Chapter 2: You May Find Yourself in an Edwardian Manse
Spike wouldn't lie. It was an absolute lark to strut out of the pub's darts room, all resurrected Big Bad and Champion of the Powers that Be.
Affecting casualness, he watched the core of his Slayer's superfriends react to his appearance. Of course, vampire hearing meant that he knew that the woman with Willow's face wasn't really Buffy's witchy friend. Nonetheless, he could imagine her currently confused expression standing in for sweet and spicy Red being legitimately gobsmacked. Rounding out the fun, having Lady Tweed sitting with her mouth agape was a nice touch.
"'Lo, kiddies. Long time, no see," he drawled. He took a deep inhale as he approached the table. Time was, the tang of shock, fear, and— oh my, the sweet blush of arousal— at his appearance would've been the precise potpourri his demon would've ordered. Even now, all soul-i-fied and whatnot, it was a bit of alright.
All of that, of course, became as stale and insignificant as a whiff of old Queen Vicky's eau du bergamot at a Kensington tour as soon as Buffy's hand reached out to link with his.
"'Lo, pet." he murmured quietly, intimately, while leaning down for the touch of heaven that always fluttered within as her lips met his. Without relinquishing the glorious novelty kissing Buffy in public, he slid around until slid into the chair next to her. Feeling her attention shift, he made himself release her hand as he pulled away. Leaning back in his usual faux, casual sprawl, he rested his arm along the back of her chair.
The tips of his fingers drew idle strokes on her shoulder. He half wished he'd taken off his duster to feel her hair feathering along his arm. But the uniform still had value and was palatable now that it was simply an Italian leather jacket that had never been profaned by a slayer's death.
"I think you've established your territory now," Buffy said with a wry twist of her lips.
"I've only just gotten started." He made sure to underlay his words with the rumble that he knew was a particular favorite of hers. He was rewarded by the touch of her hand coming to rest on his thigh. With a smirk, he shifted his hips to let her know that both big and not-so-small William had noticed.
Evidently that byplay between himself and his lady was enough to free the children from their 'better seen and not heard' manners.
"What? How? Huh?" The glorified bricklayer and donut delivery boy was clearly still at the top of his game.
At the same time, an unfamiliar, female voice on the cellphone in front of Buffy called out, "Spike, is that really you? Oh my goddess! Did we leave you still alive… well undead… in Sunnydale?" Her voice squeaked in agitation as she finished speaking. He could almost see the bint twisting her hands around each other. Afraid he'd judge and find her wanting, no doubt.
Buffy's lips mouthed "Willow," but he'd have known.
"No pet, I right and truly was part of the blaze of glory in that cavern. Dust in the wind, and all." He squeezed Buffy's shoulders gently as they tensed under his arm. "It was that bit of out-of-fashion, Liz Taylor bling what did it. Somehow sucked up my essence. The trinket eventually boomeranged back to Evil Lawyers Incorporated, where it popped me right out in the middle of the Great Forehead's desk. Dressed just like I was when we went into the Hellmouth, but all ghosty-like."
"You were what?"
"Had a raging case of non-corporeal-ness at first. Walked through furniture and walls. Fell through the floor sometimes. Was right inconvenient, except it meant I could be a pain in my grandsire's arse twenty-four by seven, which was almost worth it." He looked at Buffy, adding, "Although the worst part was I couldn't pick up and dial a phone. Hands just went right through the bloody thing."
As though sensing his occasional, deja vù horror of losing physical form, she reached up and touched his hand where it rested against his shoulder. It was all the anchoring in the real world he needed.
"Ooh, I turned all ghosty once, with the 'can't touch this' problem and the walking through walls. The not being able to pick things up sucked big time. But wall-walkage was oddly convenient, even with the 'oh hey surprise' factor. I totally get, now, why people knock first before entering rooms." Willow's words tumbled from the unfamiliar voice over the phone. If he hadn't known it was her before, he'd abso-fucking-lutely know it now.
