The alarm should have woken him but it hadn't.
Sleep-filled eyes cracked open and focused muzzily on the flashing LED display,
00.00 ampm
00.00 ampm
00.00 ampm
Took a little longer than he usually would to realise that there had obviously been a powercut in the night. Not so unusual because...oh God, and a hand went reflexively to his face to cover his eyes. He was back in Sunnydale again.
Sunnydale, California. Hellmouth Capital of the Western World and Official Sponsor of Weirdness and Terror for the Entire Globe. Also, due to the massively high number of underground-dwelling demons, a town with almost constantly disrupted public services. Massaging his temples he tried to recollect the terribly urgent matter that had summoned him, yet again, this wearisome and lengthy distance from his wonderfully relaxing home in the Bath countryside. Was Dawn in trouble again? Or was it a Rosenberg Relapse? It surely had to have been something apocalyptic, so why was he having trouble remembering?
And then it came to him. An icy-cold chill and his eyes were snapped wide open, staring into the dimness of his hotel room in sudden horror. No, let it all be a nightmare. But the black tuxedo hanging on the back of his door only confirmed it.
Oh God. The Wedding.
He tried to suppress the terrible feelings of foreboding that immediately washed through him again, but it was impossible. Ever since they had called and told him the wonderful news he had felt sick to his stomach. He knew he must have said all the right things though, because Anya had laughed and cried and thanked him profusely and politely. Then Xander had come on the line and said almost exactly the same things, only his voice had been a great deal less piercing and easier to listen to. And before he knew it, he'd heard himself making all kinds of promises to him, to them. Of course he'd be able to make it this time. Of course he'd pay for the flowers again. Of course he'd be proud to walk Anya down the aisle.
Afterwards, the last one had been the real shocker and he still couldn't believe he'd said yes to it. Although, he supposed, it might have been flattering, if Anya hadn't felt moved to promptly follow her request with the cheery; 'It's supposed to someone old apparently. And a man. And you're the only old man we know...that's human.' Yes. All in all, they hadn't exactly sold it as an honour, so much as a Herculean task. He was to be their anchor-man, ensuring that the day went smoothly this time. They had entrusted him with absolutely everything, from the decorations to making sure the notary arrived on time. The other Scoobies were officially out of the loop, the ceremony and small gathering afterwards being a meticulously planned surprise for all of them. It was a significant decision and one that the two of them had not made lightly. A great deal of thought had been put into the seriousness and the gravity of this second, and hopefully final, ceremony and, as Xander had so eloquently put it: 'If this gets screwed up for her a second time, I think we're all gonna be scraping our entrails off the pulpit'. Yes, tomorrow was to be a day of celebration. The start of two wonderful and deserving peoples' future together, one in which they had both come a long way, both spiritually and emotionally. And he was pleased for them. Really he was. It was just himself he felt horribly sorry for.
Sliding out of bed, he stretched his arms above his head a little stiffly, stood and regarded himself in the full length mirror. Almost unconsciously he sucked in the slight belly he was starting to develop. Ran a hand through his pepper coloured hair and tilted his head to one side, emphasising his well-defined cheekbones. Old man indeed.
Breaking into his thoughts, the maid's knock at the door alerted him to the fact that it must be at least ten a.m. He groaned inwardly, as he remembered the couple's precisely organised schedule for him had now gone completely awry. He was supposed to have taken a cheque to the caterers at nine thirty, as well as which he'd offered to meet up with Anya and Xander at the Magic Shop around eleven, to finalise their plans for the surprise. Quickly pulling his bathrobe on, he opened the door to take his fresh towels from the maid before hastening to the bathroom for a necessarily fast, cold shower. Shook his head irritably as he slapped open the faucet.
Just one day back in Sunnydale and already he was in a state of panic.
********************
The hire car was an automatic, and that was just the beginning of it. It was bright, fuchsia pink
"Don't you have anything else?"
The woman's smile was so wide and bright, he was eerily reminded of a particularly bad waxwork of Princess Di he once seen. He briefly considered the fact that she might be some kind of demon. She was obviously evil, that much was certain.
"I'm sorry sir, but your email expressly requested a 'compact car'."
He gritted his teeth, feeling his mood swing dangerously towards homicidal.
