Chapter Seventeen: A History of Twentieth Century Vampires - Part Two

A few hours later, Spike was sitting at the table in the kitchen, his head bent down, a mug held firmly between his hands. He was staring into a cup of warm pig's blood, trying to decide whether or not he should drink it.

Eventually, he heard the familiar sound of Buffy's footsteps padding into the room. But he didn't look up.

Buffy eyed Spike curiously, and then shrugged. She got herself a hot cup of coffee and sat down in the chair beside him. "Okay, so you wanna tell me what that's all about? Is there a magic leprechaun or something in there?"

He looked up at her. "I thought you didn't believe in leprechauns?"

"Oh please, Spike," she said, rolling her eyes and sliding the mug away from him. Before he could stop her, she looked down and saw what he'd been staring at. "Oh," she said weakly.

"Yeah," he said, pulling the mug back across the table and settling it between his hands. "I can't stop thinking about it. I know that sounds insane . . ."

"No." she said succinctly. "I don't think so. You've been drinking the stuff for like, what? Three years now? Not insane at all," she reassured him.

Spike cocked a questioning eyebrow at her and then pushed the mug away. "Well that settles it," he said, as he got up from the table and went to make himself some hot chocolate.

Buffy picked up the mug he had left and looked at its contents again. She brought it up to her nose and inhaled the pungent aroma, wriggling her nose in irritation. No, there would definitely not be anymore pig's blood in the house. She brought the mug over to the sink and prepared to empty the contents.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked him.

"Yeah, I'm sure. There are still some things I can do, even as a human. That's just not one of them."

He returned to the table with his fresh mug, and Buffy followed him.

"Spike?" she began hesitantly.

"Yeah pet?"

"You wanna tell me about the scar?"

"What?" He unconsciously brought his hand up to his eyebrow.

Buffy covered his hand with her own, gently pulling his hand away from his face so she could examine the wound again. Lightly, she traced it with her finger. "I know why you did it, I just . . ."

"It's all right," he whispered. "Didn't hurt."

Buffy leaned forward a little and brought her lips to his tender flesh. She knew he wanted to prove that he was still a monster, but she hoped he didn't destroy the man inside of him in the process. "I love you," she whispered against his temple. "Don't ever hurt yourself again."

* * *

As Buffy and Spike communed in the kitchen, Dawn was curled up on the couch in the living room, her arms wrapped around a book, reading. She knew Giles had told her to skip the research. And hey? She had no problem with that. But she wasn't doing research. Not important research, anyway. In fact, she actually felt more like she was snooping.

Absently, Dawn reached out her arm to grab her mug of hot cocoa off the end table. She brought it to her lips, took a sip, and put it back down again, all without taking her eyes off the book, A History of Twentieth Century Vampires.

Dawn was riveted. She knew Buffy had said there probably wasn't anything important in the book, but still, Dawn was curious. She was reading about Spike's time in China, what little was known about it. Then she traced the history of his career up through the next century, to his time in Sunnydale.

Some of what the book said was a little ridiculous. Dawn couldn't quite believe that Spike's animosity toward Angelus came from an infatuation with Darla. Puhleeze! Where did these stuffy authors get this stuff? Spike and Angel had enough reasons to hate each other without bringing yet another woman into it. If the author had only known. Wouldn't that have made a great volume? The Sunnydale Slayer and the Vampires Who Loved Her.

Dawn giggled at her own cleverness as she turned the page and scanned the new content.

There was a brief summary of what had been previously stated. "Railroad spikes," she mumbled absently to herself, "Evil, psychotic vampire skank . . . yadda, yadda, yadda . . . China . . . New York . . . Sunnydale. Hmm." Dawn stopped talking to herself and read the last couple of paragraphs.

"The Origins of William the Bloody," she read the title of the section aloud. The rest she read to herself.

There has been great speculation as to the human identity of the vampire known as William the Bloody. Little is actually known about him. All that is known for certain is that he was British and living in London at the time of his turning. These facts have led to speculation that the human William may have in fact been . . .

"Jack the Ripper? Oh come on." Dawn rolled her eyes. "Give me a break." Shifting the book in her lap, she went back to reading.

. . . even though it is generally believed that William the Bloody first appeared on the scene in 1880, eight years before the Whitechapel Murders.