"Stay all ghosty long enough, Red, and concentrate hard enough, you can touch things sometimes. Poor Fred tried to figure it out with her new set of science lab gadgets and Ghostbusters googaws. Found a one-time way to un-poltergeist me, but had to use it for something else. Was a bit of cock-up, really. Got pretty sure I was stuck being Casper until my own personal judgment day."
"Why didn't Fred call me? I would've helped." Willow sounded crestfallen. It was probably more because she'd missed a problem-solving playdate than at not getting a chance to help Spike. Still and all, he'd take it.
"Yeah, and why didn't Angel call me?" Buffy snarled sotto voce.
"You know why, pet." He whispered in her ear. Likely the kiddies didn't overhear either of them. His guess was confirmed when Willow continued speaking in her mum's voice over the phone.
"I know I could've helped. Giles may do the whole 'poo poo' thing about science and magic being non-mixy, but that's… well, it's shortsighted." Her voice was laced with gentle yet firm indignation.
Buffy huffed. "It's okay, Wils. You have total permission to point out that Giles is sometimes full of 'poo poo'. I tell him that on a frequent basis. Of course, that's probably why he had no problem with me staying in LA for a few months without calling instead of returning to my sacred duty, blah blah blah."
At this criticism of their former authority figure, Spike peered around the table. Xander was squinting at Buffy, although it was unclear whether he was deciding if he should be critical of her words or he was simply inspecting her in case she'd also been body-swapped. Lady Tweed, all naughty librarian with her hair bun and glasses— Linda, Lydia, or sommat— had a look of scandalized delight on her face. No doubt she wasn't used to being in anyone's inner circle. Willow's mum had the mulish look of someone battling impatience and disbelief while attempting to listen for useful information. It wasn't a typical look for Willow, but he imagined it might be one that visited his own face from time-to-time.
"Well, um, regardless." Willow wisely decided to dodge the fyarl-sized resentment sitting in Buffy's seat. "But Spike, I'm sorry I wasn't there to help. After all you did, making sure we all got out and then dying to save us and everything, it's the least I could've done."
Spike blinked, honestly without words, which was a truly rare thing for him.
Willow's mum did not have the same problem. "You people are insane," she exclaimed. Then, daggering her index finger at the phone, she said, "If you actually are my daughter Willow, you need to finally grow up, stop hanging out with ne'er-do-wells, and buy some adult clothing." Her upper lip curled back as her hands awkwardly outlined her torso as though touching her clothes would surely incur leprosy.
"Ne'er-do-wells?" Xander echoed, eyebrows raised as he looked askance at her.
Lady Watcher leaned over, putting a solicitous hand on the other woman's shoulder. "Don't worry, Mrs. Rosenberg. You'll find that many people respect your daughter just as she is, along with her friends. You've just found us all in an, ahem, unusual situation.
The waiter hovered in their vicinity, obviously trying to listen in. Probably forestalling that, Buffy spoke up. "Another rum and Coke for me, please. And my boyfriend really needs the same scotch as hers." She pointed at the almost empty glass in front of Willow's mum.
"And another for me, too," the woman said with a tone somewhere between vexation and threat. Spike was beginning to warm up to the old broad. He could see where Red had gotten her spine. And her temper.
Before the waiter strode back to the bar, Xander pointed at his beer with a nod. Next to him, the glasses-wearing Tweedy Bird declined a drink while pulling out a steno pad from her blazer.
From the phone in front of Buffy, Willow said, "Hey guys, I'm really missing out, here. You're at the pub getting scotch. Meanwhile it's afternoon here and my dad knows I'm Willow, so he's only letting me have iced tea."
"Ira is a smart man," Willow's mum confirmed, taking her drink from the waiter with smug pleasure.
"Ira, who I know as Dad, has no appreciation for the way a good, stiff drink can help with the trauma of swapping bodies with one's own mother."