"I telephoned. And if I'd asked for Barbie's bloody dune-buggy I think I'd remember, don't you?"
But it was no good. He'd seen this particular brand of customer service a million times before in this God forsaken country. The whiter-than-white smile and the fuck-you-sir eyes. America, where the Consumer was King. Scraped the keys from the desk and turned on his heel without another word, snarling softly. Give me a surly Cockney any day.
That had been the start of it but it certainly wouldn't be the end. The caterers had taken his cheque without a word and then proceeded to explain that the cake would perhaps be just a little late arriving. How late they weren't prepared to say but there was a chance, just a chance mind you, that it wouldn't be there for the reception party. This was a worst case scenario of course, everything would undoubtedly be fine. But on the off- chance that it wasn't? They were prepared to throw in all the crab puffs, completely free of charge.
He wasn't even going to rise to that one. A flat-out threat of physical violence seemed to have had the required effect, and he'd left the little man cowering in terror behind his flour bins before departing in a sufficiently impressive dark swirl of cashmere. He liked to think that his exit had been only slightly marred by his method of transportation. Swatting the bubblegum, pink hatchback into Drive he peeled away from the kerb with a squeal of tyres and rejoined the morning traffic.
God, he hated Sunnydale.
********************
Anya's VW Rabbit was in his space. And Xander's new, sleek, silver monstrosity was in their only customer space. Bristling silently as he realised that he'd have to find a parking spot in the street instead, like any normal guest in town. At least the Barbiemobile was simple to manoevre in confined areas and he edged it back out with relative ease. The rear spoiler had just cleared the entrance to the alley when a sharp shriek of brakes brought his head round in sudden alarm. Rolling the window down he started to address the occupant of the dark van with a friendly, apology.
"I'm..er...I'm terribly sorry...I didn't see you c...."
before tailing off into frozen disbelief.
A familiar face stared back at him from behind the tinted glass, and for a second it was as if the man was simply mirroring his expression, making fun of him. His eyes wide with surprise and alarm as he took in the astonished expression of his old friend. Slowly though, Giles felt a cold anger suffuse him, his lips silently forming a name, even before his voice began to speak it.
"Ethan."
What in hell was he doing here?
His hand went to the door handle and in the same moment Ethan moved. His head went down, slamming the vehicle into reverse and haring, violently backwards in a swirl of smoke and screaming gears. Giles started to run after him, but within seconds the van had reached the end of the street and turned headlong into traffic, horns frantically blaring as he turned and shot sideways, the wrong way across an intersection.
Choking on the exhaust fumes Rupert watched the dark shape disappear, shading his eyes as he tried to understand what Ethan Rayne had been doing here. More importantly, how he had been here, when the last he'd heard the Military had had him locked up tighter than the crown jewels. Rubbed a hand through his hair as he realised the probable source of his earlier feelings of foreboding.
"He cut you up or something?"
Caught completely off guard, Giles was unable to stop himself from starting in alarm at the sound of the voice at his shoulder, although it was almost instantly recognisable. The grin formed even before he'd had time to recover himself.
"Sorry, mate. Didn't mean to give you a heart attack."
Spike. He should have guessed he'd be hanging around somewhere out here. Wanting to be near Buffy, near her friends, whilst still remaining invisible. Narrowing his eyes Giles studied the vampire's face with dispassionsate curiosity, and watched as his expression changed from his usual smirking superiority to a odd discomfort. He dropped his gaze and, taking a pack of cigarettes from his inside pocket, he lit one and inhaled deeply.
"They told you then?"
Giles felt a stir of surprise at his tone. Nervousness was not an emotion he usually associated with Spike either. But then the sudden addition of a soul could do strange things to a vampire's personality.
"Yes. They did."
And to say he had been surprised would have been an ridiculous understatement. For a vampire to willingly seek out the restoration of his soul was something that was unheard of. There was no precedent, a fact he was certain of, as he had been secretly combing the Council's records ever since Buffy had told him of Spike's recent...acquisition. It was completely bizarre, but, when the initial surprise had finally worn off and he was left alone with his thoughts, he had realised something odd. If ever there had been one vampire who would do such a thing, that vampire was Spike. Dogmatic was, after all, his middle name. Looking at him now Giles was surprised that he didn't look, physically, any different. His hair was still that ridiculous eighties, bleach blonde, the clothes were still verging on the Matrix-ian, although the duster was now notably absent. He was still smoking and, he was certain, drinking hard. And still head over heels in love with Buffy. Another little nugget of information she'd thought to provide him with.
