Ah, Deb, sorry to have to tell you this, but - now you need to write Olivia and Fred's shopping trip. Sorry, I only make the rules.

and there's nothing a little of the sweet bumpy stuff

I'm assuming this should read `and there's nothing like a little of the sweet bumpy stuff' ?

Cracking stuff, Deb.

Um. This is a little... odd.

About a year ago, I wrote a practically novel length fanfic, set in an AU of my own devising. Some parts of it, because it was written in odd orders and I didn't see where I was going when I started, have been shown in various places, and at times I've got feedback, but to my knowledge nobody's read all of it.

In clearing out my hard drive a little, I've looked at the set of files, and... some of it's quite good. I had good feedback on some parts, in some places. And some people on FF.N *really* liked some of it. Which is scary.

It needs work, it needs thinking through and editing, but I can do that. I just need to know if it's worth it.

So... I've edited the first part, which Plei betaed for me, quite some time ago. When I wrote this, I was very pleased with it, although it turned out to be set rather earlier in the story than I'd expected. My first ever slash, I think. I'll be very grateful for any comments you have.

- - -

He works to nearly human hours now, but there are still evenings when he is restless and paces the floor like a caged tiger until sunset. Then, he can leave, to pick a fight with whatever demon is stupid enough to take him on. Sometimes they aren’t so stupid.

Whatever he found last night clearly comes into that category, because when he crawled into bed in the early hours of the morning he was a mass of wounds, cuts, grazes, tooth and claw marks—I'd gone to bed, though I couldn’t sleep without his strength, his cool skin, his stillness near my own warm body. I put out my hands, meaning to soothe him, to ease the hurts, but he pushed me away and we slept separately.

The clock struck noon long ago; soon it will strike one, and the girls (women, really; I should work to think of them that way) will be here. Many of the minor blemishes have gone from his lily-white skin, but some remain. There is a deep slash just below his collarbone—in the hollow of his left shoulder where he held me more times than I could count—which is festering a cruel collection of blues, purples and blacks. There is a heat in it, too, a heat that should not be there.

I’ve tried to shake him, wake him up, but he is so heavy, and I’m tired; my attempts are to no avail. My books tell me nothing. Either the answers I need are not recorded there, or I’m too sick with worry to be able to find them. Buffy and Willow are coming over soon. Perhaps…Wait! He’s stirring in his sleep—but no, he rolls away from me and sleeps on, quiet once more.

He frowns and murmurs something, probably a name, and my heart doesn’t allow me to hear, for fear it isn’t ‘Rupert’ but ‘Drusilla’, ‘Angelus’ or ‘Buffy’. When my pulse stops drumming in my ears, all is silent and still again—for a short time. The door clicks open, and I hear two familiar sets of footsteps.

"Giles?" Buffy calls, and the sound of her voice jolts me into action as it has always done. I stand from my place at Spike’s beside and hurry downstairs, making an effort, probably in vain, to keep quiet.

"Hush!" I say, urgently, and as the girls draw close to me I whisper, my voice made harsh by fears and choked back sobs of despair. "Spike is- I don’t know, injured or ill. Some sort of demon hurt him badly last night, but I don’t know what."

"Oh, Giles, I’m sorry. This must be terrible for you--you should have called! We can help with the research and things." Willow spouts sympathy, but Buffy is more business like.

"The books don’t tell you anything?" she asks, gesturing round my apartment at the open volumes lying on everything, volumes she sometimes seems to regard as holding all the secrets of the universe. Mark you; sometimes I think of them that way too.

"Not that I can find, no--but I, I..." my voice gives up, and I turn away, trying not to share my pain.

"We’ll find out, Giles," Buffy tells me firmly, guiding me to an armchair. "Can we tell anything from Spike’s injuries?" I note that Willow seems to have disappeared, and hope wildly that she’s gone to put the kettle on. I could really use some tea right now.

"I’m not sure-- only his shoulder still looks bad."

"Right, I’ll look. When Will’s done in the kitchen, she can get the others over here." Willow has heard her name and come through, so Buffy gives her direct orders, "We need the others—Tara, Xander, Anya. If that’s okay, Giles—" I barely have time to nod—"Good. More people means quicker answers."

