CHAPTER TWO
Rupert sat at the head of the Magic Box table, several books opened at various pages in front of him. The store was eerily quiet without the Usual Suspects causing a ruckus. They had all enthusiastically volunteered to help him research Buffy's illness, of course – he'd had to come up with all manner of white lies to deter them.
"No no, she's uh, ve-very contagious, you see. And as I've been in close proximity to her most recently, I too may have caught it. No, best you stay away from the both of us for the next few days."
He set his glasses down, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He'd been at it for hours now. It had to be past midnight. He wasn't even sure why he was bothering – he already knew the answers he sought.
Don't have to sodding like them, though.
Rupert had had very little sleep the past few days. As the ritual drew nearer, he found himself doing all he could not to fall into a blind panic. The codex was clear enough – he was confident he could perform the incantations correctly. But the rest of it... It made him sick to his stomach to dwell too long on it. He supposed, in a perverse way, Buffy was fortunate. He'd heard plenty of stories of cruel, opportunistic Watchers who took singular joy in forcing themselves on their young, pretty Slayers. Disgusting ingrates.
He wasn't a machine. He had stolen glances before, had one or two lonely nights where he allowed certain fantasies to outstay their welcome... But he didn't want Buffy. Not really. She was attractive, clearly – but he had grown accustomed to that over the years. He didn't think about it anymore. If he'd worked himself into a frenzy every time she sweated through a tiny shirt, he'd be doomed. No, she was much more to him than just some plaything. Buffy was his Slayer, his charge. She felt more like a daughter to him than anything else.
And I have to... Be with her.
He pushed the book he was holding away from him with more force than was necessary. It slid across the tabletop, threatening to fall off the edge. He half-stood to catch it, but another hand wrapped around it first. The skin was pale, interrupted by chipped black fingernails.
"Leave, Spike," Giles growled.
The vampire chuckled darkly behind him.
"One-man slumber party? Pretty sad."
Giles peered over his shoulder, not bothering to make eye contact.
"Now is not the time. Go."
Spike loosened his grip on the runaway book, before flicking his wrist and pushing it the rest of the way off the table.
"Whoops."
Giles rose to his full height to face the intruder. Once, going head-to-head with Spike might have frightened him – but the device in his brain had neutered him nicely. Regardless, he was in no mood for Spike's games.
"I know this may seem like a silly little magic shop to you – but I assure you there are all manner of things around here that I can use to cause you considerable inconvenience," Giles snarled.
Spike smirked.
"Easy now, Ripper. I'm not here to run riot. I came to ask after the Slayer. Went round just before, but the little bit told me she wasn't seeing anyone."
Giles exhaled, his anger giving way to simple irritation.
"Buffy is unwell. I have been researching ways to help her," his voice sounded calmer than he felt.
"I heard she'd come down with the Slayer sniffles. Ain't that a shame. I guess she's all weak and helpless - would be a tragedy if someone were to find their way into her sickbed and-"
Giles punched him. His fist landed on the side of Spike's cheek; he was sure he'd hurt himself more than he'd inconvenienced the vampire. Spike stumbled back a couple of paces, wide-eyed and grinning.
"Enough, you rank creature. I'm not interested in listening to your repulsive little fantasies-"
"Oh, I wasn't talking about me."
Giles' heart palpitated. He stared at Spike. Did he mean-?
Spike laughed.
"Don't look so terrified. I've been around a lot longer than you, y'know."
Giles swallowed, clenching his teeth so hard he thought they might break.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Spike took a step towards him.
"I've seen plenty of Slayers in my time. Plenty of Watchers, too. I remember how it went. Uptight old men getting their cocks wet in little girls because 'that was the way of things'. Golly, if I had a soul I might have some kind of moral opposition to that," Spike smirked mercilessly.
"Spare me," Giles murmured, shutting his eyes. "I know full well what went on."
"Now what I haven't seen much of," Spike continued, "are Slayers that reach a ripe old age like Buffy. They get sick, and either their Watcher fucks her back to health or he lets her die. Yeah, I know how your perverted little ritual goes."
Giles sat back down at the table, placing his face in his hands. He felt so humiliated. Spike knew about this. Of all the indignities.
"I don't want this," Giles managed to whisper.
"Oh, sure you do."
