Title:  Pillow Talk

Author:  Miss Murchison

Rating:  Moving deeper into R territory.

Disclaimer:  All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.  Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Notes:  A Spuffy story that starts in early Season 6 before deviating from canon.   A slight change in circumstances, a different decision or two, and you wind up with very different results.

Thanks: To Keswindhover and revdorothyl for the beta.

The story begins here.

Chapter 23

Giles looked up from his perusal of the latest monthly balance sheet to stare at the front door of the Magic Box.  No bell had rung to announce a customer's entrance, but he was suddenly sure he wasn't alone. 

There were footsteps behind him, from the direction of the door that led to the cellar.  Had he left that open after he'd brought up the yak skull for his last customer?  He was pretty certain he had, because he needed to finish inventorying herbs and check on the supplies of Styx water.  He'd forgotten there were ways into that cellar from Sunnydale's ubiquitous sewer system.  Stupid of him.

He slid open his desk drawer, reaching inside for the dagger he kept there for emergencies and to use as a letter opener.  As his hand closed around it, he heard the scrape of a lighter's sparking wheel.  The smell of burning tobacco reached him, in casual defiance of Sunnydale's anti-smoking ordinance.

"Getting sloppy, Rupert."

Giles dropped the dagger and turned, trying to look blasé.  "I knew it was you, Spike.  What I don't know is why it's you.  A bit early for you, isn't it?  I thought your mornings were devoted to nursing hangovers and watching soap operas."

Spike leaned against a wall.  Instead of smirking at his success at annoying Giles, he looked grim.  "Didn't want to risk being too late."

"Too—" That brought Giles out of his chair.  "Has something happened to Buffy or Dawn?"

"A lot more than either of them deserve but nothing new, except the witches are running their own soap opera.  Tara's moved out."  Spike took a long drag on his cigarette.  "And you have no idea how sincerely I wish she hadn't picked this morning to do it."

Giles didn't like Spike's expression as he said those last words, but he was too relieved that there wasn't a life-threatening emergency to wonder what the double-meaning was.  "And you rushed over here to tell me that?"

"No, Rupert, I'm not here to tell you tales of the lovelorn.  And not that I haven't missed watching Passions with you, but I wouldn't risk turning myself into a pile of ashes just for the pleasure of your company."  Spike looked around the shop.  "Where's your partner?"

Giles was becoming impatient. "Anya is undergoing some kind of evaluation.  Xander's accompanying her to a doctor, or a therapist, or some such thing."

"And  Harris will be whining to Buffy about that soon enough."  Spike met Giles' eyes.  "Especially since you won't be available for handholding duty."

"How--?"

Spike gestured at the desk.  "Was looking for a pen the other night, while you were on your forty-second cuppa.  Saw the one-way ticket.  Since it hasn’t come up in casual conversation, I'm guessing you haven't told Buffy that you're abandoning her."

Giles shifted uncomfortably.  "It's not abandonment, Spike.  I've just come to believe that she would do better on her own.  She's been relying on me too much, expecting me to handle her financial issues, to discipline Dawn—"

"How many times have you rehearsed that load of manure?  That's bollocks and you know it, Rupert."  Spike dropped his cigarette on the floor and reached into his pocket for another.  "A half-arsed excuse for running away from home."

Giles heard himself sputtering, "I am not running away.  I simply feel that my period of usefulness here has expired. Besides, Buffy has the others to help—"

"What, the sainted Scoobies?  They're worse than useless right now."

"They've helped her more times than I can count."  Giles wondered why his defense sounded so weak.

Spike casually scuffed away the embers of his cigarette under the toe of his boot. "Think I don't know that?  Knew the first time I tried to kill her it was family and friends that made her different.  Not even our Buffy would have lasted more than a few months on the job without them."

"Then—" 

"Yeah, that was then.  Welcome to now." Spike began pacing.   "Where she’s weakest now is where she used to be strongest.  It’s not the demons that will take her down this time, it'll be her friends."

