Author: PSUbrat
Rating: PG-13 Some language and violence
Disclaimer and spoiler warning: All characters, except Geoffrey, Garrick and Bronwyn, belong to Joss Whedon and whomever else he sells them to, I'm just borrowing them for a while. This story is based upon the alternate universe I created in Reset.
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Summary: Spike settles in at the Iron Cauldron while Garrick reveals several complications dealing with the Council and the new prophecies…
Timeframe: Immediately following "A Thousand Lifetimes"


- 10 -
Identities Revealed

Giles shut the door to his office and sat down hard in his chair. The office was larger than the one he had occupied back at the Magic Box in Sunnydale but it somehow looked and felt smaller since he had papers and books spread out over every available surface. The walls were a dark shade of off white – meaning they had probably been white at one time, but were now darkening with age and grime. He supposed he'd have to do something about that, touch up the color or pick something completely different, but that would have to wait until the latest crisis had passed. There was always a crisis of one sort or another, wasn't there? Yes, he supposed there was and always would be – the downside of being part of the good guys and saving the world. He turned on the desk lamp since the single window located on the sidewall was small and dirty and set high up, supplying very little natural light to the room. The dim light cast shadows across the walls and floor, in no way helping the disposition of the room. All in all, it was a depressing area at the moment and he longed to be back in California. Just a small touch of homesickness setting in, along with being somewhat fed up with Council politics.

"Are you sure?" he asked Garrick, a hint of weariness to his voice. The man was sitting across from him with a pensive look on his face. If the news was true, if his cousin was correct, then there was no question as to him staying in England – indefinitely. The thought unsettled him.

"I'm certain. I've checked and double-checked my sources. There is definitely a rogue faction of the Council operating out there and their target is the Slayer as well as the potential slayers we've already identified. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if they're trying to track down those whose identities haven't yet been ascertained. I've been unable to determine whether or not Quentin is aware of it though."

"I don't suppose you will. Damn it. And the prophecies?"

"We haven't made much headway on those. We can't seem to find anyone who can translate the texts properly. Plus we've found another passage. Here's a copy for you," Garrick stated, reaching into his jacket pocket and then handing Giles an envelope with his name printed neatly on the outside. "Please don't look at me that way, Rupert. You know as well as I do that it's an ancient language that very few of us have any experience deciphering."

Giles opened the envelope and retrieved the paper within. Briefly, he perused the writing, realizing with some anger that there was no way he could translate it without a lot of books he didn't possess. He sighed, tossed his glasses on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He had been afraid of this, but had continued to hope for the best. "There's no one then?"

Garrick shook his head in response. "Just Geoffrey Ashcroft, as I've said before, and his translations are spotty at best. We've been through everyone in the Council plus those in the Academy and I've been working day and night, when I can, to learn the language myself. Are you positive that we cannot contact Wesley Wyndham-Pryce?"

"No. That's impossible. Wesley is working undercover at the moment. If we were to contact him now, we'd jeopardize all that he's been able to accomplish so far. No, we'll just have to keep looking."


"So who's this Garrick bloke anyway?" Spike asked Oz as they finished with their task of shelving the newly arrived books. Something about the man, who was currently holed up in Giles' office, rubbed him the wrong way. Then again, most people did. "Looks like a total pratt, if you ask me."

Oz snorted and then looked at Spike with a half grin. "First, no one asked you. Second, he's Giles' cousin, but you already knew that 'cause Giles told you."

"You don't say," Spike stated sarcastically as he rolled his eyes. "Just meant, what's his story?" He knew from ages of experience that everyone, no matter how innocent or young they appeared, had a story of one sort or another. He didn't know why, but he really wanted the low down on Garrick.

Oz shrugged. "Dunno. They're related on his father's side, I think. Oh, and he's training to be a Watcher."

Spike laughed. "Should have guessed that. Fits the part," he said, following Oz to the front of the store. He should have known that most of the people Giles would associate with here in England would be of the Council variety. Didn't the man have any friends that weren't mystical, magical or stupid Council gits? Probably not. At least there was Oz. Since the young man didn't know much more about Garrick than he had guessed himself on first meeting, he decided to change the subject. "So what's next, Wolf Boy?"

"Wolf boy?" Oz asked, quirking an eyebrow at Spike.

"Well, yeah. It's what you are, right?"

"True. But I pretty much go by Oz these days."