Giles slammed his already-aching fist down on the table.
"No," he breathed. "No. Buffy... She's-she feels like..."
"What? Like your bleedin' daughter? Please. No red-blooded man can be around that 24/7 and be thinking about baking cookies."
Giles shot him a look.
"It turns out, some of us can. I care about her far too much to let my bloody libido get in the way."
Spike pulled out the chair opposite Giles, the wooden legs screeching along the floor. He sat, swinging his feet up to rest on the table.
"Sounds like you're in a bit of a pickle, Rupert."
"And what would you care, Spike?"
Spike pursed his lips, frowning slightly.
"I'm in love with Buffy."
Giles rolled his eyes.
"Scoff all you want, but it's true. Cuts me up inside to see her slippin' away like this. Knowing that her only hope is..." He gestured vaguely in Giles' direction. "Since her only chance at survival is you gettin' the nerve up to show her a good time, I figure I might as well help."
"Help?!" Giles thought he might fall over. "How in the hell do you intend to help me?"
Spike raised an eyebrow.
"Seems to me you've got exactly nobody to talk to about this. Scoobies consist of near-virginal losers and a couple of dykes. I may not be a man, but I'm the closest thing you got. So, let's talk. Man to man."
Giles stared down at the table. It pained him, but Spike was right. He needed to unburden himself a little if he was going to focus on preparing the ritual.
Spike placed a finger underneath Rupert's chin, forcing him to make eye contact.
"What's got you bothered? Think you won't be able to get it up?"
Rupert immediately regretted this decision. He swatted Spike's hand away.
"Would you behave with some modicum of dignity for five minutes?"
Spike threw his hands up in front of him, smiling.
"Sorry. Go on."
Rupert glared at Spike for a moment, before continuing.
"It's Buffy," he finally sighed, "I can't hurt her."
Spike leaned forward a little in his chair.
"Who says you'll be hurting her?"
"You were right, earlier. I am an old man, forcing myself onto a helpless young woman. It's depraved."
Spike scoffed.
"You're not nearly as old as her first boyfriend. He didn't seem to have any qualms about popping Buffy's cherry. Don't think she did, either."
Rupert blinked. Angel... Why hadn't I thought of that?
"While you do have a point about Angel's age - this is different. Angel looks like a much younger man."
"Ah. You think she'll be repulsed by your wrinkly old body?"
"I wouldn't put it so indelicately," he grimaced, "but that is certainly one concern. The last thing I want to do is make Buffy uncomfortable. I look like I could be her father."
"I'm sure she'd rather run her hands over a torso like mine," Spike grinned, "but you may be surprised. Lots of girls get their rocks off thinking about older men. Been that way since the dawn of time."
Rupert removed his glasses, bunching up the bottom of his jumper to clean them.
"Have you talked to the Slayer about this?" Spike asked.
"We spoke several days ago. I showed her the texts outlining what will be expected of us."
"Boy, there's a good pick-up line. How'd she take it?"
Rupert hesitated. He wasn't sure if he should exaggerate, for Buffy's sake.
"She seemed... Surprisingly calm about it all," he answered truthfully.
Spike's grin grew exponentially across his face.
"There you go, Watcher," he laughed. "I think you two crazy kids are gonna be just fine."
Spike swung his legs back to the floor, standing to leave. Rupert watched him, placing his glasses back on his face. The vampire stalked to the door, turning just before he reached it.
"Think of it this way, Giles," he smiled. "Buffy's the hottest bit of skirt you're ever likely to get. Try and enjoy yourself."
The door slammed shut behind him. Giles cursed under his breath. He wasn't sure if he felt better or worse. He stood, collecting the books he had still laying out. They were of no real use to him, anyway. He walked over to the shelves and began replacing them; replaying the regretful conversation he'd just had with Spike. He supposed he was right about some things – Buffy was not a little girl. She'd had other partners. Giles may not scare her as much as he was expecting.
Just then, Giles heard movement behind him.
"Spike, I'm not interested in continuing-"
"Giles?"
He spun around. Willow was standing across from him. She had a strange look on her face.
"Oh. Willow. I told you, you should stay away-"
"Giles," she interrupted, "just listen. I know what's wrong with Buffy. I'm here to help."
