Chapter 5
Buffy and Spike had no sooner climbed into Giles’ car than Buffy stretched out on the back seat and went back to sleep. The lateness of their arrival back into Sunnydale and the time zone change put their being up literally all night.
Giles, his eyes peering in the rearview mirror, opened his mouth to question Buffy as to the success of their mission.
“Let her sleep,” Spike told him. “Slayer’s knackered.”
“Yes… I suppose you’re right.”
“We found what we needed,” the vampire offered. “How’s your Mayan, by the way…”
“I think I can muddle through.”
“Drop the slayer off, and I’ll give you a hand. Didn’t get a proper look see, was too busy scribblin’ before it disappeared, but it seemed pretty straightforward.”
“You read Mayan?”
“Been around a long time, Rupert. And, t’weren’t like we had cable back then. Needed something to do to amuse myself while I was cooped up.”
“Alright. Maybe a second set of eyes will help.”
~*~*~*~*~
“A god? Are… are you sure?”
“Of course I’m bloody sure. You would be too, if you looked at the thing and quit tryin’ to make excuses.”
“How do we stop a god?” Giles whispered.
“’m getting’ to that. Now, if you’re not gonna help, bugger off and let me get back to it.”
“Does it… the Beast… have a name?”
Spike looked up from the text he was reading.
“Glorificus. Glory. Take your pick. Why don’t you see if you can find something on the bint? Or better yet, give those wankers in London a call. I’m sure they’ll have something about her.”
Giles did a mental calculation of the time difference and nodded.
“Rupert Giles here. I need to speak with Quentin Travers please.” He was placed on hold for a moment and had the pleasure of listening to the crackling of the intercontinental connection while he waited to be rung through.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Giles. Mr. Travers is in a meeting and is not to be disturbed.”
“I don’t care if he’s in a bloody meeting or not! This is a matter of utmost urgency!” Giles barked into the phone.
“Tell ‘em lives hang in the balance,” Spike snarked from his chair.
Giles frowned at the vampire and listened with half an ear as the woman went on and on. Exasperated, he finally interrupted her.
“Very well then. If you would rather not bother our illustrious Head Councilman with the news that there’s a hellgod in our dimension and here on the Hellmouth, I can certainly understand. Good day.” He hung up the phone none too gently.
“That’s tellin’ ‘em, Rupes!”
“Oh do shut up, Spike.”
“Wot! I’m on your side, you ungrateful wanker.”
“A thought which troubles me immensely.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why does the thought of me helpin’ you out trouble you? ‘s not like I haven’t done it before.”
“That was usually for… for payment… or to serve your own interests.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, stoppin’ this hellgod is servin’ my own interests. I happen to like the Earth the way it is.”
“Uh huh.”
“Might I remind you that it was Angelus that wanted to suck us into that hell dimension? Not me. And if I remember right, I’m the one that kept your arse in one piece…”
“For which I’ve yet to thank you.”
“Ta, mate.”
“I was being facetious.”
Giles moved off towards the stacks to find a few books that might mention dimensional gods.
“Shoulda’ just let the Pouf torture you to death,” he muttered under his breath.
“I heard that,” Giles called out from across the room.
The phone rang as Giles walked back to the table with three large leather-bound books in his hands. He set them down on the cluttered surface and crossed to where the phone sat on the counter. He was in no hurry, knowing instinctively who it was.
His parting shot to the secretary had apparently done the trick, and Travers had managed to get off his arse and call him back.
“Good morning. Thank you for calling the Magic Box.”
“Rupert, this is Quentin Travers. What’s this nonsense I hear of a hellgod running loose in Sunnydale?”
“So good of you to ring me back, Quentin. Sorry I pulled you from whatever you thought was more important than the possible end of the world.”
Giles looked over to see Spike biting his lip to keep from laughing. His own eyes were twinkling merrily, he was sure. It felt pretty good twisting the screws to the old codger. He listened quietly as the man droned on for a bit about commitments and such, until he finally had enough and cut him off.
“I need everything you can get me on a Glorificus… or Glory. And make it quick. Something tells me we don’t have a lot of time.”
It felt good hanging up on Travers; it gave him a bounce to his step that the copious amounts of tea he’d consumed throughout the remainder of the night had been unable to do for him.
“And you call me evil,” Spike snorted.
“Sanctimonious old git had it coming.”
“Uh huh.”