"That's boring," Spike replied with a smirk. "'Sides gotta keep things a little interesting 'round here. Place certainly could use it." The shop needed a little lightening up, and he didn't mean with the color or lighting. At least back in Sunnydale the demon girl kept things in perspective and gave everyone a good chuckle – here it was quiet, too quiet.

"Don't doubt that," Oz stated dryly as they reached the front of the store and sat down at a research table that was similar to the one back in Sunnydale. He propped his feet up on the table, leaned back and opened the latest comic book he had purchased from a shop down the street.

Spike sat quietly at the table, looking around the shop and taking in his surroundings. This hadn't exactly been what he had in mind when he decided to contact Giles. Who would have thought that he, William the Bloody, would be human and an occult shop employee? It all just blew his mind. A part of him wanted to run back to Sunnydale and share this fortunate turn of events with Buffy. But the other part of him, his brain, refused to entertain such thoughts further. Suddenly, he was aware of just how deafening the silence was in the shop. "Do you miss home?" He blurted out before his brain could catch up with his mouth. He didn't exactly know why he'd said it, probably to make conversation because he couldn't stand the silence or the thoughts of Buffy that were floating through his mind. Immediately he regretted his question once he saw the look on Oz's face. "Sorry, mate. Didn't mean to make you feel bad."

"Nah, it's cool," Oz replied with a smile, quickly recovering from the shock of the question. "I miss it. From time to time. But I know I can't go back, ya know?"

Spike nodded sadly. He understood, more than then the younger man could ever guess.

"Is-Is Willow good?"

Spike tilted his head and frowned. "I'd think the Watcher would keep you up to date on her progress."

Oz shook his head. "Never asked. Giles never offered. Probably better off that way."

"Probably, yeah." He sat quietly for a few seconds until he saw the expectant look on Oz's face and realized the wolf had been waiting for him to offer up something on his ex. "She was doin' okay for the most part when I left, but she and Glinda were sorta on the outs."

"Glinda? I thought she was dating Tara?" Oz asked confused.

Spike snorted. "Meant Tara, mate. Just call her Glinda, cause she's the good witch and all that."

Oz nodded. "So Willow's not happy?"

"Don't know about now, but before I left they had problems. Willow was usin' too much magic, getting too strong. She brought Buffy back from the dead, did you know that?"

Shaking his head and eyes going wide, he was barely able to respond. "Had no idea she'd gotten that far with her magic…"

"Yeah. Ripped Buffy right outta heaven, or something like it. Buffy was at peace and then she was back here. She had some tough times she did, trying to get back to herself. Course I didn't help things…" He looked away, trying to hide the tears that were starting to sting the back of his eyes. "Enough trips down memory lane for one day, huh?" Besides, he couldn't take anymore himself. It just reminded him of what he'd never have again.

"Sure," Oz stated, looking down at his comic book to give Spike some time to pull himself together. After what he thought was an appropriate amount of time, he turned back to the former vampire and slowly looked him over, still unable to believe that Giles had beaten the daylights out of him just the day before. He'd had Giles explain a little more about the male Slayer thing while they had been alone, but he didn't think Spike looked anything other than lost right now. He almost felt bad for him, almost, until he sniffed the air. Why hadn't he noticed it before? Maybe he had, but had just tuned it out. He had gotten pretty good at doing that since he had first started changing. Should he say something? If he didn't, who else would? "Uh, Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"Not to be rude, but, you have other clothes? Cause, have to say, you don't smell the greatest."

"I showered!" Spike exclaimed defensively.

"Dude, showering or not doesn't matter. Your clothes stink."

"They do not!" He growled, grabbing a handful of his shirt and smelling it. "Smells just fine to me."

Oz touched his nose with his finger. "Super sniffer. I can smell you from here. Smells like it hasn't been washed in years."

"Think a bloke would know when his stuff smells, don't you?"

"Maybe. Just thought you'd wanna know."

Spike frowned at him, trying to determine whether the wolf was making fun of him or not. After a few moments he decided that Oz was just being helpful. "Thanks. Didn't bring a whole lot with me." Unfortunately, he didn't own a whole lot of anything anymore, just this shirt and the one he had on yesterday. It's all he had brought with him to Africa and it's all that had followed him here. "And for your information, it's been washed. Just not recently."

"You might want to fix that."

"Yeah, guess I should." He thought for a moment and then nodded. "Think Rupert'll advance me some dosh in order to get some new stuff?" And maybe do the shopping for him since the thought of crowds made him shudder.