"Hmm," her mum replied while sipping her scotch.
Spike, on the other hand, tossed back half his scotch in one gulp. Leaning back in his chair, he swirled the remainder of the amber liquid in his glass and eyed it with the contentment of a well-fed cat.
The Lady Watcher leaned forward. "But Spike… may I call you that?"
He nodded in the affirmative. But possibly his contented slouch and half-lidded gaze conveyed a more than a minor level of lusty approval. In any case, his Slayer ladylove moved her palm a bit higher on his thigh than might be warranted in polite company before digging her pointy and exquisitely strong fingers into the flesh of his leg. Happily, he was not someone who worried about proper deportment.
Either unaware or unconcerned with Spike's momentarily delightful discomfort, Lydia charged onward with an almost conspiratorial delight in her voice. "Spike, were you an actual ghost?"
He paused for a tic, then decided he didn't mind if the Watcher's Council knew about this aspect of his unlife. Besides, it was a chance to talk about himself. Shrugging, he said, "Dunno, but I don't think so. I wasn't reliving some event over-and-over. 'Sides, although I was tethered, as it were, to the evil lawyers' building with Angelus and his crew, every day was different and I could roam and bother people at will. Beyond that, Fred said I was manifesting some different, non ghosty ectoplasmic energy. Didn't catch details beyond that."
"This 'Fred,' is he available to help fill in the approach taken?"
His lips pressed together. "She. Fred was a sweet lady. Was killed by Illyria the Merciless, an Old One who escaped the Well." He finished his scotch and banged his empty glass on the table. "Before you ask, Watchers Council declined to help," he concluded in a dark voice that those who knew him recognized as very dangerous.
At least Buffy did. She turned to him and wrapped her arms around him in an awkward but heartfelt hug. "I'm sorry about your friend. I swear, yet again, that Giles never told me about that."
"Thanks, love," he murmured as she released him.
At the same time, the voice on the phone said, "Wait, Giles knew and did nothing?" People who knew the red witch might recognize her tone as dangerous, as well.
"'TIs true, Red. To be fair, it was because Angel asked. Lot of bad blood there."
Buffy crossed her arms. "And no trust at all for the aforementioned Evil Lawyers R Us, which I actually understand. Even so, I'd have preferred to have known about 'Surprise Apocalypse for $500" before I ran into it. Like literally."
The phone beeped, alerting them that it was almost out of battery power. Lady Tweed, resourceful Watcher that she was, pulled up a handbag that looked, to Spike's eyes, like a country doctor's medical kit from the turn of the century. As she started digging through its contents for a charger, Willow and Buffy exchanged phone numbers they could use to keep in touch. They also arranged for Willow to join the upcoming session with old Rupes.
They finished just in time, as the cell phone beeped a few times and then shut down. Spike began to rub light circles along Buffy's shoulders to calm the tension she had started to radiate.
Sighing, she turned to him, "I guess that's our cue of the phone-ish variety. We're going to need to see Giles about the Willow-and- mom swappage thingy. Do you mind driving back to the compound?"
He smirked. "Love, anyone who's been a passenger in one of your cars would insist that I do."
"Blood-sucking brat," she exclaimed with a hearty slap on his arm.
He couldn't help but laugh. As he did, he spied Xander staring at them with watchful eyes. He'd been uncharacteristically silent. At least Spike assumed the whelp was still as prone to unceasing blatherisms as always, even with his new and improved manliness. Instead, the lad's lips were pressed together as though keeping all his words behind the floodgate of his chompers.
Ever alert to minions who might prove likely to stymie one's plans from within, Spike decided it best to draw the boy out before they left. After all, it had been her plan in the first place, experienced general that she was.
With a subtle elbow bump against his lady's side, he caught her attention and drew her eyes toward Xander with the transit of his own gaze.
