As far as he was concerned, time couldn't be moving more slowly. His sense of dread magnified every moment that he waited on the phone, whether because of who was about to pick up the phone or because of the dire situation he was calling about, it was unclear. He had been transferred three times already and was prepared to hang up the phone and book a flight-on the presumption that it would be faster-when a cheery, youthful, feminine voice answered the phone-a voice that would never see the aging of mortality. "Hello, Wolfram and Hart; Harmony speaking. How many I help you?"
"I would like to speak to Angel, please. The last person I spoke to said I would have to go through you before I could contact him directly," he managed, flinching, his impatience tightly hidden behind years of practice and a finely tuned British accent.
"Mr. Giles, is that you?" Harmony asked, amusement clear in her still teenage-sounding voice.
"Yes, Harmony, it is. Now if you could kindly-" he tried to interject, but she only seemed to notice the first part of what he said.
"How are you doing? I heard you guys destroyed Sunnydale! Wher-"
"It is urgent, Harmony," Giles managed to interrupt, recalling his days as a librarian not-so-fondly.
"I heard you guys are in Italy now," she continued, even through his rude interruption. "I always wanted to go to Italy. You know, my Blondie Bear promised to bring me one day... Well, that was before he staked me..."
Giles sighed deeply and began to clean his glasses. "I wasn't aware of that, Harmony, but seeing as how Spike is dead, it seems a rather moot point. To address matters concerning the living, could I speak to-?"
"Dead? He's not dead anymore. That was *so* last month. Here, see for yourself." Harmony waved Spike over to her desk and readily handed him the phone.
Giles rolled his eyes and sighed inwardly. Of course, if anyone was to come back from the fight on the Hellmouth it would have been Spike-Giles' never-ending pain in the arse.
"Who is it, Harm?" could barely be heard over the phone. Harmony shoved the phone at him and grinned, content to keep the mystery to herself.
"'Ello?" Spike said into the receiver, leaving no doubt in Giles' mind whose voice it was.
"Hello, Spike," Giles ground out, tersely. He ran his fingers through his thinning hair and slumped down in a nearby chair.
"Giles?" Spike asked, shocked. There was no end to phone calls here, but none of them were for him, and none of them should have been from Rupert Giles. "What d'ya want, old man?"
"As I've been telling everyone in your office for the last 30 minutes, I urgently need to speak to Angel," He managed to explain with nary a curse, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Last time he had needed to contact Angel had been much easier, and he fondly wished for those days.
"Can't help you out. He's out on a mission-some big white-hat thing. Helpin' the helpless and all that. Harmony can-"
"No, no Harmony. Please, God, no more Harmony," Giles replied swiftly, cutting Spike off mid-sentence at the mere mention of her name.
"Then I guess you're going to have to talk to me," Spike grinned, knowing that, for once, he would have information before Peaches. "What's the deal, Rupes? Need someone to ride to the rescue to save you and yours before time runs out and the world turns to ruins?"
"Well, uh, yes... We do." Giles sighed deeply, preparing to tell Spike what had happened.
"So, you're-what-rounding up the cavalry?" Spike asked, gobsmacked. Giles was the last person he expected to ask Angel for help. Why wasn't Buffy making the call to her heartthrob herself? Maybe there was trouble in paradise after Wolfram and Hart changed hands. On second thought: as far as he knew Buffy was living in sex-crazed bliss with the Immortal and was refusing to talk to Angel until further notice. Not that Angel seemed to mind-he seemed to be getting along quite swimmingly with that werewolf chick.
"Why-uh-yes. Actually, we could use all the help we could get." Giles cleared his throat, an old habit of his when talking about difficult subjects, of which asking Spike for help was certainly one. And losing his Slayer was another.
"What's the sitch, Watcher?" Spike asked, his curiosity piqued.
"You know I wouldn't be calling and asking for your help-or Angel's for that matter-if it weren't a matter of utmost importance. I am in need of a scryer." Giles tried to dodge the true answer to Spike's question.
"Why don't you ask the witch? Or do it yourself, for that matter?" Spike pried, sensing that the old man was hiding something.
"Willow is more than occupied at the moment and I can't seem to pinpoint her location." Giles sighed and blew out the candle in front of him, watching as the tiny lights on the map suddenly blinked out-indicating all the Slayers in Europe at the moment. "I'm hoping that if Wesley and I combine our talents, we could find her. And get her home safe before something terrible happens."
"Who are we looking for?"
"Buffy."