The two still had their heads buried in books when Riley let himself in the shop not long after Anya opened for the day.
“What is he doing here?” the ex-soldier demanded of Giles, indicating the vampire.
Spike barely managed to tamp down the growl that threatened to erupt from deep in his chest. He was overly tired, having been up long after he should have been sleeping. Straining to decipher the Mayan writings he and Buffy had discovered only added to his feeling of exhaustion. Suffering a migraine because he couldn’t refrain from taking a shot at Buffy’s boyfriend wasn’t high on his priority list.
“I’m done, watcher. Pictures are starting to blur anyway.”
“You don’t have to leave, Spike.”
“Nah, ‘s alright… I’m gonna catch a few hours kip. I’ll be back once the sun goes down.”
“Very well. I’ll see you then.”
Spike pushed his chair back and stood, quickly departing the shop through the back door and escaping into the sewer tunnels.
“Is there something you wanted, Riley,” Giles asked once the vampire was gone.
“I came to see Buffy.”
“She’s not here. She’s probably still at home. Sleeping, I gather. Her flight got in very early this morning.”
“No one answered when I went by there. I figured she’d come here.”
“No… she hasn’t. As I said, she’s probably still sleeping and didn’t hear the doorbell. I’m sure she’ll be by later in the day.”
“What’s with you and Spike?” Riley asked, changing the subject. “Don’t tell me you actually trust him to help.”
Giles sighed and pulled off his glasses, throwing them on top of the book he’d been reading. He rubbed wearily at his eyes. Truth be told, he should have followed the vampire’s example and gone home to get some sleep – hours ago, in fact. But, he couldn’t make himself leave as long as Spike was still there and willing to help.
“Look, Riley. Spike’s harmless. You and your... your outfit saw to that.”
“He’s a monster. He should be put down.”
“I think that’s for Buffy to decide.”
Riley snorted. Spike was a bone of contention in his and Buffy’s relationship. He just didn’t see why she wouldn’t stake him. In the last few days, she’d become adamant that the vampire be left alone. Finding out that Spike was going with her to Cozumel – and without him – had sparked a fight that had her storming away in anger, unwilling to discuss it further, the fate of their relationship on rocky ground. It was why he’d wanted to see Buffy as soon as she’d gotten back.
To make sure that she was okay. That they were okay.
Seeing the blond menace that was a constant thorn in his side had brought it all home – his and Buffy’s argument, her distance.
He was half tempted to make a stop by Spike’s crypt and reiterate how much the vampire was not welcome around Buffy and her friends.
“When Buffy gets here, tell her I stopped by and will be back later.”
Giles watched Riley leave and hoped that Spike had safeguards in place to alert him to anyone’s approach. He didn’t trust the gleam in the ex-soldier’s eyes.
~*~*~*~*~
Spike didn’t go back to his crypt. He’d not liked the way Riley had looked at him – like he was planning how best to stake him. Instead, against his better judgment, he made his way through the sewers to the house on Revello Drive.
The elder Summers wasn’t due to leave for the gallery for at least thirty minutes. She wouldn’t mind if he crashed in her basement for the day.
He jumped out of the manhole and stuck to the shade as he hurried through her back yard. His jacket was starting to smolder when he burst through the kitchen door and slammed it shut behind him.
“Spike!” Joyce cried. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
“Sorry, mum.” He patted himself down, making sure he still had all his parts, heaving a sigh when everything appeared to be in place. “Mind if I crash on the cot in the basement? Slayer’s boyfriend didn’t take to seein’ me helpin’ her watcher out.”
“Sure. I’m about to leave for work. You can see yourself down?”
“Yes. Thanks, mum. Be careful at work… don’t overdo it.”
“I’m the mother, Spike.”
“Yeah… well…” He shuffled his feet, feeling like a ponce. “Slayer worries about you, is all.”
“I’ll be fine. But it’s nice to know someone’s thinking about me.”
Joyce waved goodbye and walked down the hallway and out the front door, leaving Spike alone in the house with the Slayer.
He debated with himself whether or not to peek in on her, before finally deciding against it, not wanting to chance waking her. She’d been tired when they dropped her off from the airport.
The cot was a lot less comfortable than the bed in his crypt, but it didn’t matter. He’d sleep on the floor if it meant being in the Slayer’s house. Wearing nothing but jeans and wrapped in a blanket, Spike closed his eyes and was quickly asleep.
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