"You haven't said much tonight Xander. What's up? Just jet lag?" she asked.
Xander paused while pushing away his empty beer glasses. With his usual mix of jocular tone and judgmental, tense expression, he replied, "I guess it's just like the song says: only the good die young."
Not surprising, that. Spike shrugged as he spoke. "Me? Died young. Unlived a whole lot longer. Not sure goodness or its opposite was the cause of either. But I get your point."
"Do you?" The lad's expression had nothing of humor in it.
He felt Buffy inhale for a comment. Before she could speak, he said, "I know it doesn't help, but I'm truly sorry 'bout your bird. If I knew how, I'd have brought her back with me." He saw the muscles tightening in the boy's jaw and knew he was close to violence. Chipless and used to dealing with humans as peers by now, Spike knew he'd be able to stop the lad before he did much damage.
But he really did understand something about the boy's pain. In a softer voice, he added, "Brave, your Anya was. Not the least in that, after centuries seeing the worst in men, she dared everything to love you through good and bad. She really did, you know. Love you, that is."
Xander stood. practically vibrating with anger. "Don't talk to me about Anya. You have no right," he ground out. He looked for a moment as though he might rush forward and try to throw the first punch. Then he took a few deep breaths before turning to Buffy, who was also standing by this point. "Look Buff. I get why you're happy tonight. And I heard you loud and clear that Captain Peroxide, here, is your actual boyfriend now."
He looked slightly off to the side while he continued to speak. "I don't understand why. I may never. But I've spent a lot of lonely hours on the road thinking about the past few years. And what I finally do understand is that who I date is my business, who Wils dates is hers, and who you date is yours. Of course, all bets are off if either of your significant others tries to kill one of us, string up our pet fish or puppies, or whatever. Until then, I guess what I'm saying is: you do you. I'll learn to cope."
Spike felt a pulse of actual pride in the boy, overlaid by his happiness for Buffy who'd been waiting to hear that for far too long. In fact, she rushed over and embraced her tall, male friend.
"Xander, thank you. I really appreciate it."
"Ribs, Buff. Breathing. Needed."
"Oh, sorry," she cringed while releasing Xander. "I do mean it, though."
Looking down at her, he suddenly looked exhausted. "I know. Right now, though, I need a little space. Mind if I drive back by myself and meet you in Giles' office?"
"No, we have room for Lydia and Mrs. Rosenberg in our car."
"Doctor Rosenberg," the woman in Willow's body insisted while pushing her chair back to stand. "If I go with you, will there finally be any answers to why you say I'm in my daughter's actual body rather than being on a journey of personal, symbolic significance?"
"That's the plan," Buffy replied as she waved a temporary adios to Xander.
Spike was pretty sure that reassuring Willow's mum was not really part of Buffy's plan. He was also quite sure that her slight misdirection to keep the peace with the moody bird was well warranted.
"Then I'll go with you," Willow's mum announced, all regal-like with her chin in the air.
The woman's drama was blunted by the Watcher. "You don't mind if I tag along too?" she asked, eyes wide and starry behind her glasses.
Buffy picked up the bill and squinted at it. "Lydia, do you object to who I'm dating?"
"Oh my. Of course not, Miss Summers," she twittered.
"Are you planning to be all snippy with me?" Her eyes slid briefly toward Willow's mum.
"No, I'm not."
"Then come on along. But I call shotgun, so you're both in the back seat. Just behave yourselves."
"That's actually not a requirement, ladies," Spike purred, smirking, before Buffy whapped him heartily on his arm. A human would have a contusion. Spike merely had a smile.
"Behave. And, yes it is a requirement," Buffy grumbled as she stomped over to the bartender and settled their bill.
Seeing Willow's mum watching them through narrowed eyes, Spike took a step closer to her while murmuring, "Just havin' a spot of fun. This lot blows off a lot of steam but gets impossible things done. Learned that the hard way, myself."