Buffy was sitting in The Magic Box. She had no idea how she got there. She was slumped in a chair, her eyes shut tight against the light.
"She's coming to. Turn the light off."
The light went away. Buffy's eyes opened to two shadowy figures in front of her. She groaned, confused and uncomfortable.
"What-"
"Shh. It's alright. We're going to give you something for the pain."
She could hear bubbling sounds near her ear – glass clinking, liquid pouring. There was a terrible stench of sulphur in the air. Somebody placed something in her hand.
"I'm sorry, Buffy. This one will be worse than the first one. But I promise, you'll feel better."
She knew that voice. She was sure she'd heard it before. A familiar hand guided her own to her mouth. She opened it dutifully, pouring the foreign substance down her throat.
"Eugh, God," she sputtered. It was truly horrid.
"Yes, I know. It'll be worth it in a few moments."
The light came back on – it didn't sting her eyes so much this time. The fuzzy figures suddenly came into focus. Giles. And...
"Willow?"
Willow gave a small, nervous wave. "Hi Buff. Is it working?"
Buffy groaned, reaching up to rub her eyes. Her elbow nudged something – a small cauldron sat on the table next to her. It smelled awful.
"I... Yeah. Yeah, it's all coming back to me now. God, it's like I can't remember anything from the last few days."
Giles chimed in. "You've been asleep, mostly. A small mercy, I suppose. At least you've not been awake and suffering."
Buffy looked up, meeting her Watcher's eyes. Something flickered in her brain; it was trying to tell her something. Suddenly, her eyes widened.
Giles.
He seemed to notice the change in her expression – he hurried to busy himself with various items on the table.
Willow gave her a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, Buff. This must be so awful."
Giles glanced over his shoulder at the redhead, seeming to be listening very carefully.
"S'okay," Buffy replied.
Giles placed himself between the two women before anything else could be said. "Uh- yes, well. I'm going to go and prepare the ritual. Willow, stay here with Buffy. Try and keep her... Calm."
Buffy frowned. Those words should mean something to her, but her brain was still fuzzy.
Giles collected a couple of books from the table, before heading to the back training room. He paused, turning for a moment to look at Buffy. His face seemed pained. The door closed softly behind him – some of the tension in the room leaving with him.
Willow took a seat beside Buffy. She began anxiously tapping her fingers against the tabletop. Buffy shot her a look. She stopped.
The air was heavy between them.
"You know." Buffy croaked.
Willow bit her lip. She looked apologetic.
"Giles didn't tell me. I figured it out on my own. Plus, I-I had to know what it was so I could find the right potion. I'm sorry, Buffy," the words tumbled out of her mouth too fast.
"It's okay. As long as it's just you who knows."
"Oh, of course. Scout's honour," Willow held up three fingers, before making a face and lowering them just as quickly. "Sorry."
They sat in silence for a while, the cauldron bubbling softly between them.
"Are you- Uh, how are you feeling? I mean... God, Giles..."
"Yeah. It's a lot. To be honest, I've been trying to avoid thinking about it."
Willow nodded, avoiding her gaze. She sighed and placed a hand on top of Buffy's.
"I know it's... You know. Kind of icky, on account of it being Giles. But-but I know he'll be good to you. He would never hurt you."
Buffy gave her a small smile. Willow always tried so hard.
"You're right. He'll be kind, I know he will. But it doesn't stop me feeling like I'm about to... Do it with a family member." Buffy suppressed a shudder.
"You know, I had such a crush on him back when I still liked men. Sixteen-year-old Willow would have been so jealous," she glanced at Buffy, unsure if her humour would be appreciated.
"I'll be sure to give you a full report," Buffy smirked.
"Oh, jeez. M-maybe don't," Willow laughed noiselessly. Buffy joined in, chuckling despite herself.
Just then, the door to the backroom reopened. Giles stepped through, holding something in his arms. He looked at the two girls and cocked an eyebrow.
"I'm glad to see you've been able to find the funny side to all this," he muttered dryly.
Buffy turned her body to face him.
"Is it time?"
"Yes." He looked at Willow. "Thank you for your help."
"Of course," Willow stood. Collecting her things, she headed for the front door. She stopped to give Buffy a small wave. Buffy returned it.
Willow mouthed good luck before disappearing onto the street.