"He might," Oz answered absently with a shrug. If he was going to have to work with Spike, the least the man could do was smell decent. Hell, he'd pay for a couple of new shirts himself if Giles wouldn't.

Spike stood up, took a deep breath and headed towards Giles' office.

"Where are you going?"

"To get me some new clothes."


"Bloody hell," Giles growled as he threw the paper down on his desk and began pacing his office. They had come so far and it was of the utmost importance that these prophecies be translated. They dealt with the Last Judgment, of that much he was sure, but he was almost certain that they had something to do with Buffy's future and the futures of the rest of those in the group as well. At the present moment though, he felt like banging his head against the wall in frustration.

"Rupert, we'll find someone," Garrick soothed, trying to ease his cousin's mind.

"Where?" Giles retorted, irritation seeping into his tone. "Shall we just pull someone out of thin air?"

"No, I just mean to say…"

They were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Giles walked over and opened the door to find Spike standing on the other side, arms folded and waiting impatiently to be let in. "William, I'm in the middle of something here…"

"This won't take long," Spike stated as he pushed his way into the office, taking a seat at Giles' desk and ignoring Garrick's dour expression. "I was just wondering if you could advance me a bit of my check so that I can go…" He paused as his eye caught sight of the paper laying on the desk's surface. "Well, what do we have here?"

"Nothing that you should concern yourself with," Giles snapped, trying to grab the paper from Spike's hands. However, he had been too slow and Spike too fast. He watched helplessly as the former vampire jumped out of the chair and held the paper well out of his reach.

Spike grinned in triumph. "A little poetry perhaps? Although I don't recall the ancient Sumartans writing much prose in their time that didn't have to do with death and mayhem."

"That is not ancient Sumerian," Garrick snarled, "you uneducated prat!"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Not ancient Sumerian, you git. Sumartan. There's a huge difference. About two thousand years in fact. Don't they teach you anything at the Watcher school of yours?"

"You…you know this language?" Giles asked in amazement, too stunned to get more than that thought out of his mouth for the moment.

"I'm no an expert," he replied with a nod. "But yeah, I can read it. Don't ask me to write it though. Conjugation's a real bitch." The room fell silent and suddenly two sets of eyes were boring into him, making him feel naked. "What?"

Giles traded a quick glance with Garrick before speaking. "How in the world did you learn Sumartan, Spike?"

"You don't live for almost 130 years and not learn…"

Giles interrupted, before Spike could continue, by clearing his throat and glaring at him while subtly motioning his head towards his cousin.

"Right," Spike stated, understanding flooding him. "I, uh…" He stopped in mid-sentence, shifting on his feet under the weight of Garrick's stare.

Garrick glared at his cousin's employee. "Spike? I thought you said his name was William?"

"Yes, his name is William. Not quite sure where you got Spike," Giles replied nervously.

"You called him Spike, I heard you," Garrick insisted, eyes narrowing while he continued to stare at the employee.

"I'm sure you heard wrong," Giles snapped, trying his best to cover up the blunder. His cousin was an intelligent man, but hopefully, this time, Garrick would let things slide.

"No, I believe I heard you right." Garrick's eyes narrowed even further as he stood and walked closer to William. Slowly he circled him, taking in every detail. Thoughts began to swirl as something tugged at the edges of his mind. 'Spike'. 'Almost 130 years'.

Spike was suddenly aware of the ticking of the old wooden clock hanging on the far wall. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The air in the office became stifling and he was sure he was beginning to sweat. He looked to Giles for silent support, but the Watcher had gone pale. Brilliant. Time to pull the bacon out of the fire. "Doesn't really matter how I learned the language, does it?"

"No," Giles replied quickly, scrambling to change the subject. "The point is that you know it. We shall get a copy of the prophecies and bring them here for you to look over."

Spike nodded. "Sure, Rupert. I'll do what I can."

"Wait just a moment," Garrick demanded with a growl. Spinning on his heel, he confronted his cousin. "You cannot just show a non-Council member such sensitive information, Cousin, and you know it!" His tone softened a bit when he realized whom he was speaking to. "I'm sorry. I know that you're used to working in Sunnydale in unconventional ways, but you're not on the Hellmouth anymore. You're in England now and despite the fact that we don't believe in most of the Council's procedures and processes, I will not be a party to allowing you to bring William the Bloody into this project!"

Spike and Giles exchanged quick looks of surprise.

"Don't be so amazed that I figured it out, Cousin. I don't care if he is a 'good' vampire or not. I've read your reports. You don't trust him. Never have. So why should I?"

