Authors Note: sorry this part was so long (and I mean long coming) to anyone whose been reading this story, and I realise that isn't many of you. Still, it's here now and hopefully, God willing and writers block preventing, the whole thing should be done soon. Thank God.

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER

ODIUM

CHAPTER SIX: REINTRODUCTIONS

"What the hell are you doing here?" Buffy asked, relaxing slightly at the sight of her mysterious friend. Marcus' smile broadened.

"Same old Buffy. No thanks for saving your life last time and no hello for an old friend this time." She gave him a slight grin.

"Same old Marcus, always avoiding the question." She said, dropping her defensive stance and straightening up.

"I like to keep you guessing." Said Marcus, mirroring her movements. Behind her, Buffy could still hear the sound of combat.

"Do you think it would be too much trouble for me ask you to stop your meatheads pounding on my friend over there?" Marcus glanced past her, presumably at Spike who was lying on the floor, helpless against his human opponents who were now repeatedly banging his head on the ground.

"Hey!" Marcus shouted, "Would you two give it a break and go and guard the front of the building or something. These are our friends." The two men glanced at one another, shrugged and clambered to their feet, leaving a bewildered Spike in a heap on the floor.

"Would someone care to tell me what the bloody hell is going on?" he demanded in an irate manner as he clambered to his feet and dusted himself down.

"It's alright Spike," Buffy said without looking at him. "Marcus here is on our side."

"Our side!" said Spike, sounding more than a little dumbfounded. "The Reaver is on our side!"

"Did the beating give you brain damage or something?" Buffy said, whirling around to face the vampire. "Marcus kills vampires, and so do we, hence my use of the term 'on the same side'" Spike simply glared at her.

"No need to get uppity, missy." He said and made his way over to examine the sword. Buffy shook her head. Spike was a constant source of irritation to her, and yet, no matter how much he annoyed her, she just couldn't bring herself to stake him. She was so used to him now that whenever she thought about the possibility that she might one day be gone, it actually scared her a little. In some weird way she knew she'd miss him. Toward the back of the room, Willow appeared at a flight of stairs that lead up to the second floor. She looked slightly stunned by the rapid dissipation of her fog spell, but otherwise fine.

"Well," said Buffy, turning her attention to Marcus again, "are you going to tell me what you're doing here or not."

"I think you know what I'm doing here."

"Well I'm guessing that it has something to do with King and his precious little bauble here." She said, nodding toward the sword at the back of the room. Marcus and King had a bitter streak a mile wide and it seemed that wherever King went, Marcus was never far behind. 

"You're bang on with that one." Came the voice of the British man she had heard before. He was fairly tall, though Marcus still dwarfed him. His sandy coloured hair was short and neatly trimmed while His eyes held a slightly haggard look that belied his cheery exterior.

"And who are you?" she asked, not even trying to hide her suspicions. Other than Giles, Buffy couldn't remember meeting anyone from Britain who had been entirely trustworthy, although to be fair, that rule applied to a lot of the people she met.

"Simon Gibson." He said with a broad smile that revealed his solid rows of strong teeth. "And I'm very glad to meet you Miss Summers." He extended his hand. Buffy didn't take it.

"You're a Watcher aren't you?" She said, staring at him accusingly. The smile disappeared as he withdrew his hand and returned her level gaze without even flinching.

"In a manner of speaking." He said. His voice had changed at her impoliteness and no longer carried its cheerful edge. Buffy frowned. There was something about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on. His steady gaze seemed made feel surprisingly naked, almost as if he could see right through her. He certainly wasn't what she had come to expect from the Watchers. Despite his apparent youth, she could tell he was much older, perhaps even as old as Giles.

"So you're here to stop King getting his undead mitts on Odium." She said to Marcus, then turned back to Gibson. "That still doesn't explain to me why the Watchers Council have a hand in this."

"It's a long…" Gibson winced slightly and Marcus was immediately at his side.

"What is it?" the Reaver asked, his voice urgent. "What do you hear?" Gibson rubbed his forehead, seemingly dispelling the pain as Buffy watched in confusion. What the hell was going on?

"It's him." Gibson said finally. "He's coming."

"If him means King," said Spike, sounding a little more agitated at the mention of the vampire that had wiped the floor with him, "then I suggest we snatch up big black over there and do a runner." Buffy raised her hand.

"That motion is seconded." She turned and began to make for the sword.

"Hang on!" said Gibson, stepping between her and the sword. "Where are you going to take it?"

"The Magic Box." Said Buffy in reply.

"That knackered old ruin that passes for a magic shop!" Gibson said, his voice growing darker with every passing second. "What makes that place any safer than here." Buffy rounded on the irritating man, her voice brusqe and to the point.

"Because right now, King is on his way here, rather than there." She was about to take a threatening step closer, when she felt an invisible force close around her throat. It was as if some unseen hand was choking her. Her eyes searched desperately for the source of her unseen aggressor. Then they fell on Gibson.

"I cannot allow you take the sword." His voice rang with a presence it hadn't possessed before, his eyes ringed around the edges with a slight tinge of black. "Not without your firm assurance that it will not fall into his hands." She felt the pressure on her throat ease a little, allowing her to breathe more easily. 

"Well?" he sounded like a stern old man expecting an apology from a child who had done wrong.

"You have my..." before she could finish she felt the invisible grip disappear. She sagged and immediately felt Willow and Spike at her side, helping her regain her footing as she gasped for air. She glared up at him in fury but his attention wasn't even on her. He was watching Willow, a look of mild surprise spreading across his face.

"Well then," he said, sounding a little stunned, "So long as that's settled I suggest we do as your bleached friend here suggests and make with the sword while the going's good."

