Hey, look! New V!Giles!

Hector Stevenson, the man killed in the park, had last been seen at the hospital several weeks before. Sunnydale being what it was, it was difficult to get a comprehensive list of missing people to compare to the growing list of mentally damaged folk who were appearing. When the available information was correlated, no one area showed a higher number of missing people being discovered crazy.

Spike sent Sammy, Fred and the girls out to look for centers of demonic activity. He himself took Willy's, looking for both information and more opportunities to re-establish his reputation as the vampire most likely to rip out your hipbones and use them as a planter.

Giles debated going with him, but he knew that was the bloodthirstiness talking. He made a promise to himself that if he checked four volumes of dark lore for mentions of Glory, then he could go out and find something to beat up. After all, the technique had gotten him through Oxford.

He was halfway through the third volume, which described Glory's influence over the mentally ill and brain damaged, when he remembered something from before Joyce's surgery. She had seen Dawn's dual nature, had known the girl wasn't her daughter. But as opposed to the other people who had seen Dawn for what she was, Joyce had recovered her wits. Perhaps she remembered that time, perhaps she remembered something of the influence Glory wielded over those whose minds were in altered states.

He hadn't seen her since the one visit anyway, and he did want to find out how she was doing. It was research, so he wasn't violating his personal bargain. Such sophistry had also gotten him through Oxford.

Once he determined that Buffy wasn't visiting her mother, Giles didn't bother sneaking down the hospital corridor to Joyce's room. He paused in pleased surprise in the doorway.

"Joyce, you're up."

Joyce looked up, startled, from where she sat in a chair near the bed. The magazine she'd been reading slipped from her fingers. Giles crouched swiftly to pick it up and return it to her.

"'Art & Auction,'" he read. "Keeping up with the business, are you?"

"Giles," she said, blinking at him. She looked at the doorway uncertainly.

"Are you expecting someone?"

"Oh, no, I'm just ... hello."

He smiled back at her but remained crouched at her side, trying not to appear too intimidating. "I was wondering how you were doing."

She looked uncertain, then nodded slowly. "No, I don't suppose ... Buffy tells you." Her voice was much clearer, but she was obviously searching for the right word or making sure of how to pronounce it. "I'm ... doing better."

"That's wonderful." He patted her hand and pretended not to notice the way she almost pulled away. He wondered if Buffy had spoken to her about him. "Buffy told Spike that you were going to be working on walking."

Her smile was tired. "I can stand by myself, but I'm still a little wobbly. I'm going to need a--a--oh, what is it, what the old ladies use." She held her hands out in front of her.

"I think you call them walkers here."

"Yes, a walker." She frowned as she said it. "Just like my grandmother."

"We call them Zimmer frames in England. I had an old aunt who said she was going out for a Zimmer race when she went out with her friends."

Joyce chuckled. "If I keep up with my exercises and physical therapy, I should be able to graduate to a cane in a few weeks. I may not even need that by summer."

"That's very good. And I shall dare your wrath and say 'I told you so.' Have they said when you'll be released?"

The frown reappeared. "Not very long. A day or so. Xander's been building a ramp on the front steps."

"You don't seem pleased."

"Buffy's been talking about leaving school to stay home and take care of me. Apparently she hasn't been going to class, she's taking care of the house and checking things at the gallery. She shouldn't have to do all that, she should be in school."

"I'm sure it won't be for long, only till you're reliably on your feet again. And it's better than planning your funeral."

Joyce blinked at him. "You used to be more tactful."

"Oh, um--yes, I suppose I was. But it's true." He saw her glance at the door again, as if afraid of--or hoping for-- an interruption. "I was wondering something, though, Joyce."

"Yes?"

"Before your surgery, you were able to perceive that Dawn was . . . different. Do you remember?"

"I don't--" She frowned in thought. "It's very blurry. I wasn't sure what was real. Why?"

Giles had long ago stopped underestimating this woman, so he told her the truth. "One of Glory's abilities is to steal the higher functions of people's minds. We've seen more and more damaged people. Most of them seem able to see Dawn's true nature, and they also seem to share an awareness of Glory. I was wondering if you remembered a connection to Glory, or at least an awareness of something of power."

Joyce folded her hands and stared off into her memories. "I remember . . . frustration. Impatience. Horrible longing. But it could so easily have been my own."

"No awareness of another being?"

She shook her head. "You say other people have seen Dawn and . . . reacted?"

"Yes, Glory has power over people with lessened mental abilities, and they seem to be aware of her search for the Key. They perceive Dawn's difference, but they are unable to do anything with the information."

"I don't care about Dawn's difference. She's my daughter, no matter if monks gave her to me or if I gave birth to her. I just hope I can help protect her."