"Now look here, mate," Spike began, somewhat angered by the tone that the prat was taking with Giles, but he stopped abruptly when Garrick pulled out a cross and shoved it towards him.

"Back you demon spawn!" Garrick shouted, thrusting the cross forward again, bringing it closer to Spike's skin.

Spike stood his ground, trying his best not to break out into a fit of laughter. "Really think you need to put that away before you hurt yourself," he said calmly, with just a hint of mirth to the tone.

Garrick growled in frustration and pressed the cross against Spike's forehead, waiting for the burning to commence. When nothing happened, he grabbed Spike by the arm and dragged him towards the window.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Giles exclaimed as he watched Garrick open the window.

"I'm going to remind you exactly what he is. You've been in Sunnydale far too long." He seized Spike's hand and held it up in the direct sunlight, waiting for the skin to burst into flame. After a few moments, when nothing happened, he dropped Spike's hand, and backed away slowly in a daze. "I'm sorry," he said abruptly. "I thought for sure that you were him."

Spike held his hand back up into the sunlight, staring at it in wonder. Nope, he was never going to get used to this. "It's okay," he responded absently. "Honest mistake." He lowered his hand and looked it over, still in awe. "Go ahead, Rupert," he sighed. "If you trust him, well…I don't, but you do."

Giles started at Spike, eyes wide with concern and surprise. "Are you absolutely certain?"

"Certain about what?" Garrick demanded.

"Yeah, go ahead. No need to have family members at odds over me." He gave Garrick a hard glance as he sat down in Giles' chair and propped his feet up on the desk, ready to take in the show that was about to begin. "Even if he is a total git."

Giles blinked. "Right. Garrick, I think you'd best sit down," he strongly suggested, pulling out the chair for his cousin and then taking a seat himself on the edge of his desk. He knew that he could trust Garrick, implicitly, but he was caught unprepared for this discussion. Patiently, he waited until Garrick was seated to continue. "You weren't exactly wrong about William."

"What do you mean I wasn't exactly wrong?" Garrick asked. Confusion as well as a sense of dread began spreading in the pit of his stomach.

"There was a time, not too long ago actually, that William here was a vampire."

Garrick frowned. "What do you mean was? Vampires do not just stop being what they are."

"That's mostly correct," Giles stated in agreement. "But William, Spike as he is known, was one of the worst ever on record – behind only Angelus and Darla..."

"Now wait a minute here!" Spike protested. "I was worse!"

Giles rolled his eyes in response. "Somehow I truly doubt that, Spike."

Spike clucked his tongue in disagreement and then put his hands behind his head, smiling mischievously at Garrick. "You've read the diaries, you tell me if I was a bloody menace or not. Worse than Angelus, I was." This was quite amusing. The poor git seemed almost speechless.

Finally Garrick found his ability to speak. "Excuse me," Garrick said, getting up from the chair and stepping towards Giles. "Rupert, clearly you've been working far too hard," he chuckled, "because you're losing your mind."

"I assure you I'm not."

"Surely you don't expect me to believe that he is William the Bloody?"

"In the flesh, mate," Spike said with a grin.

"Impossible!" Garrick spat. "William the Bloody is a vampire and clearly he, you, are not…"

"Was a vampire, past tense. Saw a demon about a soul and suddenly I'm human."

"I think that about sums things up," Giles sighed, stepping back into the conversation. "Obviously, Garrick, you cannot breathe a word of this to anyone, at least not at the moment."

"You're serious?" Garrick asked, flabbergasted.

"Completely," Giles stated, rubbing the bridge of his nose. This day was just getting worse as it went along. They still had the prophecies to consider as well as the latest news about the rogue faction of the Council. "Now," he started, still ignoring his cousin's look of incredulity, "can we please get down to business? There's much to discuss. Spike, I need you to see if you can translate that passage while Garrick and I try to get the rest of the prophecies here."

"Rupert," Garrick interrupted, still trying to shake himself out of the daze. "The prophecies cannot leave the Academy. They'll be missed and everyone will know exactly to whom to go if they can't be found. I cannot let you do this. There's too much at stake."

"Yes," Giles sighed. "I suppose you're right." He leaned against the wall wearily. "We must think of something."

"Don't look at me," Spike exclaimed as both men stared at him. "I'm just a bleeding occult shop employee. Not like I can just go waltzing into your fancy Academy and start doin' research."

Giles stood up straight and looked from Spike to Garrick. A look of understanding passed between them. "Actually, you may just have something there."