Silently fighting an urge to grab the creature roughly by the lapels and demand to know his intentions were honourable, Rupert instead silently moved away and began walking back towards the rear entrance of the Magic Box.
"That's it?!"
Giles rolled his eyes, refusing to look at him,
"I'm not quite sure what you expect me to say."
The vampire started to follow him, but then stopped suddenly when he realised where the other man was headed, his voice growing suddenly high pitched with annoyance.
"Oh...right! That's right!! Should have known....the soul doesn't make any more difference to you than it does to her. Once a vampire, always a vampire, right Watcher?"
For a moment irritation briefly overcame his need to check on everyone's safety and Giles turned around to face him, eyes narrowing to cool, grey slits. Spike's face was almost childishly mutinous, pain and anger showing in every line as he stood hunched, sheltering in the alley shadows.
"You are still a vampire. But in answer to your question, yes. Your having a soul does make a difference. It means that as well as choosing a lifestyle of incomparable brutality, incredible cruelty, deviousness and violence, you are now also capable of choosing the opposite. But so far I haven't seen any sign of that. All I see is you still looking for a way to get to Buffy."
Angrily forming a retort Spike started to speak, but Giles cut him off before he could begin.
"If you want Buffy to start treating you like a person, then I suggest you begin acting like one."
And with that he opened the door to the Magic Box and let himself inside.
********************
For a moment he couldn't hear a sound and the fear rose in him like cold water, filling his legs first and then rising quickly to engulf him. Ethan. What had he done to them?
Then a laugh.
Buffy's laugh. A bright, happy sound then sent a surge of relief to his brain, sent him almost running across the training room to greet her. Her eyes turned to him, full of surprise and then amazed delight, her lips and small hands wrapped around a huge mug of steaming coffee.
"Giles!!!!!"
And then she was walking to him, trying not to run as well, enfolding him in a little-girl bearhug that would have cracked his ribs if he hadn't been prepared for it. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he felt hot tears prickle behind his eyelids as he took in the heart-breakingly, familiar scene in the shop. Dawn was seated smiling at the research table, a book wide open in front of her, a mug of hot coffee to her right. Willow opposite, in the act of dunking a biscuit, looking much healthier and more cheerful than when he'd seen her off at the airport two months ago. And then the happy couple, Xander's arm wound possessively round Anya's tiny waist, both wearing grins that would shame the Cheshire Cat, both holding enormous great mugs of steaming hot....
"Why is everyone drinking coffee?"
Buffy's grip on Giles loosened a little as she too remembered her drink, took another big gulp before finally letting him go.
"We like coffee!"
Her voice sounded strange, oddly high pitched and Giles suddenly felt his skin begin to crawl. His brain working...working. Ethan Rayne. Ethan Rayne had been here. Etahn Rayne had been in this shop. And now Buffy was acting...oddly. Wait...no...they were all looking...strange. An odd pinkish hue to their cheeks, their eyes brighter than usual. What was going on here? Perhaps they'd all been up terribly late, researching. But still that didn't explain...
"Dawn too? Since when?"
They were all looking at him now, expressions of surprised confusion all round. Anya and Xander raised their mugs simultaneously, draining them. Dawn smiled, cocking her head, as she blew on her's.
"Hey. I'm not a little kid you know? I can drink coffee."
Took a great big swig and smacked her lips,
"Besides. It's delicious."
Something was wrong here. Something was very wrong. In two strides he had made it to the table, lifted up the perculator jug that he couldn't remember having ever seen there before.
"Where did this come from?"
Anya's voice chipped in, so sharp with forced cheeriness that it sounded like one of The Chipmunks.
"The man delivered it this morning. He said you'd ordered it."
"The man?"
"The delivery man."
Taking a step or two towards her, he held out the jug, swirling the contents so she could plainly see the mass of charred, magical herbs at the bottom. Xander leant forward, peering inside,
"Is that a new blend?"
