CHAPTER ONE

Sunnydale, two months later, June 15th

He had no trouble finding them. They were gathered round one of their usual tables, waiting for the band. The red haired witch was drinking coffee, Harris was drinking beer, ditto Little Miss Vengeance. Blonde Mother Earth was sipping water, appropriately without the sparkle, and the little Trinket was drinking soda through a straw. Predictable, Spike thought with a smirk.

He knew them so well. Like a hunter who learns his prey, he had studied them. He knew their scents, their habits and haunts, and quite a few of their secrets, too. If he wanted them dead, setting them up would be a piece of cake. The thought made him smile.

"Spike! Over here," Dawn waved invitingly. The others did not look quite as welcoming.

He sauntered towards them. "Fancy meeting you lot here," he said with fake surprise. "Not playing the Game of Life tonight?" he asked, knowing full well that they didn't anymore because Anya always won.

"Nope! Partaking of some real life," Xander replied. "Which would be both more real and more life-y, if undead life forms didn't creep up on us all the time," he continued with a meaningful glare at the vampire.

"Who's creepin'?" Spike retorted with indignation. "Get real, Harris. Like I want your company, anyway. I only came over to say 'hi' to Dawn."

"Hey Spike," the teenager said.

He thought she looked pale and the smile she gave him was brave but feeble. They'd probably dragged the kid here to cheer her up. "Hello cutie!" he quipped back.

The others had to make do with a vague nod. "So, when's the band coming on?" He could always pretend he was here for the music, couldn't he?

They chatted for a bit - if trading insults could be called chatting. But he didn't hang out with them for long. Talk always became stifled when he was around, unless they were talking shop. That's why he soon reverted to his usual tactics: hovering in their vicinity, supposedly out of earshot, but occasionally eavesdropping on their conversations through his enhanced vampire hearing. Always on the outside, looking in.

He tried to enjoy the music, but it was much too civilized for his liking.

---

They watched with mixed feelings and a certain relief as the Big Bad of years past strolled towards the bar.

"No there's a guy I rather see going than coming," Xander said to no one in particular. "Chip or no, he gives me the creeps. I don't care how…" he stopped. He was going to say 'how heartbroken he was when Buffy died,' but realized just in time that Dawn was standing right next to him and that the whole purpose of this Scooby night out was to not remind her of death and Buffy in general, and dead Buffy in particular. "…how useful he's been. It's his nature to kill and one day he'll be able to, again. And when that happens he'll come after us like Angel did when he lost his soul."

"Well, he'll definitely come after you, Sweetie," Anya pointed out. "I don't think he's happy about the things you've called him. I never called him a monster."

"Thanks Anya," Xander complained, "I really love the subtle way you just put a mile between my fate and yours."

Dawn sighed. Xander was about as discreet about his reservations as a bill board. He never failed to express them when the vampire turned up. And he was so wrong. Spike would never hurt her, even without the chip. "Nature, huh?" she asked, not willing to let it go and hoping to keep Xander and Anya from arguing again. "So, it's the chip that made him promise to protect me?"

No that was his desire to get into Buffy's pants, Xander recounted mentally. But that was hardly the right thing to say to the teenager. "I don't know what he's up to, but it's bound to involve some major bloodshed. I'm just saying, we can't trust him. The way I see it, we're all top of the menu."

Willow and Tara exchanged an exasperated glance. Willow found herself secretly wishing there was a spell to make the people she cared about behave like responsible and sane adults, or maybe to just shut them up. She had enough on her plate without the constant bickering.

"Guys, guys," she tried to intervene. "We're here to have fun, right? Not to discuss Spike. If we talk about menus could we maybe stick to pizza toppings and not blood types?" Willow gave Anya a meaningful glare. "You know, stick to more pleasant things?"

The ex-demon frowned but relented. Forcing a cheerful smile she looked at Dawn. "How is the food at summer school?" She asked.

---

Congratulations!

Rupert Giles poured himself a stiff drink, courtesy of Quentin Travers. Not bothering with ice or soda he raised his glass in a mock salute to the absent Head of the Council and downed it in one go. It was an expensive spirit. According to the golden print on the fancy wooden box it had arrived in, the whiskey had matured in amontillado casks for over 25 years. But Giles was not in a mood to appreciate its dark color or its peaty flavor. All he was interested in was that strange state of mind that came from drinking until there was a 'click' and peace arrived where before there was turmoil.

Congratulations.

He took off his glasses and tossed them on the table in a gesture of disgust. They came to rest on a thick piece of stationary, handmade paper bearing the Council's letterhead.

Mr. Rupert Giles,
Congratulations. You and your Slayer, Buffy Summers, have performed your duties to our satisfaction. Although your methods have been considered questionable by the Council in the past, I never doubted your ability to lead your Slayer to victory. The demise of the Hellgod, Glory, will forever stand out in the annals of history as one of the most impressive triumphs the Council has ever been privy to.

I expect to have the opportunity to congratulate the Slayer in person, as I will be travelling to the States shortly, on other Council business.

Until Then,

Quentin Travers Esq.
Director, Watcher's Council

He poured himself another drink and knocked it back.

Congratulations. Victory. Triumph.

The inappropriateness of the words left a bad taste in his mouth. How about condolences, defeat, death? They were much more fitting.

He stared at the bottle for a moment, still waiting for that 'click'. It didn't come. Instead there were more words. Commitment. Responsibility. Duty. Legacy. Rupert Giles had always believed in the power of words. He allowed them to work their magic on him. He took a deep breath and resolutely walked to the kitchenette. As he poured the expensive liquor down the drain the turmoil in his mind was replaced not so much by peace but by resolve.