*****

The alarms of the museum echoed shrilly around the main hall, the sound bouncing back and forth from wall to wall, and hurling itself down corridors with gay abandon. The sound didn't bother King. His boots thudded heavily along the marble floor as he moved from one room of the museum to the other, searching for the sword. His sword. The sword that he had long thought lost. That blade was the only physical possession in the world that meant anything to him. Money was pointless, a frivolity that only humans and lesser creatures of the night chose to indulge themselves in. Some would argue that in these modern days that wasn't true and that money was power. Despite his title, King didn't care much for power. If he needed it, it was his, and anything that stood in his way had better move. What need had he for followers? He believed in power for oneself through purity of goals and spirit, not power over others by backstabbing and political manoeuvring.

At the end of the corridor stood a large set of double doors. He had the feeling they were locked. Without even slowing he reached out and pushed the doors. There was a brief sound of metal bolts snapping under the stress and then they flew apart as if they had never even been locked. The moment the doors were open he scanned the room. It was a large open hall, roughly three stories high, with balconies from the upper levels over looking the main room. A series of exhibits inside glass cases lined the walls, glittering softly in the light from above. The exhibit at the back of the room had been broken into. Slowly he moved toward it, his eyes taking in every detail, no matter how small. Shards of glass from the shattered case covered the floor, each one looking wickedly sharp in the harsh light of the overhead lamps. He stared at the board that identified the exhibit, which included a black and white photo of the sword. His sword. Carefully he leaned forward and picked up one of the larger shards of glass from the shattered case, sniffing the air as he did so. He knew those scents. He turned the glass over in his hands, staring at the sharp edge. The stench of the dead he knew all too well. He had smelt it often in his long life and never more than when that lecherous Reaver had been around. The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall toward him.

"Hold it right there!" came a loud voice that held an air of authority. King turned to catch sight of a broad man clutching a powerful looking revolver in bother hands, aimed squarely at the small of his back.

"I'd point that toy somewhere else if I was you." He sneered in derision as he turned back to examine the glass more closely. He heard the sound of the weapons hammer clicking back into place. Without thinking he stood, pivoting on his heel and hurling the sharp piece of glass across the room in one smooth motion. It buried itself in the mans throat with only the tiniest sliver of material remaining above the flesh. The stranger stumbled backward, appearing more shocked than anything else. He was still trying to speak when his legs gave way from underneath him and he collapsed to the floor.

"I did warn you." King said, striding across the room, the scent of perfume wafting into his nostrils. To a vampire, whose sense of smell was already incredibly acute, the scent of her perfume was almost maddening.

"So Slayer," he hissed in annoyance as he walked out of the room, "You have yourself a bargaining chip." He reached into his pocket and pulled a torn fragment of a photograph into the light. Pictured on it, the Slayers bratty little sister.

"But then again," he smiled "so do I."

*****

Buffy hurried over the dull tarmac of the road surface, heading toward Giles' car. The others followed, quickly trying to put as much distance between themselves and the museum as was possible. Just before she reached the car, she saw Gibson and Marcus angle off and head for another vehicle further down the street.

"Hey!" she shouted, "where are you going?"

"You think there's enough room for us in that thing?" Said Gibson, pointing at Giles' roadster, "We'll take mine, and follow you." Buffy shrugged. She'd have preferred Marcus to be nearby in case King showed up, but Gibson was an entirely different matter. He gave her an uneasy feeling down in the pit of her stomach, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Whatever you say." She turned and clambered into the car. Giles was sat in the drivers seat, straining to see through the windscreen at the two figures as they made their way for the second car. She felt shift slightly on its suspension as Willow and Spike clambered into the back seats.

"We got the sword Giles." She said. He glanced over at her distractedly.

"Sorry?"

"I said we got the sword." His eyes span to stare at the mysterious black bladed weapon that lay flat across her knees.

"Well I guess we'd better take it back to the Magic Box and figure out our next move." Buffy nodded.

"And we need to be quick about it." Giles frowned.

"Why?"

"Kings in there right now, and probably none too happy that we just stole his favourite toy."

"Ah." Said Giles, kicking the car into gear and pulling smoothly away. Buffy couldn't help but notice him craning to see if he could see the drivers of the other car.

"What's wrong?" she asked. Giles turned to look at her, seemingly startled.

"Sorry?" he said, looking a little embarrassed.

"What are you looking at?" Giles glanced back over his shoulder at the other car following them.

"I thought I saw someone I recognised." He said.

"You know him!" Willows voice rang with surprise.

"Know who?" said Giles, sounding confused.

"The guy in the car behind us." Said Buffy. "Marcus is with him and he claims he's a Watcher."

"Not just a Watcher." Said Willow shaking her head. "He's got power, and a great deal of it." Giles' brow furrowed at that.

"Willow," he said slowly, "just how much power would you say this man has? Does he qualify as a Warlock?" Willow nodded slowly.

"I've never felt anything like it." She said. "When I placed a ward around Buffy, he could have batted it aside without even thinking. The only reason he didn't was because he was surprised."

"That was a spell he was casting on me!" said Buffy, shocked that she hadn't thought of it sooner. A Warlock?

"What was his name?" said Giles, looking between them both. "It's important that you try and remember."

"He's called Gibson." Said Spike. "Creepy guy too." Giles nodded to himself.

"I thought so."

"So you do know him." Said Buffy staring at Giles in surprise. Giles nodded again.

"All too well."

"What's he like?" said Willow, her voice strangely eager.

"I haven't seen him in a long time." Said Giles, his voice disapproving "He may have changed but I doubt it."

"You sound like you hate the bloke." Said Spike.

"I don't hate him." Said Giles, glancing in the rear view mirror at the blonde vampire. "I just don't trust him."

"Why?" asked Willow, "Whose side is he on?" Giles' answer was chillingly simple.

"His own."