Ethan Rayne. Ethan Rayne. The name beat out a tattoo in his skull, forcing the blood to his temples, bringing on a migraine that threatened to blind him.
"Anya. Did you let the....delivery man make the coffee?"
She smiled, trying gently to take the jug from his hands, a small frown beginning.
"Yes, as a matter of fact. I thought it was probably like one of those vacumn cleaner sales things. A demo! He said he wanted to show me how 'a really good cup of coffee' could make you feel."
Giles's voice took on a flinty quality as he forced her to look at him, forced her to stop pulling on the handle of the jug.
"Anya. Can you remember if he said anything else?"
She pouted, denied, folded her arms.
"Yes. He said 'it's a special roast...just for you'."
"For...you?"
"No, for you. He said he knew you and that you could do with a little...what did he say? A little 'spring in your step again'."
She smiled, pleased that she'd remembered his exact words.
"Now...Giles...don't be such a...can we please have some more?"
Fear was in him now. His eyes darting from one face to the other as he began to see the changes. Dawn was first of course. Tumbling from her seat, her eyes suddenly growing piggy, her face fattening, hair shortening alarmingly. Arms disappearing up into the sleeves of her sweatshirt. A wail like a banshee and Buffy was on the floor too, arms and legs flailing, mouth open in a silent scream.
"Giles! What's happening?"
Anya's fingers gripped his arm in sudden terror, her eyes wild as she stared down at her husband to be. A chubby brown creature, barely reaching her waistband now, huge eyes staring up at them both in amazement.
"G...an...ya!!!"
His voice sounded distorted, horribly choked as he tried to speak, gripping her skirt with one sticky paw.
"Oh God!! Get him...Giles...get it off me!!!"
The last to go was Willow, he wasn't sure why. Maybe she'd just drunk less than the others, or maybe it was her inner magical strength combatting the spell. He could see her eyes glowing as the magicks hit her, powerful, paralysing her even as she fought against it.
"Giles! Help m....."
Her voice rose to a pin sharp whine as she too, fell to the floor, squirming and writhing in pain. Reeling with shock he realised Anya's face was buried in his shoulder, her cries of distress muffled as his arm held her closely, keeping the Xander creature at bay with the hot coffee jug. She seemed strangely unaffected by the potion and he turned her face to the side briefly to check. Tears streaked her cheeks but otherwise she was unchanged. Still Anya.
"Is...is it finished?"
Her voice was tremulous and she clung to him even as he let her go, stepping back to survey the scene before them.
The floor was a mass of bundled clothes and shivering huddled shapes, none of them any bigger than a medium-sized dog. Giles's felt his mouth drop open slightly even as his brow furrowed in a horrified frown.
"Oh...my God."
Anya sounded as if she was about to start up again, her voice only inches from hysteria.
"Oh my God, Giles...what's happened to them? Oh...Giles...who...did this?"
Ethan Rayne. Ethan Rayne. His name was like a poison in his system, a fuel pulsing through him, ready for ignition. So Ethan had missed his old pal had he? Ethan thought he could bring back Ripper just like he was, thought that maybe they'd raise merry hell together? Was that the plan Ethan? Couldn't fight Giles so you thought you'd raise the Ripper.
A stab of guilt as one of them cried out a final time. But this wasn't his fault. There was no way he could have known. Ethan Rayne was to blame. And Ethan Rayne would pay, this time maybe with his life.
A sound behind him sent him spinning on his heel, coffee jug at the ready.
"Jesus! Watch it! Could give a bloke a nasty scald with that!"
Spike stood in the doorway, cigarette hanging from one corner of his mouth, hands firmly thrust into his pockets.
"Look. I know what you're going to say but hear me out."
"Spike..."
"No...listen. You might be right about the...me wanting the soul just to get closer to Buffy an' everything but...well...the thing is..."
He stopped mid flow, arrested by the sight of the creatures covering the floor of the Magic Box. Tousle-haired naked creatures, with great big eyes, open mouths and sticky, tiny little fingers. Watched them for a moment bemused before performing the most theatrical double-take Giles thought he'd ever seen in his entre life.
"Bloody h....!!!"
His eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline as he recognised Buffy's jacket, then more slowly, more incredulously, the tiny, naked, two year-old version of the Slayer he had sworn to love until death.
"Who the hell turned them all into little kiddies!!"