For a moment, there was no sign of weakness in Joyce Summers. Giles dearly hoped she'd never find out about his plan to give Dawn to the hell beasts--or if she did, that he'd have a great deal of warning. Mexico was said to be a nice place for vampires.

"I'll not bother you any longer," he said, getting to his feet. "I'm glad you're doing so well."

She smiled faintly. "Check back with me in six months, though."

"I will. If only to say hello." As he turned to go, he saw a shelf of plants and cards. Among them was a small stuffed green monster, with horns and claws and as fearsome a snarl as something plush could manage. "Someone has interesting tastes in stuffed animals," he observed.

Joyce chuckled. "He's supposed to protect me."

He could picture Dawn presenting her mother with a fierce creature to protect her when no one else was about. When he took a step closer, though, he smelled Spike.

"I'll be keeping in touch with Anya," he said after the briefest of hesitations. "I hope to get even more good news about you in the future.'

Joyce smiled sincerely. "I'll make sure she has all the latest news. Good night, Giles."

"Good night, Joyce."

As he walked away, he wondered why he felt so annoyed. Was it that Spike had been visiting Joyce without Giles' knowledge? The two of them had spent time together over coffee and hot chocolate before now, so there was no reason why Spike shouldn't come to visit her in the hospital.

Perhaps it was because Joyce was obviously uncomfortable alone with Giles. He paused a moment to be honest with himself. Joyce had only ever known Spike as a vampire, she knew what he was like. Even before the chip, he'd been oddly respectful of her. Joyce had to be wondering about all the ways Giles had changed. Giles himself had to admit to conflicting impulses. The voice in the back of his mind whispered of helpless prey, of pain to the Slayer if her mother was killed.

He hadn't eaten yet, perhaps that explained his bad mood. He glanced around the hospital corridor, assessing opportunities. All the staff were going busily about their rounds, it was too early in the evening to sneak into a patient's room. Perhaps he could go down to the parking lot and wait for a solitary visitor to wander into a dark shadow.

He strolled towards the elevators. As he passed the staff elevator, the doors opened and a man came out pushing a cart of clean laundry. With barely a thought, Giles slipped into the elevator. The morgue was in the basement, surrounded by badly lit corridors and infrequently occupied departments. Dozens of places to stash a drained body.

The darkness was blissful to sensitive eyes, though the smells jangled on his nerves. Chemicals from the laundry, the scent of decomposing bodies drifting from that side corridor. The humans probably didn't notice the smell of decay, at least consciously. Which means anyone down here will be nicely uneasy already. Less effort to bring the proper level of fear to the blood.

No heartbeats nearby. Giles debated, then headed towards the morgue. If nothing else, he could see if there were any proto-vampires in the coolers.

Two corners from the morgue, he heard voices. " . . . and stop coming to the hospital, damn it," said a man. "I don't want your kind here."

"Well, if you'd bother to speak to us when you're at home--" The voice was not quite human.

"I don't want to speak to you at all! Now go away! You have no business here."

"Her most sparkling sublimity was quite clear, we're to look everywhere."

"There's nothing for you here, there's no reason you need to speak to me. Now leave me alone."

The non-human voice sighed. "Very well, sir."

Giles heard a non-human heartbeat approaching. He paused at the corner and waited.

A gnarled demon with bad skin and wearing a hooded robe crept around the corner. It saw Giles and squeaked as it jumped. "Excuse me," it gasped. "I did not see you--" It frowned. "Or hear you. Or smell you. Ah. My apologies, Master Vampire, I'll just be on my way."

Demons in the vicinity of the morgue were so rarely up to any good. Giles moved to block the creature's way and looked down the corridor. He heard a rapid heartbeat in that direction and smelled anxiety. "What were you doing down there?"

"Nothing, most puissant one, nothing at all that need bother your most undeadness."

Giles glared at him. "That makes less sense than anything Xander or Willow have ever babbled." The demon started to slink off, and he grabbed the creature by the front of its robe. "Who are you, what are you doing down here, and who is that lurking down there?"

The demon actually straightened a little from its obsequious crouch. "Down there? There's no one down there. No one you need to worry about."

Giles smiled slightly and slipped on his fangs. "No one worth worrying about? Generally the best sort to invite to dinner. If they're not worth worrying about."

"Oh, you don't want to eat him, your most frightening pointiness. He is not at all tasty. You should eat me instead."

"That's very generous of you. What did you say your name was?"

"Smirg, my lord."

"Smirg. Nothing personal, Smirg, but I'm afraid I don't find you that appetizing."

Giles started down the corridor, Smirg on his heels. "I understand, my lord," the demon said. "I am unworthy of the notice of such a fearsome creature of the night. Especially such a clever *vampire*, who's thought of *hunting* in the hospital."