I just sit there, as they explode into a whirlwind of activity. This is what I trained them for, I think as I sit and watch, to react in time of need. Willow lifts the phone and dials with practised speed.

Soon the Scoobies are assembled—even Riley, though no one had told me he was back in town, let alone Buffy's good books. He and Buffy are planning patrol routes for tonight, everywhere Spike might have been. I sit by Spike’s side, being fed chocolate and tea every so often by Xander, who seems to be planning to patent the combination as a cure for all ills. Anya tries to comfort me in her tactless way, and Willow and Tara huddle over some mixture of magic and science designed to analyse the orange gooey stuff which has begun to seep out of the cut, and something they found on the clothes he wore yesterday.

The presence of so many people does comfort me, but it makes me want to scream as well. I can’t help the illogical feeling that if they all left, Spike would wake up as normal, and we’d be back to the routine, him and me, the old British guys together. He annoys me sometimes—often—and puzzles me too, and at the moment my longing to hear that voice again is driving me even closer to tears.

I love him in a way I haven’t loved since Jenny died, in a way I’d maybe never loved before, even when I was with Ethan. Spike loves deeper and easier than I do—or maybe he’s simple had more practice.

Certainly, there are three names in his emotional past, and only one (or two, or three, if you count his way. I count one) in mine. (It must be said that the numbers are more even when you look at sexual experience—demon-possessed orgies have to count for something.) But now-- now I love him alone, and he is ill, and I should be doing something to help, not leaving it all to the youngsters. I may have put Buffy in charge, but I can still ask for a job to do.

"Buffy?" They all stop, and turn towards me, a little startled. I ignore most of them, and focus on her. My Slayer.

"Buffy, I need to be doing something, anything. Waiting isn’t helping and I can’t just sit here any more."

She hides her surprise quickly behind a mask of understanding. Well, in time the understanding may become real. "What do you want to do? We’ve got spaces for researchers, magicians, scientists, umm…"

"Something simple-- not so complicated that I’ll mess it up. I can’t think. I just need something to do."

"Um-- how about coffee and doughnuts all round?" Xander asks. "As I’m trapped under the large pile of books that’s normally your job, maybe you should take mine."

"And when you get back, Tara and I will need an extra pair of hands with these test tubes," Willow offers.

I must sound pathetic to them -- I know I look that way in my own mind-- but they are all grown-ups, now. They’ve all loved, and worried for their loved ones. I nod, and smile as best I can. "Espresso, everyone?"

• * *

Hours later, the sun has set and Buffy has left to patrol, taking Riley with her. Willow stopped giving me things to hold when my shaking hands spilt one too many carefully prepared tests, so now I’m sitting upstairs, by the bed, waiting with my lover. What I’m waiting for him to do I don’t know, but something inside me says: something has to happen, and soon. Be there for him. So here I am, and where else would I be? He’s been there for me so often, when I was ill, or frightened, or depressed, to hold me or joke with me.

Since that first night in the days when he was still officially chained in my bathtub- since…

No, Rupert. Think it through. Tell the whole story, so you remember it as it really happened. It’ll calm you down, and pass the time until Willow or Tara—or, dear God—Xander or Anya, can give you some information to work with.

That night I was tired and depressed. Lonely. Normal practice would be to get drunk, but I was all out of alcohol and couldn’t be bothered to go and get more. I went to the bathroom, looking for painkillers or sleeping pills to-- I’m not sure what, now. In any case, what I found was Spike.

Somehow, Houdini-like, he’d slipped his chain and was perched on the rim at the end of the bath. I didn’t notice him at first-- perhaps I’d even forgotten he was there-- just moved to the cupboard, avoiding looking in the mirror on its door, and opened it.

For a moment, I simply stood there, staring at the packets. During that long minute, he spoke, that soft English voice more tender than I’d ever heard it before. I’ve heard it often since then, that gentle tone: when we’re alone, and I’m not feeling so good. He saves it for those times.

"Got a headache, pet?" he asked.

I didn’t reply—part surprise at his speaking, and part at his tone: depression, or exhaustion. All I could do was lean my head forward against one of the white plastic shelves, and close my eyes. I heard him move then, swing his feet round to the floor, and step across to me. Every nerve in my body told me I was about to be attacked, that I should run or at the least fight back, but I didn’t. I didn’t have the will to do it. Carefully, he slipped his strong arms round my waist and turned me to face him, then pulled my body tight to his. I recall a thrill of fear—William the Bloody is holding me!—but then it passed, and I relaxed into his arms.