Sleep-filled eyes cracked open and focused muzzily on the flashing LED display,
00.00 ampm
00.00 ampm
00.00 ampm
Took a little longer than he usually would to realise that there had obviously been a powercut in the night. Not so unusual because...oh God, and a hand went reflexively to his face to cover his eyes. He was back in Sunnydale again.
Sunnydale, California. Hellmouth Capital of the Western World and Official Sponsor of Weirdness and Terror for the Entire Globe. Also, due to the massively high number of underground-dwelling demons, a town with almost constantly disrupted public services. Massaging his temples he tried to recollect the terribly urgent matter that had summoned him, yet again, this wearisome and lengthy distance from his wonderfully relaxing home in the Bath countryside. Was Dawn in trouble again? Or was it a Rosenberg Relapse? It surely had to have been something apocalyptic, so why was he having trouble remembering?
And then it came to him. An icy-cold chill and his eyes were snapped wide open, staring into the dimness of his hotel room in sudden horror. No, let it all be a nightmare. But the black tuxedo hanging on the back of his door only confirmed it.
Oh God. The Wedding.
He tried to suppress the terrible feelings of foreboding that immediately washed through him again, but it was impossible. Ever since they had called and told him the wonderful news he had felt sick to his stomach. He knew he must have said all the right things though, because Anya had laughed and cried and thanked him profusely and politely. Then Xander had come on the line and said almost exactly the same things, only his voice had been a great deal less piercing and easier to listen to. And before he knew it, he'd heard himself making all kinds of promises to him, to them. Of course he'd be able to make it this time. Of course he'd pay for the flowers again. Of course he'd be proud to walk Anya down the aisle.
Afterwards, the last one had been the real shocker and he still couldn't believe he'd said yes to it. Although, he supposed, it might have been flattering, if Anya hadn't felt moved to promptly follow her request with the cheery; 'It's supposed to someone old apparently. And a man. And you're the only old man we know...that's human.' Yes. All in all, they hadn't exactly sold it as an honour, so much as a Herculean task. He was to be their anchor-man, ensuring that the day went smoothly this time. They had entrusted him with absolutely everything, from the decorations to making sure the notary arrived on time. The other Scoobies were officially out of the loop, the ceremony and small gathering afterwards being a meticulously planned surprise for all of them. It was a significant decision and one that the two of them had not made lightly. A great deal of thought had been put into the seriousness and the gravity of this second, and hopefully final, ceremony and, as Xander had so eloquently put it: 'If this gets screwed up for her a second time, I think we're all gonna be scraping our entrails off the pulpit'. Yes, tomorrow was to be a day of celebration. The start of two wonderful and deserving peoples' future together, one in which they had both come a long way, both spiritually and emotionally. And he was pleased for them. Really he was. It was just himself he felt horribly sorry for.
Sliding out of bed, he stretched his arms above his head a little stiffly, stood and regarded himself in the full length mirror. Almost unconsciously he sucked in the slight belly he was starting to develop. Ran a hand through his pepper coloured hair and tilted his head to one side, emphasising his well-defined cheekbones. Old man indeed.
Breaking into his thoughts, the maid's knock at the door alerted him to the fact that it must be at least ten a.m. He groaned inwardly, as he remembered the couple's precisely organised schedule for him had now gone completely awry. He was supposed to have taken a cheque to the caterers at nine thirty, as well as which he'd offered to meet up with Anya and Xander at the Magic Shop around eleven, to finalise their plans for the surprise. Quickly pulling his bathrobe on, he opened the door to take his fresh towels from the maid before hastening to the bathroom for a necessarily fast, cold shower. Shook his head irritably as he slapped open the faucet.
Just one day back in Sunnydale and already he was in a state of panic.
********************
The hire car was an automatic, and that was just the beginning of it. It was bright, fuchsia pink
"Don't you have anything else?"
The woman's smile was so wide and bright, he was eerily reminded of a particularly bad waxwork of Princess Di he once seen. He briefly considered the fact that she might be some kind of demon. She was obviously evil, that much was certain.
"I'm sorry sir, but your email expressly requested a 'compact car'."
He gritted his teeth, feeling his mood swing dangerously towards homicidal.