"Hmm," she replied through pursed lips. Nevertheless, she turned to pull on Willow's stole. Lydia was already in her coat, purse clutched and ready to go. They all turned to leave the pub when Buffy returned, causing a couple old codgers trying to act casual while scrambling to follow them out of the pub. His Slayer simply scoffed and said "Watchers" under her breath.
Before long, they were in the car and Spike was driving them on dark, semi-rural roads toward the slightly ramshackle Edwardian estate where the Council had set up shop.
Spike ignored Willow's mum's whinging about the Scottish countryside, which he honestly found quite refreshing. He also mostly ignored the chatter about the challenges of running a worldwide organization within a school for Slayers, the amenities (or lack thereof) in the estate, and the speculation on why Giles had selected this location from the old Council's apparently extensive portfolio of holdings.
Finally, as they passed the estate's sign, announcing itself as "Laconia Private Academy and Day School," Lady Watcher leaned forward. "Spike, if I may ask. How did you manage to become corporeal again? After being an ectoplasmic projection, or ghost as you say?"
"Not really sure," he replied, sure that she had pulled her steno pad out, once more, to capture tasty tid-bits for Watcher posterity. "All the theories about why and who came from folks I never trusted. All I know is what I saw. Seems another package got delivered to Gramps, that's Angelus to you. Someone opened it, causing a big flashy, claws-on-a-chalkboard rumpus that turned everyone temporarily mad. And then, there I was, all corporeal again, with all the power-ups and dubious treasures I've collected in regular play, over the years. Simple as that."
"I do wish there were someone who knew more of the mechanism. A vampire coming back after true death is quite unprecedented."
"Not so much," Buffy murmured. "Hell returned Angel once. No gift receipt, missing parts list, or anything. It was after Acathla," she added, looking at Spike.
His brow drifted upward in thought. "Still have no clue why they spat him out. He's evil enough to hang with all the evil baddies. Proved that often enough."
"He claimed it was the Powers that Be, sending him back for greatness. I'm not convinced anymore. It seems to me like the First took more active interest in vamps with souls than the PtBs."
"Would be a better explanation for Angelus," he nodded.
After a moment of scribbling from the backseat, Lady Watcher asked, "If I may… why do you call him Angelus? I thought he used the name 'Angel' these days."
Spike scoffed. Taking a turn onto the driveway leading to the Council's main building, he said, "The Great Forehead could call himself Lord Muck of the Holy Hairgel for all I care. He's always been Angelus to me. Same demon whatever name he uses."
As he finished speaking, he pulled to a stop in the car park outside the estate's central manse. "Well, here we are, ladies. Last stop, Watcher-land."
Buffy sighed. "I guess I have to stop with the avoidy thing and actually go inside."
"You know I'll have your back, Slayer. Always will do." By that point he'd exited the car and scooted to her side. With an out of date, gentlemanly gesture that matched the era of the house, he escorted her out of the car.
"I know. I have all the support I need," she affirmed, linking arms with him.
The two ladies trailed them up the stairs into the slightly decrepit building. According to them, it was still all swoony-like and worthy of a Romance novel cover. In his opinion, it reminded him of the many country houses he'd visited while he was still trapped in William's dreary life. Full circle, this was.
Through whatever Watcher network existed, their arrival had been announced. A set of young, female faces peered down from the second story. One of the Sunnydale Slayers, named Vi if he recalled correctly, threaded her way through the youngsters and galloped down the stairs.
"Buffy, welcome back! Oh, oh, and Spike too!" The red-haired Slayer threw herself at both of them in an awkward, elbow filled hug. Stepping back, she said, "Hey Willow, how was the get-away?"
Buffy pulled away from Spike and waved for her attention. "Vi, is Giles around? We have a situation and need to meet."
Roderick Baker, the more spry of the two Watchers who'd followed them home from the pub, stepped forward to say, "I'll alert him. He may still be in the office."
