Hey. I'm back. Not sure how often I'll be updating, but I'll try for at least once a week. It's that stupid "School->College->Job->Not Living-In-A-Cardboard-Box" thing again. You know how it is.

If any of you people happen to live in Britain, would you mind cluing me in on some of the slang? 'Cause I don't, and it's sort of hard to write for three Brits without using slang at some point. Maybe make a little list, in order of "tamest --> most profane" or something. That would be great. And it would be for the good of the story, too.
Hope you're enjoying it so far.



Spike, sitting in European History, suddenly remembered why he usually skipped this class. It was bloody boring.

As the teacher, a guy with a toupee as natural as a yoga position, droned on, And on, And on, Spike started idle doodles in red pen, in the margin of his notebook.

He stopped when he realized he was drawing women. In dusters. He carefully exed out all the little figures, then started coloring in the exes, until he realized he was connecting the crossbars into hearts.

Damn damn*

He pulled out his black pen and carefully drew little ink stakes through the hearts. Then he labelled them 'Elizabeth the Black's Heart', and 'Dr. Point.' Then he drew little diagramic arrows, describing the path the stake would take through said heart.

There was a delicate little snort from his right.

His head spun, to see a brunette in complicated braids and a lot of blue leaning over her desk to see his little sketches.

He narrowed his eyes. "What're you lookin' at, Dru?"

Dru Cambridge, one of Willow's most devoted followers, flipped her hair. And raised her hand. "Mr. Kornicov? May I have another seat? I think Spike has some problems that could pose a threat to me."

Spike groaned and slumped down as far as he could into the little desk.

As soon as they left the library, Willow broke off from Angel and Faith and immediately put as much distance between them and herself as possible.

The two brunettes watched her retreating back.

Angel spoke first. "I don't know about you, but the last half~hour completely shook my world view."

Faith nodded, still watching Willow, who had already accumulated a small crowd of fashion zombies. "I know what you mean."

"The magic thing, and the 'intelligence' thing, and the 'actually able to carry on a conversation' thing..."

"Yeah. Weird."


After escaping from the alternate tortures of Faith, Angel, and Willow, Jenny slumped back in a library chair and briefly relished in the three hours she had to herself until Spike came back for his "studying."

Maybe she'd update the card catalogue, or something.

But then there was a footstep, and she leaned over to see who had just come in.

A petite blonde in black leather and ...more black leather was standing in front of the return desk.

Willow was right. She did have good hair.

Jenny could feel her heart speed. She'd never reach the door. The phone wouldn't help. The stakes were locked in a cabinet on the far side of the woman idly flipping through the late lists. Her crucifix was sitting on the counter next to the sink in her bathroom.

She was really, truly, going to die. Just like all the good Watchers do.

Damned if she was going to beg for mercy, either. It would be more convincing if she could will herself to breathe out.

Oh God. She was going to die.

"Can I help you?" It was the first thing she thought of, the only thing she could think of, in her mind~freezing panic. It wasn't so much spoken as croaked. The monster in the human face turned to her and smiled disarmingly.

"I'm looking for Spike Giles. I was told the schedule records are kept here."

So she doesn't know about me. "School's over."

"Oh, is it?" Buffy pouted. Then shrugged. "I guess that would explain the lack of students. And faculty. And witnesses..." As she spoke, she walked forword, intent on Jenny's neck.

The raven~haired librarian finally found the little switches in her brain that controlled voluntary muscles, and shot up from her seat.

"Bad blood," she said quickly. "I'm S~C anemic. You don't want me."

Buffy stopped, surprised. "How did you know--?" Her roving gaze took in the books on the table. With a smirk, she strode over and picked one up. She lifted with one hand a volume it had taken Faith and Jenny together to budge. Let's hear it for vampire strength.

"'A History of Master Vampires of the Eastern Hemisphere,'" she read. She looked up and raised an eyebrow at Jenny. She set the book down and hopped up on the table, swinging her booted feet. "So you'll be the Watcher, then. I guess that means I can't kill you."

As terrified as she was, Jenny couldn't help but marvel at the logic.

"Why not?"

"Well," Buffy leaned back, turning her head to the ceiling, and then back up. "For one thing, while I seriously doubt you have Sickle~Cell anemia, you're right. I don't want you. I want your little puppy." She smiled. "Tasty treat. And second, you'll most likely have the information I need."

Jenny realized something. "Day. It's day. How did you get here in the day?"

Buffy sent her a bland look. "Basement access is a marvel, isn't it though?"

"Ah." Jenny slowly shifted slightly away, backing up, towards the door.

"Especially in this town," Buffy continued. "It's like it was designed for creatures of the night."

"I, uh, hear it was, actually," Jenny managed to reply, all the while her head screaming Faster faster! Get us out of here! Run! Run!

Buffy nodded. "Huh. What can you tell me about the Orb of Weelo?" She started picking at her unpolished nails. There was dried brown under some of the nails. The possible explanations for that momentarily distracted Jenny from the question.

She blinked. "Did you say Orb of Weelo?"