"Come on," he whispered, "Bedrooms tend to cure headaches faster than bathrooms. Trust me." And I did; oh, I did and still do.

I'm not sure why. He's hardly trustworthy.

We haven’t been a couple all the time since then—not (is formally the word? Not openly, maybe) until quite recently. I think the breakthrough for me was a throwaway comment Buffy made about her friends consisting of three couples now. They have been very accepting, but on the other hand, they accepted Willow and Tara very easily, too. I don’t know if it will last long; I’m not sure how Spike feels about Buffy now, if he really loves me or if, like Harmony, I just serve a purpose. All I know is that I love him, though I can’t find the words to say that aloud.

I blink hard, tears pricking my eyes painfully, and look away from the beautiful face in front of me—so still when it should smile and speak—to see Willow and Tara standing in the doorway.

"Giles?" Willow says, her voice low. "We think we may have something. If you come downstairs, we’ll explain."

It takes me a moment to comprehend what she has said, but when I do, I stand, glancing down at the prone form on the bed once more.

"I’ll watch him for a while," Tara says, moving towards the chair where I was seated. In a daze, I follow Willow down the stairs.

She has me sit by the table on which she’s set out an impressive array of scientific and magical apparatus.

"Do you want the long, technical version, or the Cliff's Notes?" she asks.

"Shortest version possible, please," I say, knowing that we must observe some of the ritual of banter and joking, but impatient for answers.

"Okay then-- Spike’s wound was inflicted by a human, who had some kind of blade with a poison on it. A person or a human-type demon would only have like, a bee sting, but because a vampire doesn’t have a functioning circulatory system, the toxin doesn’t dissipate. So where you would just have flu-like symptoms for a week, and a little cut, Spike’s wound is all festery.

" If we’re right about this—and we’ve double checked it—the proper magical charm should destroy the poison, because it’s mostly Hellmouthy energy."

"Good," I say. "There’s a book of charms on my desk, let’s get on with it."

"We’ve looked at the book," Willow frowns, "and it’s not that simple. All the charms that would work on something similar for a human involve crosses, holy water, or sunshine. They’d kill Spike rather than cure him."

"Oh." What more can I say? "What do you propose to do now?"

"Tara and I think we can write a spell that would do the job, but we’ll need some pretty dangerous ingredients."

"Such as?" I might as well know the truth.

"Such as the blood of the lover of the one to be cured."

"Not a problem." I can say that. I know he loves me, though he's never told me.

"And the dried liver of a dragon."

"We have them at the Magic Shop."

"And the blood of Spike’s sire."

"Angel?"

"Or maybe Drusilla, I’m not quite clear. Angel will know, anyway."

"Phone Los Angeles."

"You know that this is dark majik?"

"Yes, I know. Do it."

Perhaps that is the wrong choice, but I couldn’t say anything else. Willow went to the phone, and I back upstairs to wait by his side until the witches were ready.

Am, whoa. Why were you hiding this one, again?

I think I need to change something in the last little bit of mine, damnit; there's something missing.

Am, whoa. Why were you hiding this one, again?

Um... because it's not as good as I'd like it to be, and it's veryvery long, and more than a bit strange, and... and I'm a scaredy-cat.

I take it you like what you've seen? t /needy feedback ho

That would be yes. But I do grok the verylong or not what I remembered thing. been there, blinked a lot.

Thanks, deb. Maybe I'll try and edit some more tomorrow.

• * *

"Oh yeah. The hard way." Olivia nodded at Fred. "But we pulled it off and everyone gets a prize, you know? Even though there was no real contest? Angel gets his Big Brainy Boys functional again without all the River in Egypt shite. Our Watchers got rather a lot of lovely swag. And we get an hour tomorrow with the Titanium card, to buy whatever we want." Her voice changed, softening. She reached out a hand to Fred. "And we got to understand a few things about ourselves as well. Didn't we, darling?"

"That's a big hell-yes." Fred slipped her hand into Olivia's, giggled suddenly, and kissed her. "My very best shopping buddy!" ---

There. That's better. Line added to Olivia's bit.