It was late afternoon.

And, as it turned out, one member of the Scooby gang now had a lot to think about.

One thing Rupert Giles had to consider was that he'd apparently died a few hours ago. He'd woken up in a consecrated grave, and had dug himself out into direct sunlight. If Drusilla hadn't been prepared and had not pulled him into this dark, cool crypt, he'd have died all over again.

So as well as being confused, he wasn't in the best of moods.

"Not exactly your best entrance," said Spike cheerfully, as Drusilla threw off the blanket she had used to rescue him. "I know you're new to this and all, but staying out of the sun is generally a good way to go."

"His skin's all cracked!" said Drusilla wonderingly.

"That tends to happen when a vampire tries his hand at sunbathing, poodle," said Spike. The blonde vampire made a play of inspecting her. "You, on the other hand, got off scot-free. And burn-free. Lovely as always. Well, Watcher, got anything to say for yourself? Like a 'thank you, dear and wonderful Dru, for saving my sorry life'?"

But Giles was too wrapped in thought to hear him. The ground had burned him. That meant someone had consecrated it. But who?

Buffy.

Anger rose inside of him. Hot, burning anger, burning like the sunlight. She had caused him that pain.

Spike smiled indulgently as, apparently unconsciously, Giles let out a low, visceral growl.

"Consecrated," he growled. "She bloody well consecrated it."

"Hurt like hell, didn't it?" said Spike cheerfully. "Your own Slayer."

Slowly, as his skin started to cool, Giles pushed himself to his feet. Spike's smile widened as he saw the enlarged brow ridges, the gleaming fangs, the piercing yellow eyes.

"She's not my Slayer," the former Watcher growled. "Not anymore."

Spike folded his arms, staring up at him. "I'd love to see you prove it," he said. "I'd take her still-warm heart as suitable proof, although a gallon-bottle of her blood would do me fine, too. I'm not picky."

"That shouldn't be a problem." And he knew it wouldn't. The demon now inhabiting Giles' body absently sifted through his memories, and knew it wouldn't be a problem. She would never raise her hand to him. Not after she had left him to burn.

Through the fog of his own thoughts, he heard Spike talking.

"It's like a test, see. You survive, you're in. You pass, you're the bloody Messiah. You fail…you die. Again. And it starts tomorrow night. Your objective is to find your former Slayer…and suck her dry. Clear?"

Giles snorted. In annoyance, he grabbed Spike's shirt front and slammed him into the crypt wall.

"I don't recall allowing you to give me orders," he growled.

Drusilla hissed like a cat, morphing as she leapt. Giles used his other hand to punch her hard across the face, sending Spike's lover into the opposite wall.

"Dru!" Spike yelled. "Damn you, Watcher! You're supposed to do as I say!"

Giles slammed Spike even harder into the crypt, staring at him yellow eye-to-yellow eye.

"That's too bad. Because I don't. And I won't. You and Drusilla will follow me. Or I will rip your throats out. Are we clear?"

"No, we are not sodding…"

Giles snarled, opening his mouth wide to let his fangs show. He let them drift toward Spike's neck for a heartbeat…then he pulled away, and smiled amiably.

"Would you like me to convince you?" he asked.

Spike and Drusilla watched the huddled figure on the ground, heard its breathing slow and grow faint as the battle raged above them.

"Almost gone," Drusilla purred. "Burning, burning, burning…soon he'll be back with the bad, bad teacher…burning. Isn't he pretty when he's burning, Spike?"

"Yes, Dru," said Spike absently. He watched Giles, arms folded thoughtfully. Then:

"You wanna live, Watcher?"

He got no reply, and motioned for Drusilla to help him. She heaved him out of his wheelchair and settled him down next to the dying man. "You don't wanna go like this," he continued, trying to sound reasonable. "Toasted like a marshmallow. Not you. You go like this, your Slayer's gonna be all alone. Her and her little friends. And you don't want that. You wanna live?"

The response was faint, but Spike heard it.

"Please…"

He knew the man was too far gone to register who was speaking, almost too far gone to even hear his words. But Spike grinned all the same, allowing himself to change.

"Happy to oblige," he said, and dragged the Watcher into a better position to bite him.

His victim nearly died of shock as Spike sank his teeth in, but held on. Drusilla obligingly cut Spike's wrist, letting the blood flow. The Watcher was so close to asphyxiation that he welcomed the liquid, neither knowing nor caring what it would do to him.

When Spike was done, he laid the man on the floor of the burning warehouse, just as they'd found him, and regarded his pale color and still chest.

"Nice little surprise for the Slayer, eh Dru?"

"Very nice surprise," Drusilla cooed, draping herself over him. "My Spike knows how to treat a lady…"

Together, they fled the warehouse.

"If he survives the night, we'll keep him. If he kills the Slayer…well, we'll see. We'll see, poodle."

Cue dramatic music! sighs I just seem to enjoy abusing Giles.