Giles turned to glare at it. "What are you doing? I don't need a herald going before me announcing my presence." He paused, then looked from the demon down the corridor. The heartbeat he'd heard earlier was retreating. "You were giving a warning. Who were you talking to?"

Smirg blinked innocently. "Talking to, my lord? Who would I be talking to?"

Growling, Giles grabbed its robe again. "Who was it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, most scary snarling one. You'll probably just have to kill me."

"I distrust people who want me to kill them."

"Completely up to you, your illustrious bloodthirstiness."

"Why on earth are you talking like that?"

"Like what, most--"

He shook the demon firmly. "Stop that." The demon nodded. "Now, what are you doing down here?" The demon stared at him. "You can talk to answer the question. What are you doing down here?"

"I was visiting the corpses, my lord. I like corpses."

"I think you're lying."

"Most likely, my lord."

"I could hurt you a great deal, you know."

"Oh, yes, I know, my lord."

"And the longer I spend with you, the farther away whomever you were talking to gets."

The demon smiled. 'Yes, my lord."

Kill him just on principle? Giles debated for several moments, then let the creature go. "If I see you again, I'll most likely kill you just for the hell of it."

Smirg straightened his robe. "Quite all right, my lord. Good hunting to you. It strolled away.

Giles went down to the morgue to make sure nothing out of hte ordinary was going on, but all was quiet. He smelled traces of the man that Smirg had been speaking to, but everything indicated average human.

Annoyed, Giles waylaid a janitor and left his drained body in a laundry hamper.

Elsewhere in the Sunnydale night, Xander Harris mused with ironic fondness on the good old days of plain, unsophisticated vampires. How pleasant it would be to go back to those days. But only if he could go back as the person he was now. No way in hell would he do high school over again. Sure, bezoars in the basement and hyenas in the hall, but there weren't any gods wandering around.

His musings didn't distract him from watching for things that go bump in the night as he did his share of the patrol through the Riverview Cemetery. Nice place, Riverview. When it was his turn and if there was enough left to bother with, he wanted to be buried here, with a view of the water.

"Excuse me, young man," said a female voice from the shadows. A middled-aged woman carrying a dog leash stepped out from behind a bush. "Could you help me find my dog?"

Xander stared at her. "That's a new line."

"Excuse me?" She blinked harmless brown eyes at him, her expression a mix of confusion and worry. "Have you seen a dog? A lhasa apso? He just slipped the leash and ran off after something."

"Well, no, haven't seen any dogs. I might smell a rat, though."

"There's no need to be rude." She glowered at him and turned to walk away.

Xander took a step after her, but at least it was a suspicious step. "Where'd you last see your dog, ma'am?"

"He was over by that mausoleum." She turned quickly, the dog leash looped in both hands and fangs showing through her grin.

Xander ducked as she tried to throw the loop over his head. "Yeah, Harris, tell the universe you miss vampires." He scrambled away, yanking the stake out of his back pocket.

The vampire hesitated. "Who are you? The Slayer's a girl."

"Yeah, well, I'm a close personal friend of the Slayer, so there. Gotta say, nice routine with the lost dog bit."

She grinned. "It's not a bit."

Barking broke out behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, Xander saw a small, white, shaggy dog running towards him, little canine fangs bared.

"Oh, now, come on!"

He barely dodged the teeth trying to latch onto his ankle, avoiding the vampire's claws by inches. Reaching down, he snagged the scruff of the dog's neck and threw himself back against a tree. "Back off, fangface, or the mutt gets it!" He held his stake against the dog's heart.

"No!" the vampire yelled. "Don't hurt Maxi!"

The dog snarled and wriggled, trying to get free. "Knock it off, dog," Xander said, giving the thing a shake.

"Maxi, stop it!" the vampire ordered. The dog went limp.

"OK, then," Xander said, catching his breath. "Here's where we stand. You're a vampire, and you want to kill me. I don't want you to kill me, and I've got your dog. Where do we go from here?"

"Give me my dog and I won't hurt you."

"Eeenh, try again. I give you your dog, and you jump me."

"Well, you don't think I'm going to let you stake me, do you?"

Xander smiled. "What a happy world that would be, if the vampires let you stake them." There was something inherently wrong with negotiating with vampires. "Alternate deal. You disappear and I let the dog go and I go in the other direction." He saw the way the vampire grinned. "And if you think I won't be watching my back, you're wrong. There's a Slayer around here somewhere, and I don't think she'd fall for the poor doggie routine."

The negotiations were madly interrupted by the arrival of a horse crashing through some bushes and galloping towards them. The vampire jumped towards Xander. Just as he brought his stake up in self-defense, she grabbed the dog from his hold and ran away. Xander ducked behind the tree as the horse ran past. It stopped not far away, tossing its head and pawing nervously. It wore a saddle and bridle, but the reins hung loose.