"I telephoned. And if I'd asked for Barbie's bloody dune-buggy I think I'd remember, don't you?"
But it was no good. He'd seen this particular brand of customer service a million times before in this God forsaken country. The whiter-than-white smile and the fuck-you-sir eyes. America, where the Consumer was King. Scraped the keys from the desk and turned on his heel without another word, snarling softly. Give me a surly Cockney any day.
That had been the start of it but it certainly wouldn't be the end. The caterers had taken his cheque without a word and then proceeded to explain that the cake would perhaps be just a little late arriving. How late they weren't prepared to say but there was a chance, just a chance mind you, that it wouldn't be there for the reception party. This was a worst case scenario of course, everything would undoubtedly be fine. But on the off- chance that it wasn't? They were prepared to throw in all the crab puffs, completely free of charge.
He wasn't even going to rise to that one. A flat-out threat of physical violence seemed to have had the required effect, and he'd left the little man cowering in terror behind his flour bins before departing in a sufficiently impressive dark swirl of cashmere. He liked to think that his exit had been only slightly marred by his method of transportation. Swatting the bubblegum, pink hatchback into Drive he peeled away from the kerb with a squeal of tyres and rejoined the morning traffic.
God, he hated Sunnydale.
********************
Anya's VW Rabbit was in his space. And Xander's new, sleek, silver monstrosity was in their only customer space. Bristling silently as he realised that he'd have to find a parking spot in the street instead, like any normal guest in town. At least the Barbiemobile was simple to manoevre in confined areas and he edged it back out with relative ease. The rear spoiler had just cleared the entrance to the alley when a sharp shriek of brakes brought his head round in sudden alarm. Rolling the window down he started to address the occupant of the dark van with a friendly, apology.
"I'm..er...I'm terribly sorry...I didn't see you c...."
before tailing off into frozen disbelief.
A familiar face stared back at him from behind the tinted glass, and for a second it was as if the man was simply mirroring his expression, making fun of him. His eyes wide with surprise and alarm as he took in the astonished expression of his old friend. Slowly though, Giles felt a cold anger suffuse him, his lips silently forming a name, even before his voice began to speak it.
"Ethan."
What in hell was he doing here?
His hand went to the door handle and in the same moment Ethan moved. His head went down, slamming the vehicle into reverse and haring, violently backwards in a swirl of smoke and screaming gears. Giles started to run after him, but within seconds the van had reached the end of the street and turned headlong into traffic, horns frantically blaring as he turned and shot sideways, the wrong way across an intersection.
Choking on the exhaust fumes Rupert watched the dark shape disappear, shading his eyes as he tried to understand what Ethan Rayne had been doing here. More importantly, how he had been here, when the last he'd heard the Military had had him locked up tighter than the crown jewels. Rubbed a hand through his hair as he realised the probable source of his earlier feelings of foreboding.
"He cut you up or something?"
Caught completely off guard, Giles was unable to stop himself from starting in alarm at the sound of the voice at his shoulder, although it was almost instantly recognisable. The grin formed even before he'd had time to recover himself.
"Sorry, mate. Didn't mean to give you a heart attack."
Spike. He should have guessed he'd be hanging around somewhere out here. Wanting to be near Buffy, near her friends, whilst still remaining invisible. Narrowing his eyes Giles studied the vampire's face with dispassionsate curiosity, and watched as his expression changed from his usual smirking superiority to a odd discomfort. He dropped his gaze and, taking a pack of cigarettes from his inside pocket, he lit one and inhaled deeply.
"They told you then?"
Giles felt a stir of surprise at his tone. Nervousness was not an emotion he usually associated with Spike either. But then the sudden addition of a soul could do strange things to a vampire's personality.
"Yes. They did."
And to say he had been surprised would have been an ridiculous understatement. For a vampire to willingly seek out the restoration of his soul was something that was unheard of. There was no precedent, a fact he was certain of, as he had been secretly combing the Council's records ever since Buffy had told him of Spike's recent...acquisition. It was completely bizarre, but, when the initial surprise had finally worn off and he was left alone with his thoughts, he had realised something odd. If ever there had been one vampire who would do such a thing, that vampire was Spike. Dogmatic was, after all, his middle name. Looking at him now Giles was surprised that he didn't look, physically, any different. His hair was still that ridiculous eighties, bleach blonde, the clothes were still verging on the Matrix-ian, although the duster was now notably absent. He was still smoking and, he was certain, drinking hard. And still head over heels in love with Buffy. Another little nugget of information she'd thought to provide him with.