Giles stood up, trying not to feel like the action revealed that he was on the defensive now. "I'm very sure that none of them wants to hurt her—"

Spike's path allowed him punctuate his interruption with an abrupt turn toward Giles and a wave of his arm.  "Did I say they did?  Since when did a human have to want to hurt someone to cause a bloody mess?  They’ll hurt her because she can’t trust them and she won’t admit to herself she can’t.  Keeps saying she’s got all of you lot, but she’s really only got you and me and Dawn.  Because we’re the only ones not tainted."

That comment was too absurd to merit anything but sarcasm.  "You regard yourself as pure as the driven snow, then?"

Spike took the cigarette out of his mouth long enough to grind his teeth and spit out, "I may be a monster and a murderer, but I never called up the forces of darkness to drag a soul back through Death."  Then his expression changed almost comically.  "Okay, so I got talked into helping once, but that was different—"

It was Giles' turn to interrupt.  "I expected you of all people to approve of Willow's spell."

Spike backed off a few feet.  "I wanted her back.  Don't say I wouldn't have helped if I'd known about it.  But they didn't tell me.  I wasn't out there, on her grave, working dark magic, thinking good intentions would make up for whatever contraband Willow used for bait.  And if I'd been there, I wouldn't have any illusions that it wouldn't hurt me sooner or later.  The four of them, they thought they could take a few steps over to the dark side and rush back to the world of sweetness and light, no consequences.  But you can't do something like that without consequences."

"You think that they're suffering because of the spell?"  This conversation was getting even more uncomfortable, as Spike voiced suspicions Giles had carefully pushed to the back of his mind.

"Maybe.  If I understood these things more, I could—  Oh, bugger them. It's the Slayer who's bearing the bulk of it, far as I can see."

Giles chose his next words carefully.  "Are you afraid Buffy isn’t recovering from the trauma of her return?"

Spike laughed.  "Don't pretend the idea's never crossed your mind.  After all, you're not even sure Buffy is back."

It seemed to Giles the temperature in the room had dropped by a dozen degrees. 

Spike must have read Giles' reaction in his face.  "So, I had it right.  You are afraid that what Willow brought back isn't all Buffy, at least not all of Buffy.  That's the real reason you're doing a bunk.  You can't stand the thought of looking into her eyes and not seeing her."

Spike's satisfied tone roused Giles to indignation.  "How dare you gloat at that thought?"

Spike dropped his second cigarette onto the floor and ground it down with his heel.  "Because, Rupert, she is back.  All of her.  I knew it, from the start, first time I looked in her eyes, and then she told me— "  He bit off the words and looked stricken for a moment, almost guilty, as if he'd just avoided committing something even he recognized as a sin.  "Never mind.  Knew she was there, somewhere.  But I didn't see her until the other night, when we were out there on the street, fighting together.  Our girl's been hiding, that's all.  Probably gone back to hiding too, after the row at her house this morning." 

Spike now stood legs apart, arms crossed, his expression no less accusatory and more confident then when he had arrived.  "So, Rupert, are you going to leave our Buffy to the mercy of that lot, with just me and Dawn to take care of her and keep them from grinding her down?  I'm not saying me and the Bit can't do it, but—"  He shrugged.  "Buffy trusts you.  She doesn’t trust me—yet."

By reflex, Giles began cleaning his glasses.  "If, as you say, Willow and Tara are having problems as well as Xander and Anya—"  He looked up.

Spike had slipped away. 

At least, he’d tried to slip away, but William the Bloody git apparently tripped over some of Giles' stock in his rush down the cellar stairs, and a brief clatter marred what would have otherwise been a sinisterly impressive exit. 

It was hardly surprising.  Spike had never been as good at that kind of thing as Angel.

No, Spike was no Angel.  Giles fought not to find that fact endearing.

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