It won't become safe to read until 5x01 airs, even though it's only loosely based on spoilers, as we don't really HAVE a lot of spoilers to base things on, if that makes sense.

Jebusmarie, Plei, whyinhell aren't you getting paid for writing like a damned angel? It's not just what you write, it's the liquidity of language and the idiosyncratic word choice, perfect turn of phrase, polished craftsmanship.

I know. We've had this discussion. Sorry. Just my way of saying, well dayum.

Jebusmarie, Plei, whyinhell aren't you getting paid for writing like a damned angel? It's not just what you write, it's the liquidity of language and the idiosyncratic word choice, perfect turn of phrase, polished craftsmanship.

(nodding)

Jebusmarie, Plei, whyinhell aren't you getting paid for writing like a damned angel? It's not just what you write, it's the liquidity of language and the idiosyncratic word choice, perfect turn of phrase, polished craftsmanship

...all this, and she's hot too. No justice, is there?

all this, and she's hot too. No justice, is there?

Well, you're not quite so chilly the British lass yourself, Miss Fay, from all accounts.

Bev, you weren't there in the hospitality suite, watching Fay feed Plei my chocolate cherry torte.

No, sadly, all I have to go on is second-hand accounts. But those have been uniformly warm and adoring, so there you go.

Challenge game?

I'm a fibber, I said I was going to bed. Here's new V!Giles, then off to bed

The moon was sliding down the far side of the night. The tide of darkness was at its peak, just turning to ebb into daylight.

And Spike needed to get his inner poet under better control. Normal vampires would say, "Sun'll be up in a few hours," without all the poncy symbolism.

Most of the humans had fallen asleep, since the Knights had gone quiet. But the Knights weren't asleep. They were moving around, checking equipment and the wounded, consulting each other and glaring at the convent walls. Spike aimed the rifle occasionally and smirked as people scurried for cover.

Harris and Red were snuggled up together, asleep, holding hands like innocent kids who didn't throw magic and bullets around. Kind of cute, actually, the two heads leaning against each other.

He shook himself. Damn, but he was turning into a sap.

Down in the courtyard, the only ones moving were Tara and the little demon sprout, though they didn't stray far from the chapel doors. He scowled at both of them and made shooing motions for them to get back inside, but they just waved back. Kids and crazy people, no sense between them.

So here he was, the lone protector of a bunch of humans and a religious establishment against a bunch of fanatics who he might have enjoyed partying with, except for the whole self-righteous boring bits. Like the Poncy Scourge of L.A., if that one were to decide to go on a crusade.

Spike sighed and contemplated the road out of the valley. The chip was out, he was a free vamp again. Why didn't he just take to the open highway and find new adventures? Yeah, yeah, gave his word to keep Niblet and Joyce safe. What business did an evil bugger have, keeping his word? No wonder nobody had any respect for him. He could take the bus and be under cover far from here in the few hours left of the night. And when the next evening came he could be back on the road, south to L.A., west to San Francisco, or even the long haul back east to New York. He missed New York. The city had depth, age, history, had seen much and forgiven more. And it was riddled with tunnels that connected all the important parts of the metropolis, making it heaven for vampires.

"Bugger," he muttered. He wasn't leaving. Not when there was a chance Buffy could look at him with a shred of honest appreciation, not when Dawn was willing to run into his arms and hug him, not when Harris was still the reliable wind-him-up-and-watch-him-snarl toy, not when Ripper was such fun to watch as he explored his powers. In his own twisted, perverted way, he was needed on the Hellmouth.

Still, the full moon rising over the Empire State Building, it was a lovely sight.

He watched the Knights idly, following one soldier as he walked from a supply pile, over to the monks, then to the wounded, then back to the supplies, then back to the monks . . . passing another soldier who was doing the same round, but in the opposite direction . . .

He straightened, actually looking at the Knights, looking at individuals. And speaking of individuals . . . there was somebody missing.

He reached down and poked Harris' shoulder. "Wake up, whelp."

"Go 'way, Mom."

Spike smacked his arm. "Wake up! Something's wrong."

Xander jerked. "What! Where! Huh?" He blinked a few times. "Oh. What?" Beside him, Willow blinked as well, wobbling just a bit.

"Get it together, Harris," Spike snapped. "They're doing something. General Gregor's slipped off somewhere, and there aren't as many soldiers out there as there should be."

Xander squeezed his eyes together and shook his head. "Focus, dude, focus. OK, show me."

He looked over the shoulder and Spike pointed out the soldiers that were aimlessly moving around, creating the illusion of more soldiers and activity than there actually was. And Gregor was indeed not among them.

"Is there somewhere they could climb in?" Willow asked.

"No," Xander said, "I've been around the whole place, there aren't any trees close enough to the walls, the windows are too small. Did you see any ladders, Spike?"

"No. And I haven't heard any chopping or pounding. Maybe they're running their own scouting party, looking for a way in."

Xander scanned the courtyard. "And this walkway doesn't go around the whole way. Do you think you could get up on the chapel roof, take a look around?"

"Probably, the grape arbor looks like it'd hold me, I can climb up there then jump--"

Willow looked at the two of them as they stared at each other. "What!"

"Stable," the two said at the same time.

You propose the challenge, dear. Then we see who bites.