"Uh huh."

"But that's--"

"I know. A legend. Humor me. Theoretically, if I had found one, and if I had all the ingredients in hand, how soon could I do it, for it to work right?"

Jenny Calendar was still vaguely aware of the fact that this was a blood~sucking killer here with her. But mostly she was caught up in the possibility of research.

"You realize what it does?"

Buffy shot her a withering look. "No, I thought I'd just turn the thing on and wait to see what happens."

"But why would you--"

"You really wouldn't like knowing, once I told you."

Cordelia examined her nail. Sighed. Set back to filing. Stopped. Checked again. Smoothed away a nearly non~existent rough.

She looked over at Xander. In life, or what had passed for life before she'd been turned, he had been her Watcher. She hadn't really thought about it much, in 70 years, but she supposed he probably wasn't officially a Watcher anymore, just like she wasn't a Slayer. Dying changes a lot of things.

But one thing is true.

Your fingernails keep growing when you're dead.

"Xander, what do you think? Curved or squared~off tips?"

It was like casting a question into the void. He made no indication of having even heard her. That hadn't changed, at least. He still ignored her, just like he had before Elizabeth the Black had gotten the best of both of them. It was just that the short interludes of meaningful conversation were gone now, leaving him always engaged in one long pause. She looked up at him briefly, stopping to admire his black~clad form slumped in the chair, and went back to work on her nails.

"Ah, here it is... Hmm. Looks like the lunar alignment's a pretty key factor... You'll have to wait until the new moon. Oh, but wait. There's a chart of prime sequences in here..."

Buffy looked up at the Watcher, rather amused. They had spent the last hour researching rituals tied to the Orb of Weelo.

She could have laughed out loud.

This was exactly what made them so frikkin' easy to kill. The way they were able to wrap their minds around researching dark ceremonies for the undead.

Their trust.

She decided to experiment, and got up, stalking to the other side of the table and leaning in to see the book, bringing her mouth into range of Jenny Calendar's exposed throat.

Wrapped in the wild throes of research, the Watcher didn't even notice.

She could kill her right now.

But the fangs didn't extend. Buffy pressed her lips together, and leaned back. Of course, it was only because she still needed information. It wasn't because this woman was the first person she'd had a real conversation with in several years.

She was not going soft.

She was just waiting for the Slayer.

She went back to her seat, and sat quietly while Jenny Calendar unravelled the mysteries of the molding text.

Spike and his father had a 'nice long chat.'

This involved Giles grilling Spike about 'Elizabeth', while Spike made up answers to hide the truth, which, amazingly, would probably only make things worse.

"So you've been deliberately hiding your relationship for --how long did she say? Six weeks?"

"...yeah?"

"Six weeks, behind my back."

"..yeah."

"I suppose it is unnecessary to tell you how disappointed I am in you."

"..."

Rupert looked about to tell him, unnecessary or not, but seeing his son's contrite expression, he moved on.

"Does she go to your school?"

"Er, no. She goes at ...Fairview."

"Have you met her parents?"

"No."

"Have you two..." The Brit gestured vaguely. Spike's brows knitted in confusion, until he caught Rupert's meaning.

"God, no!"

His father seemed relieved. "Well, that's a blessing, I suppose. But that didn't stop you from sneaking out without my knowledge, when under strict orders to remain in your room."

"Sorry, Da."

Rupert pulled off his glasses and ran a hand over his face. He looked ...weary.

"I've really tried to be a good parent, you know. All the bloody 'help' books are contradictory, and I've been trying to wing it, and I fear I may have erred somewhere, rather drastically. That I'm to blame."

Spike looked up from his lap. ".You?"

He ran a hand through his greying hair. "I just don't know. This - the fighting, the skipping, the dropping grades, the disobedience-- all started around of the divorce. You never behaved this way when your mother was around. What else could it be, but me?"

That wasn't how this was supposed to go. Spike stood. "Well, maybe it's me. Did you think of that, Da? Maybe I'm just screwed up."

Rupert regarded his son. "No. You're perfect. You've always been perfect. You just need direction that I can't give."

Spike's forehead creased.

Rupert took a deep breath.

"I think we should consider boarding school."

Hey, guys, what about pairings? Well, S/B, obviously, and it's already sort of X/C. But what about everyone else? Should Oz pop up somewhere? Who should get Angel? Riley's nonexistent, by the way. I've only actually seen one episode with Riley... I got into Buffy in the sixth season, then worked my way up from one through three. (Waiting for the DVDs!) I could always stick Darla in there somewhere, though.

Let me know what you think. I'm kind of writing blind. I have no plan. I am aimlessly wandering... Any direction is a good one. Well, most any direction. I'm not entirely into that suggestion about Buffy "making Spike her mate," but that's just me. Maybe it's the wording that sounds odd. Very "Animal Planet." ...I'm thinking something not so overtly ick, just yet. And I'd really rather that Buffy hadn't killed lots of people with soul intact. Keep with the suggestions, though, everybody. I think I'll use the cocoa idea, and I really need more.

~Star Mouse