"Great," Buffy said. "Have him meet us in the conference room that's nearest his office." At the Watcher's curious look, she insisted, "I'm Head Slayer and I'm calling the meeting. He can get out of his chair and join us."
"Understood," the unctuous man nodded and turned in his best Jeeves fashion before striding to a hallway visible from the entrance. He passed Faith, who was coming toward her sister Slayer's party.
"Hey B. Long time, no see. Hey big guy. Dawn let slip you were back with the un-living. How's it hangin'?" In days gone by he would've answered that she'd be able to answer her own question by looking just a bit further below the belt. Having gotten marginally smarter over the past couple of years, he remained silent knowing Buffy would probably pop him one in the schnoz.
During his little meditation on how to not get a punch in the nose, Faith had moved closer. In a half whisper, she asked, "What's the news from LA? It's radio silence here, and it's killing me."
Buffy murmured her reply so low that, if he weren't a vampire, he likely wouldn't have heard. "It was a situation of the majorly effed-up variety. I'll tell you more later but Cliff Notes for now are: Angel made it but Wes didn't. Spike did, but only barely so."
Once again he reached over to sooth her shoulders. With a quick buss to her ear, he said, "Spike's right here, love. Knowing you were there was all I needed to return to the un-living."
Before Buffy could reply, the entry doors reopened. This time, Xander stepped through with Dawn, who had managed to cajole the hapless fellow into carrying some of her luggage from her taxi.
"Oh my God," she cried in one of the Dawn Summers vocal registers that no other human female could achieve. "Spike, you made it." Dropping the bags and luggage she'd been carrying in a pile at Xander's feet, she raced over and practically leapt onto Spike. "I missed you. You're my only vampire older brother. You don't dare die again." As tall as her proclaimed vampire brother, she was hugging him and punching him in the shoulder at the same time. A vamp could get confused.
He wasn't the only one. From the entryway, Xander grumbled, "Today she leaps into his arms. A year ago, she was going to set him on fire while he slept."
"That was before," Dawn dismissed his comment with an arched eyebrow and a meaningful toss of her long hair. "We've talked since then. We're good." Turning to Spike, she added, "But don't make the mistake. I'm still scarier than you."
"No argument, Nibblet."
After he convinced a couple of the junior Slayers to take Dawn's luggage to her room, Xander approached Buffy's increasingly large entourage. "How is it that Dawn knew about Spike before Willow and me?"
"She's my sister, Xander. I tell her things sometimes even before I've said them to myself." She paused, "Well, that made more sense in my head, but you know what I mean."
Showing that he'd grown a bit in the past year, Xander simply exhaled. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Sisters before misters, and all that."
Faith kept her lips conspicuously closed, not fessing up to the fact that Dawn had told her about Spike already, too. Apparently she'd also gotten a bit more discretion since Sunnydale.
Ah, the kiddies were growing up.
As if to hammer that point home, Vi came over to Dawn. "What did you think of Oxford?"
Feeling a wrinkle sneaking up between his brows, he leaned toward the Slayer. "I know she's more than smart enough, but Bitty Buffy's old enough to be in Oxford already?" He was wondering if he'd lost more time than he'd previously thought while being suspended in his Liz Taylor's bling.
"It was like a pre-first-year week visit. With her grade point, and remaining Watcher influence, she's eligible for one of the seats that used to be reserved for the Council."
Their extended Scooby reunion was interrupted by Andrew Wells running from the back hallway like a bat out of a hell dimension that favored knock-off dusters just like Spike's. Spike sidestepped the lad as he seemed about to repeat Dawn's diving leap into vampire arms. Windmilling his arms as he regained his balance, he crowed, "Spike, you made it! The Fellowship is finally complete!"
"Take a chill pill, Andrew," Dawn said with a conspicuous glance toward the heavens. Or at least toward the ornate ceiling.