Others believe that he began his human life as a railroad engineer named William Blythe, who died that same year. Still others point to evidence that he was a mild-manner gentleman, named William James, who was living in London at the time, and who died just one week before the first reported sighting of the legendary vampire.

This last candidate seems highly unlikely, as the evidence linking him to William the Bloody is superficial at best. However, it is a favorite theory among some researchers, because it has been discovered in recent years, that William James was, in fact, a distant relation of the Giles line, an ancient family of Watchers. The irony seems to be the only substantial link between him and the vampire.

Dawn nearly dropped the book. "What the . . .?" She read the last paragraph again. "Oh . . . my . . . God."

Nearly knocking her hot chocolate to the floor, Dawn jumped off the couch and raced into the kitchen where she knew Spike and Buffy were. She found them sitting at the island table, Buffy was touching Spike's face, staring into his eyes. Apparently, she was interrupting a moment.

They both turned to look at her.

"Why didn't you tell me you were related to Giles?" Dawn asked, in a frantic rush.

"What?" Spike looked at her like she was insane.

"Why didn't you tell me that you were related to Giles? Look," Dawn opened the book up to the offending page and shoved it at him.

Spike's cool blue eyes scanned the text quickly. She saw him do a double take. "Bollocks!" he cursed.

"I don't think so," Dawn said harshly.

Buffy took the book from Spike and read it for herself. "Do you think it's true?" she asked him.

"How the bloody hell would I know?" He got up from the stool and started pacing the kitchen cagily. "Sometimes I can barely remember my own last name, it's been so long. You think I'd remember something as stupid as this? A distant great-great-grand-something-or-other named Giles? Please."

"Well apparently they've done research," Dawn pointed out.

He turned and glared at her. "And you should know better than to believe everything you read."

"Maybe Giles would know what's going on," Buffy suggested.

"Oh yes, let's call the great poncey Watcher in and ask him for advice. Hey, maybe he can break out the old family album and convince me how much I look like dear old Uncle Stick-Up-His-Arse. That would be great."

"You don't have to be so rude about it. I assure you, I don't have any old uncles with sticks up their anything," Giles said, as he stepped into the kitchen from the living room.

"Giles!" Dawn exclaimed. "You knew about this?"

"Well, actually . . . no. When I left here last night, it was with the unsettling impression that I had, in fact, found your Watcher. I didn't want to alarm either of you, so I went back to Xander's and searched through a few old books, looking for any information on William the Bloody." He leveled his gaze at Spike pointedly. "It was then that I discovered the connection to my family, and realized that I had my proof."

"Proof of what?" Dawn asked, afraid she didn't want to know.

"No," Spike interrupted, his voice hard. He glared at Giles with murder in his eyes. "Don't say it."

Giles ignored him. "Proof that Spike is your Watcher."

"Bloody hell."

"What?!" Dawn exclaimed. "No. No. That's not possible."

Giles lowered himself wearily into the empty chair across from Buffy. "It is possible. It's more than possible in fact. It's the truth." He looked up at Dawn, offering her a painfully sympathetic look.

"I don't believe this," Spike growled. "I refuse to believe this." He stormed past the table and rounded on Giles. "If you think for one minute that I'm going to go along with this, you're crazy. I'd kill you all first."

He pulled away and stalked back over to the counter, giving himself some space.

"Splendid," Giles said.

"Buffy?" Dawn turned to her sister who had yet to say a single word.

Buffy was staring down at the table, her eyes slightly glazed. "Yeah?"

"What do you think?"

Buffy raised her eyes to look at her sister. The entire room was waiting on her answer. "I think it makes sense," she said calmly. "I think it's right, and it solves everything." She turned her head over her shoulder and looked at Spike.

"And why, exactly, does it do that?" Giles questioned.

"Because it gives Spike a purpose, and it gives Dawn one hell of a Watcher." She locked her eyes with Spike's. "I don't think she could be in safer hands."

Spike seemed physically moved by the sentiment. He pulled his eyes away from Buffy's and stared into the sink.

"Well," Dawn said, "that's just more good news to tell the gang. You know, I'm surprised no one's had a heart attack yet. This week has been full of way too many surprises."

"Well, let's pray that's the last of them," Giles said.

"Don't say that," Dawn countered. "You're going to jinx it."

"At this point? I'll risk it."