic mass murderers look just like the nice man who lives next door and doesn’t talk to anyone. And, Preece reflected, in the case of demons, many knew how to conceal their true faces beneath an innocuous looking human disguise.
As the limp form was lifted from casket to trolley, the Watcher was able to see that apart from the fresh blood around the gag there were few physical injuries evident, yet more testimony to the efficacy of the carbon fibre reinforced bindings. In past years it had sometimes taken days to repair the damage the creatures did to themselves during transit, resulting in frustrating delays before they were ready for whichever training sessions they were destined for, but that was now a thing of the past. The clean sweep that had followed Quentin Travers’ promotion to the head of the Council had removed not only outmoded thinkers, but also their methods and now perhaps they could continue the revolution and drag the entire organisation into the new millennium.
His view was obstructed as Ramirez’s team closed around the gurney collecting samples and setting up the equipment required for the next stage of the operation. Preece moved round to hover behind the doctor, as he quickly hooked up the sophisticated computer system that had been wheeled into place the moment it was safe to do so.
"Hey, take a look at this." Lines of unintelligible code streamed down the screen, carrying no obvious meaning at all but Ramirez seemed to know what he was doing, his fingers clicking over the keyboard changing the configuration of the code at breathtaking speed.
"I wonder how it had happened. These things are designed to remain operational until the hostile’s dead, unless they malfunction. It not easy to just switch them on and off and I was hoping… yes, see, there," An excited finger jabbed at the console. "The recognition codes have been scrambled. Interesting. That means we can have it up and running again in a couple of hours."
"You don’t have a couple of hours."
"No, but the option’s there if we need it. For now Mr Travers just wants it on manual. No recognition codes programmed at all. He said something about testing for… hold on, let me see if…" The doctor picked up a small device from next to the computer, called "Clear" and waited till his team had stepped back before pressing its single button.
The figure on the trolley arched convulsively, as far as the restraints would allow and Ramirez swore roundly. "Damn, set too high. Hang on, guys. I’ll just…" Again the code swirled on the screen and moments later the button was pressed again. This time the only reaction was fluttering eyelids and a slight pained gasp. "Better. It’ll do. Okay, let’s get him out of here."
Again, Preece followed. It was almost time for him to take over.