Silently fighting an urge to grab the creature roughly by the lapels and demand to know his intentions were honourable, Rupert instead silently moved away and began walking back towards the rear entrance of the Magic Box.
"That's it?!"
Giles rolled his eyes, refusing to look at him,
"I'm not quite sure what you expect me to say."
The vampire started to follow him, but then stopped suddenly when he realised where the other man was headed, his voice growing suddenly high pitched with annoyance.
"Oh...right! That's right!! Should have known....the soul doesn't make any more difference to you than it does to her. Once a vampire, always a vampire, right Watcher?"
For a moment irritation briefly overcame his need to check on everyone's safety and Giles turned around to face him, eyes narrowing to cool, grey slits. Spike's face was almost childishly mutinous, pain and anger showing in every line as he stood hunched, sheltering in the alley shadows.
"You are still a vampire. But in answer to your question, yes. Your having a soul does make a difference. It means that as well as choosing a lifestyle of incomparable brutality, incredible cruelty, deviousness and violence, you are now also capable of choosing the opposite. But so far I haven't seen any sign of that. All I see is you still looking for a way to get to Buffy."
Angrily forming a retort Spike started to speak, but Giles cut him off before he could begin.
"If you want Buffy to start treating you like a person, then I suggest you begin acting like one."
And with that he opened the door to the Magic Box and let himself inside.
********************
For a moment he couldn't hear a sound and the fear rose in him like cold water, filling his legs first and then rising quickly to engulf him. Ethan. What had he done to them?
Then a laugh.
Buffy's laugh. A bright, happy sound then sent a surge of relief to his brain, sent him almost running across the training room to greet her. Her eyes turned to him, full of surprise and then amazed delight, her lips and small hands wrapped around a huge mug of steaming coffee.
"Giles!!!!!"
And then she was walking to him, trying not to run as well, enfolding him in a little-girl bearhug that would have cracked his ribs if he hadn't been prepared for it. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he felt hot tears prickle behind his eyelids as he took in the heart-breakingly, familiar scene in the shop. Dawn was seated smiling at the research table, a book wide open in front of her, a mug of hot coffee to her right. Willow opposite, in the act of dunking a biscuit, looking much healthier and more cheerful than when he'd seen her off at the airport two months ago. And then the happy couple, Xander's arm wound possessively round Anya's tiny waist, both wearing grins that would shame the Cheshire Cat, both holding enormous great mugs of steaming hot....
"Why is everyone drinking coffee?"
Buffy's grip on Giles loosened a little as she too remembered her drink, took another big gulp before finally letting him go.
"We like coffee!"
Her voice sounded strange, oddly high pitched and Giles suddenly felt his skin begin to crawl. His brain working...working. Ethan Rayne. Ethan Rayne had been here. Etahn Rayne had been in this shop. And now Buffy was acting...oddly. Wait...no...they were all looking...strange. An odd pinkish hue to their cheeks, their eyes brighter than usual. What was going on here? Perhaps they'd all been up terribly late, researching. But still that didn't explain...
"Dawn too? Since when?"
They were all looking at him now, expressions of surprised confusion all round. Anya and Xander raised their mugs simultaneously, draining them. Dawn smiled, cocking her head, as she blew on her's.
"Hey. I'm not a little kid you know? I can drink coffee."
Took a great big swig and smacked her lips,
"Besides. It's delicious."
Something was wrong here. Something was very wrong. In two strides he had made it to the table, lifted up the perculator jug that he couldn't remember having ever seen there before.
"Where did this come from?"
Anya's voice chipped in, so sharp with forced cheeriness that it sounded like one of The Chipmunks.
"The man delivered it this morning. He said you'd ordered it."
"The man?"
"The delivery man."
Taking a step or two towards her, he held out the jug, swirling the contents so she could plainly see the mass of charred, magical herbs at the bottom. Xander leant forward, peering inside,
"Is that a new blend?"
Ethan Rayne. Ethan Rayne. The name beat out a tattoo in his skull, forcing the blood to his temples, bringing on a migraine that threatened to blind him.