He wasn't certain what he'd do with the rest of his life, now that the inevitable had occurred, now that he was a Watcher without his Slayer, like so many before him. Some purpose would undoubtedly present itself sooner or later. Right now he was still needed here. And he sure as hell wasn't going to quit!

---

"...that Travolta guy got caught with his pants down only 'cause he didn't have the brains to quit, when he had the chance."

"So, what you're saying is that Tarantino is big into this redemption crap? I'm so not buying this..."

"Anyone who reads Modesty Blaise on the loo is just asking for it," Spike muttered under his breath. The vampire was only listening with one ear to the agitated voices that drifted over from the neighboring table. He was watching the Scoobies.

It didn't exactly look like they were having a ball.

Anya glared at Xander, Xander glared at Willow. Willow glared at Anya. Dawn glared at all three of them, Tara didn't glare at all. She looked very much like she'd rather be elsewhere.

After a few attempts at lightening the mood, the two witches fled to the dance floor. Swaying to the music they held each other tight. Back at the table, Harris and his ex-demon girlfriend were having a discussion. They weren't exactly arguing but both looked irritated. Dawn seemed out of place and more than a little uncomfortable. She was scanning the crowd.

Spike wasn't sure she was looking for him, but he was glad the shadows were hiding him. What was he supposed to say to the little bit? That everything would be alright? It wouldn't. That life went on? It didn't. That he'd always be there to protect her, like he'd promised? He would. But there was no point in talking about it, was there.

He sipped his beer, trying to make it last. Watching. Bored, but unable to tear himself away. It was like watching a third-rate soap, embarrassingly addictive once you'd gotten into it.

The witches returned from the dance floor only to head back there when they saw that Xander and Anya's discussion had mutated into a full blown argument.

"'Oh please, Xander," Spike said in a high pitched whine, providing the soundtrack for the pantomime before him, "stop wasting time with your stupid friends. They don't like me and I don't like them. Let's go home and have sex! We haven't had sex for almost two hours. Don't you love me anymore?' – 'Anya, of course I love your body, '" he continued in a deeper voice. "'and I forgive you for constantly embarrassing me in front of my friends who think I'm a total loser anyway and only put up with you and me because they're total nerds themselves.'"

Spike finished his beer. Somehow watching them wasn't funny. Not in the least. Yet, he stayed. They were divided, weak, vulnerable. Easy pickings for a determined predator.

He watched Anya leave in a huff. Xander went after her but returned after a few minutes to morosely stare at his drink and at the dance floor. Not much later the witches dragged a reluctant Dawn home. They obviously asked Xander to come along but he shook his head.

There was no need to follow the witches. Dawn was safe with them. Willow's power was more than enough to take care of Sunny D's usual beasties. So, Spike stayed and watched Xander some more.

The human was staring at couples that were making out on the dance floor, looking miserable. The sight made the vampire smile.

Spike hunted through the pockets of his duster for his ciggies and the lighter. Just one crumpled packet. Only two left...Maybe I can scrounge a few quid off Harris...

As much as he hated to admit it, he was utterly broke. Drinking oneself into a stupor didn't come cheap. He hadn't been scavenging at the city dump lately, and it had been ages since any of the Scoobies had given him a bit of cash. "You're beneath me!" Buffy had said, tossing the bills at him contemptuously. Oh God, he really hadn't planned on going back to that memory!

Spike lit his cigarette then picked up two cue sticks and walked over to Xander. He tossed one of the sticks at the human who caught it by reflex. Spike nodded wordlessly towards the pool tables and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Xander hesitated.

Spike could read the other man's face like a book: 'No way. What does Spike want with me now? What's his evil plan?'

Spike shrugged. Suit yourself. He turned around.

But the human grabbed his drink and followed him.

There wasn't an empty table but Spike's menacing glare soon convinced a few students that caution was the better part of valour. They cleared out, leaving behind their drinks. Bonus! Spike took a swallow from an abandoned beer that looked like it hadn't been touched yet and began to arrange the balls.

As long as he got a few beers out of it and didn't have to hang out in his crypt all by himself, Bronzing with the glorified brick-layer didn't seem so bad. 'Sides, the boy's witty, in an American kind of way. When he's not gloomy, like now.

"So, Spike," Xander suddenly asked, "when are you leaving?"

"When am I leaving what?"

"Sunnydale."

Spike leaned on his cue stick and regarded him coldly for a moment. He finished his beer and turned his back on him to take aim. "Wasn't planning on leaving," he mumbled and took his shot. The targeted ball criss-crossed the table and landed in the corner pocket. "This is as good or bad a place as any. Plenty of nasties to kill."

He could feel the human's eyes on him, assessing him but he didn't look up. Instead Spike sunk another ball. And another.

"What do you want, Spike?"

"I just want to look after the nibblet. Like I promised." It came out more defensively than he had intended.

"No, I mean… I was talking drinks. I'm buying," Xander said, just as Spike was making his shot. The white ball went off course, passed the targeted ball and rolled out.

"Oh, um…Becks," Spike said unable to keep a certain aloofness out of his voice. He straightened and stood back to give Xander room to play.

Xander sunk a ball, then missed. "Then Becks it is," he said and made his way to the bar.

Leaning casually against a concrete pillar, Spike lit his last cigarette and dropped the empty packet on the floor. The last time someone had bought him a drink it had been a prelude to being pumped for information. Spike was pretty sure this was no exception.

A few minutes later Xander was back with the drinks.

"Cheers, mate," Spike said and took a swig. "Oh bugger!"