"Maximum chill level achieved," he replied crisply, in a fake computer voice. Turning toward Buffy, he said, "Mr. Giles sent me to let you know he agrees to your meeting request. You may follow me."
"Andrew, unless you moved the meeting rooms, I already know where I'm going." Grumbling she added, "And if he didn't agree, he'd have gotten a fun-time reminder of how a Slayer is strong enough to pick him up and discus throw him into the conference room."
While Spike whispered naughty sweet nothings into his lady's ear, Xander moved to intercept Willow's mum. The woman, in Willow's body, had been drifting back to the main entry door, mumbling, "Maybe this isn't a personal symbolic vision. Maybe somebody slipped hallucinogens into the water at my conference."
"No, Mrs. R. This is all real. Come on and meet with the rest of the group and we'll get started." He gently began steering her by the elbow.
Buffy reached for Spike's hand as she strode toward the conference room, Dawn following closely behind. The rest of their entourage followed a bit less slowly, hindered by the zig-zag path followed by Xander and Willow's mum. Andrew provided the opposite of assistance by narrating his florid version of today's events to Lady Tweed and choleric, elderly Watcher who Spike was pretty sure was the fellow Buffy had referred to as a mummy.
Buffy and Dawn strode into the conference room in a united front, followed by Spike. They found Giles already seated at the end of the table. Despite the late hour, old Rupes was still wearing a jacket, albeit a wrinkled one, with his ledger arranged "just so" next to him. From Spike's perspective, he was ready to carve the roast, toast the hangers-on, and hand out holiday bonuses to staff.
Buffy's body language went from warrior to killer in under ten seconds. Dawn's expression was only slightly less stony. They both sat conspicuously at the other end of the conference table.
"I see that the confounded rumor was true," Buffy's former Watcher intoned as his stony gaze followed Spike's passage into the room.
"Good on you, Watcher. You finally got those glasses of yours all spic-n-span, yeah?" With a flourish of his coat, he sat next to his Slayer.
"Giles, cut the crap. You knew Spike was back at least a month before I found out. You just didn't tell anyone. And you can be sure that we'll be talking about that later."
By that time, the rest of the assorted Scoobies, Watchers, and body-swapped mum had appeared in the doorway, from where Buffy waved them in. Looking back at Giles, she concluded, "But that's not why we needed to meet. We actually have a body-swap sitch to figure out and fix."
Interestingly, Faith's heartbeat had sped up at Buffy's words. Spike's brow rose; this meeting could be even more interesting than he'd imagined. Too bad it was too late to dodge out for a bit of popcorn and O-Pos.
Meanwhile, Buffy had leaned forward and begun dialing a number on the fancy conference room phone on the table.
"Hello. Goddess, please say this is Buffy." Willow picked up the call, still in her mum's body.
"Yup Wils, this is Buffy. I have you on the Bat-phone in the big conference room." Looking up, Buffy gestured her hand gracefully toward Willow's form. "Giles, meet Willow's mom, Doctor Sheila Rosenberg," she said with no evident sarcasm in her voice. Then, pointing at the phone, she continued, "And, say hello to Willow, who's in California right now, in her mother's body."
"Oh dear lord," Head Tweed on Deck exclaimed while he pulled off his glasses for a righteous polish.
"Yes, and you people keep saying my daughter and I are in each other's bodies. If that's true, I want it fixed."
"Yes ma'am. Quite." Rupes returned his eyewear to his nose. "When did this happen, may I enquire?"
Willow's mum snorted. "Yes you may. And you all need to stop dilly-dallying around."
"Mom, I got this," Willow interrupted over the phone. "Scottish time, Kennedy had just been picked up for the airport, so it was right around nine at night. And it was slightly after lunch here in Palo Alto."
"Yes, right after my presentation concluded," Willow's mum added.
"Well, this is interesting. The last body-swap situation we encountered was facilitated by an artifact that required both parties to touch it at the same time. That would not seem to be the scenario here."