Xander crept towards it. "Easy, big fella," he said, flashing on memories of old western movies and cowboys. The horse turned its head and looked at him. "That's it, it's your old buddy Xander. Damn, you guys don't look so big on TV. Where'd you come from, huh?"

He reached out very carefully to touch the sweaty black flank. Snorting loudly, the horse jumped away, then reared, lashing out with heavy front hooves. Xander yelped and dove out of the way, scrambling for the cover of the bushes. The horse shook its head violently, then ran off into the darkness.

"Hi-yo, Silver, away." Xander headed back the direction the horse had come from. Not too far along, he heard the sound of heavy breathing and snarls--and laughter? Vaguely familiar laughter, that made his spine crawl. He ducked back into the bushes and crept along till he found the source of the sound. "Oh, god, no."

It was one of those Knights of Byzantium guys, in full armor with his sword out and swinging--at Spike. A Spike who danced with the blade, spinning just out of reach, ducking under the point, circling around to force the soldier to follow him. He was in full game face, and he was having the time of his unlife.

Xander had forgotten how elegantly Spike could move. When he fought demons, more often than not the fight was something close to balanced. This was Spike at play, utterly confident, completely in control of the movements. He used the skirts of his duster almost like a matador used his cloak, flicking a corner into his opponent's face and letting the leather sweep around his legs as he turned. At one point he got behind the soldier, and he kicked the man in the back, just hard enough to knock him stumbling off balance.

"Come on, mate," Spike grinned, "don't tell me you're all done. I haven't had a dance like this in years!"

There was not the slightest flicker of discomfort on his face as he hit the man. Maybe, Xander thought, the Knight wasn't human. But his gut knew better. His gut recognized a personal apocalypse when it stood up and flashed unchipped vampire fangs at him.

Spike, free, unleashed, the Big Bad in name only no longer. Xander only wondered why he was starting with some hapless dude in chainmail.

The soldier got his feet under him and his sword pointed towards the vampire. Spike strode towards him easily. "So your whole raison d'etre is to find and destroy the Key, is that right, mate?"

"We shall find and destroy the Key and save the world from the Beast," came the voice from behind the chainmail veil.

"Well, you might want to go a little easy on the word 'we', there, mate. I think your brothers in arms are going to have to go on without you."

The soldier firmed his shoulder. "When one falls, a hundred shall rise."

Spike grinned, showing all his fangs. "I love it when I get my meals delivered."

He dove in, playing no longer. He backhanded the sword blade out of his way and wrenched the weapon out of his victim's hands. The solider screamed as bones broke. Spike laughed again as he yanked the veil from the man's face and pulled him back against his chest.

"Well, you're serious about all this, aren't you," Spike said, looking at the tatoo on the man's forehead. "How about this, I won't let you die with your life's work unfinished."

"What?"

"I'll tell you where the key is."

The man stared at him, and Xander got ready to charge.

Spike looked around carefully. "The key that everyone's looking for is . ..." He leaned down and whispered in the man's ear. The soldier struggled wildly to escape. Spike chuckled, yanked the man's head back and sank his fangs into the neck.

Xander froze, staring. He kept remembering things--Spike wrapped up in a blanket and shivering that Thanksgiving, the vampire tied up in his ratty easy chair in the Basement of Doom, the Scoobies sneering with various degrees of cruelty over how low the Big Bad had fallen. His mortal sub-brain was now suspecting that they were all in a great deal of trouble.

Spike finished and pulled away from his victim with a satisfied sigh. "Blessed are the pure in heart," he said, "for they shall see God. Give Him my regards, mate." He dropped the body on the ground.

He stretched happily, then searched his pockets till he found his cigarettes and lighter. He was just lighting up when he paused, then looked around. He sniffed audibly, his search closing on the bushes where Xander hid. He smiled cruelly and sauntered over. "Are we playing hide and seek, then? I thought white hats disapproved of hiding."

The terrified primate in the back of Xander's head screamed at him to flee. Instead, he stood up and stepped out of cover. "Yeah, hiding's kind of girly."

Spike pouted. "What, aren't you even going to run?"

Xander met his eyes. "Not from you."

Spike chuckled. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Oh, gosh, is that the time? Must go off and get dinner now.

hee.

La la la I LOVE IT.

One typo thing:

Smirg straightened his robe. "Quite all right, my lord. Good hunting to you. It strolled away.

Need an end quote in there.

Ah, thank you, Liz. t off to correct main file

Hmm... snuff, or slash, snuff, or slash?

Lovely, Connie!

My hell card has been archived:

[link]

Moohahahaha.

Cereal: I should know better than to hit the keyboard when I hit post. It doubles me up.