"Anya. Did you let the....delivery man make the coffee?"
She smiled, trying gently to take the jug from his hands, a small frown beginning.
"Yes, as a matter of fact. I thought it was probably like one of those vacumn cleaner sales things. A demo! He said he wanted to show me how 'a really good cup of coffee' could make you feel."
Giles's voice took on a flinty quality as he forced her to look at him, forced her to stop pulling on the handle of the jug.
"Anya. Can you remember if he said anything else?"
She pouted, denied, folded her arms.
"Yes. He said 'it's a special roast...just for you'."
"For...you?"
"No, for you. He said he knew you and that you could do with a little...what did he say? A little 'spring in your step again'."
She smiled, pleased that she'd remembered his exact words.
"Now...Giles...don't be such a...can we please have some more?"
Fear was in him now. His eyes darting from one face to the other as he began to see the changes. Dawn was first of course. Tumbling from her seat, her eyes suddenly growing piggy, her face fattening, hair shortening alarmingly. Arms disappearing up into the sleeves of her sweatshirt. A wail like a banshee and Buffy was on the floor too, arms and legs flailing, mouth open in a silent scream.
"Giles! What's happening?"
Anya's fingers gripped his arm in sudden terror, her eyes wild as she stared down at her husband to be. A chubby brown creature, barely reaching her waistband now, huge eyes staring up at them both in amazement.
"G...an...ya!!!"
His voice sounded distorted, horribly choked as he tried to speak, gripping her skirt with one sticky paw.
"Oh God!! Get him...Giles...get it off me!!!"
The last to go was Willow, he wasn't sure why. Maybe she'd just drunk less than the others, or maybe it was her inner magical strength combatting the spell. He could see her eyes glowing as the magicks hit her, powerful, paralysing her even as she fought against it.
"Giles! Help m....."
Her voice rose to a pin sharp whine as she too, fell to the floor, squirming and writhing in pain. Reeling with shock he realised Anya's face was buried in his shoulder, her cries of distress muffled as his arm held her closely, keeping the Xander creature at bay with the hot coffee jug. She seemed strangely unaffected by the potion and he turned her face to the side briefly to check. Tears streaked her cheeks but otherwise she was unchanged. Still Anya.
"Is...is it finished?"
Her voice was tremulous and she clung to him even as he let her go, stepping back to survey the scene before them.
The floor was a mass of bundled clothes and shivering huddled shapes, none of them any bigger than a medium-sized dog. Giles's felt his mouth drop open slightly even as his brow furrowed in a horrified frown.
"Oh...my God."
Anya sounded as if she was about to start up again, her voice only inches from hysteria.
"Oh my God, Giles...what's happened to them? Oh...Giles...who...did this?"
Ethan Rayne. Ethan Rayne. His name was like a poison in his system, a fuel pulsing through him, ready for ignition. So Ethan had missed his old pal had he? Ethan thought he could bring back Ripper just like he was, thought that maybe they'd raise merry hell together? Was that the plan Ethan? Couldn't fight Giles so you thought you'd raise the Ripper.
A stab of guilt as one of them cried out a final time. But this wasn't his fault. There was no way he could have known. Ethan Rayne was to blame. And Ethan Rayne would pay, this time maybe with his life.
A sound behind him sent him spinning on his heel, coffee jug at the ready.
"Jesus! Watch it! Could give a bloke a nasty scald with that!"
Spike stood in the doorway, cigarette hanging from one corner of his mouth, hands firmly thrust into his pockets.
"Look. I know what you're going to say but hear me out."
"Spike..."
"No...listen. You might be right about the...me wanting the soul just to get closer to Buffy an' everything but...well...the thing is..."
He stopped mid flow, arrested by the sight of the creatures covering the floor of the Magic Box. Tousle-haired naked creatures, with great big eyes, open mouths and sticky, tiny little fingers. Watched them for a moment bemused before performing the most theatrical double-take Giles thought he'd ever seen in his entre life.
"Bloody h....!!!"
His eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline as he recognised Buffy's jacket, then more slowly, more incredulously, the tiny, naked, two year-old version of the Slayer he had sworn to love until death.
"Who the hell turned them all into little kiddies!!"