Spike tucked away the juicy information that the Watcher's eyes darted between Faith and Buffy as he spoke, and that Faith's heartbeat was still elevated at fight-or-flight level.
"Given that, Willow have you been able to do any spellwork to help you determine the cause of this peculiar situation?"
At his side, Buffy shifted. "Right now, Willow doesn't have her usual uber-wiccan magic skills. And her mom can't access them either. We tried. Since Willow's abilities are one of our secret weapons, I didn't want to reach out too broadly before checking in to find out what our resources are, here."
"A sensible decision," Giles replied. Both he and Buffy were ignoring the assorted Watcher and Slayer heads turning back and forth between them as though at an invisible tennis match. "Well, it's a good thing we have Gwennyth apRhys resident at the compound at the moment. Andrew, if you would be so kind, would you go and ask one of the available Watchers to check with her, to see if could join us? Also, please bring the catalog of references to transformations and swapping."
"On it, Boss," Andrew said as he pushed his chair back, stood, and moved his hand in something like a salute.
Giles exhaled in a breathy, practiced expression of annoyance. Then, collecting himself, he turned toward the very elderly Watcher in the room. "MacCallan, I believe this is actually an area that you and Simmons-Bryce delved into years ago when we recovered that set of Mayan codexes. If you still have knowledge of that research, we would benefit from a synopsis."
"Certainly. Steel trap up here, you know." The man tapped the silver fringe around his bald pate.
"I'm so relieved," Buffy mumbled at vampire volume, causing Spike to snort.
Giles focused on him, probably looking for excuses to chain his vampire meeting companion in a nearby bathtub. He began to say something, but was interrupted by a hissing boom that rattled the walls. And that knocked out the lights in the room.
"Oh, bloody hell." Buffy's former Watcher did manage to say something, after all. Spike enjoyed the Ripper-esque edge that had crept into the man's voice. One could find out interesting things about someone when they were stranded in the dark.
"Not again," prissy Miss Watcher added her dismay, as Willow's mum huffed. "This is madness," she said.
"People, what's happening?" Willow said from the now spectral, sleeping-bat-shaped conference phone on the table.
"We popped a breaker again. Wired power's out temporarily."
"The phone is still working," Willow volunteered, although it was rather obvious by that point.
"Rupes, you gotta start paying the squirrels and pine martens more to run on those power-generating conveyor belts tucked in the cellar."
"Yes, thank you for that sublimely constructive idea that's absolutely no help whatsoever."
"Any time. By the way, how long do these 'let's pretend we're in hell' type blackouts tend to last?" Spike waved his hands airily, although he suspected he was the only one in this room who actually had enough night vision to see them.
"Usually only about ten or maybe fifteen minutes," offered the wannabe librarian Watcher, whose name he now knew was Lydia.
"Thanks pet," he said.
Meanwhile, Willow's mum was getting close to going off the trolley again. "Cripes! Could this whole day, or night, be any more weird?"
About six voices, in unison, called out, "Don't ask that!"
…
To be continued...
END NOTES
This second chapter fulfills the following Challenge Prompt(s) for the 2022 Elysian Fields Mystery Month Challenge.
1. Side Character Prompt: Dawn
"Oh my God," she cried in one of the Dawn Summers vocal registers that no other human female could achieve. "Spike, you made it." Dropping the bags and luggage she'd been carrying in a pile at Xander's feet, she raced over and practically leapt onto Spike. "I missed you. You're my only vampire older brother. You don't dare die again." As tall as her proclaimed vampire brother, she was hugging him and punching him in the shoulder at the same time. A vamp could get confused.
2. Location/Setting Prompt: A Blackout
"Any time. By the way, how long do these 'let's pretend we're in hell' type blackouts tend to last?" Spike waved his hands airily, although he suspected he was the only one in this room who actually had enough night vision to see them.