Ear to the Ground

[shapinglight]

I've woken up ridiculously early this morning so I thought I might as well go ahead and post the calendar post. This month, which is Giles month on my beautiful sueworld2003 fanart calendar, instead of a drabble, I've managed a whole story - my first brand new fic this year (speaking of which, if I don't actually write some of my plot_wout_porn story soon, I'm going to start panicking in a major way).

Anyway, on with the story. This is a sequel to my Welcome to the Nancy Tribe ficathon story from last November, Safe. It probably won't make much sense if you haven't read that, but in brief, Safe describes a newly souled Spike coming to Giles and seeking his help rather than returning to Buffy, after the events of BtVS season 6.

Setting: BtVS season 7, around the time of Lessons
Rating: PG-13? R? Depends whether you think non-graphic m/m sex should always be rated 'R.' I may also have sneaked in a couple of mentions of Spike's bum, which is going to surprise people, I know, but there it is.
Pairing: Spike/Giles (not everyone's cup of tea, but one of my personal favourites)
Beta: Beta'ed by peasant_, to whom many thanks.
Disclaimer: Not written for profit etc. No point sueing me, Joss. No money.
Illustration: 'April' from sueworld2003's fanart calendar
After the events of Safe, Giles has taken Spike to the coven for refuge. How's that working out?

Ear to the Ground





Ear to the Ground

I'm just a guy with his ear to the ground, and even I can feel it. Something's coming. I don't know what exactly, but something's brewing. And it's so big, ugly and damned it makes you and me look like little bitty puzzle pieces.
Spike: Beneath You, BtVS season 7

The evening sky was powder-blue smudged with grey. The air smelt of damp and leaf mould. Under Giles's feet the grass was sodden.

"Spike?" Giles raised a hand to his mouth and shouted again, straining to hear a reply. Nothing.

Belatedly, Giles wished he'd emphasised to the coven the importance of keeping a close eye on Spike. It wasn't their practice to confine guests to the house, but maybe he should have insisted?

He passed the spot under the solitary oak tree where he'd sat talking with Willow only a few days ago. Then life had seemed relatively simple -only a traumatised witch and a guilt stricken vampire to deal with. Now, after his trip to London and his meeting with Robson, everything was massively more complicated.

The sooner Willow returned to Sunnydale where she was needed, the better. And the sooner Spike was found-

Giles's foot caught on something and he staggered, saving himself from an undignified headlong sprawl only by catching hold of a low-hanging tree branch.

As he steadied himself, Giles realised he'd found his missing vampire.

"Spike – what on earth are you doing?"

Spike's face was a pale blur in the darkness, yellow eyes glittering and feral. He lay prone on the ground, head cocked to one side, as if he were listening to something. For a long, spine-chilling moment, he didn't respond. Then he blinked.

"What does it bloody look like I'm doin', you pillock?"

Giles's heart was racing nineteen-to-the-dozen. He took a deep breath, let go of the branch, and affected a tone of mild reproof.

"Catching your death of cold, I would imagine."

Spike blinked again, and this time he blinked his vampire features away. Pushing himself up onto his feet, he looked down at himself.

"Oh – right."

Spike's shirt and trousers– old ones of Giles's – were damp all down the front and covered in dirt and bits of grass. With the wild curls flopping across his forehead, he had rather the look of an overgrown choirboy who'd had an unfortunate accident.

"Bollocks!" he groaned. "I’m soaked."

Giles couldn't help smiling, in spite of Spike’s predicament. "Let's get you back to the house. And don’t worry about your clothes. I’ve brought you some new ones."

"Good. ’Long as there’s no sodding tweed." Spike hugged himself and began to shiver. "Bloody hell, I'm freezing!"

Giles set his hand on Spike's shoulder to steer him in the direction of the house, but Spike resisted. Instead, he put his own hand over Giles's and his voice sank to a purring rumble.

"I've missed you."

"Yes, well." Giles cleared his throat, embarrassed at the public display of affection. Nothing gave one perspective like distance. "I'm sorry. I was unavoidably delayed."

Spike's hand dropped to his side. He shook himself free of Giles's grip and took a pace back, looking about equal parts hurt and disappointed.

"If you've changed your mind about helping me-"

"No, no," Giles assured him. "It's not that."

Spike eyed him suspiciously. "What, then?"

Giles's brain whirled. What to say? Or perhaps in this case actions were better than words?

Hurriedly, he closed the distance between them, set a hand to Spike's cold cheek and bent down to touch his lips to Spike's. "I can't tell you, I'm afraid. But it's not just you. I can't tell anyone."

This wasn't strictly true of course. Giles had every intention of having a long talk with Ms Harkness in the morning during which he intended to be completely candid, but Spike didn't have to know that.

Spike tilted his head.

"Ooh, I get it. Some kind of hush-hush Watcher-type stuff, yeah?"

"Something like that," Giles agreed.

This time when he shoved Spike gently in the required direction, Spike went. Soon, he was huddling closer to Giles, seeking shelter from the evening chill in the lee of Giles's body.

Apart from the occasional sound of a passing car in the lane, the night was very quiet. Ahead of them, the windows of the coven's Westbury retreat were squares of misty gold in the darkness. As they entered the house through the side door, Giles glanced at his watch. 8pm – meditation hour. That was good. It meant they were unlikely to meet anyone.

He steered Spike along the hall and up three flights of stairs to the attic bedroom. It was the room Giles's always slept in, and rather an airy perch for a vampire, with its panoramic views over three counties. Nevertheless, Spike seemed to have made it his own in Giles's absence. In fact, according to Ms Harkness in Giles’s last telephone conversation with her, he rarely left it. A clutter of dog-eared paperbacks lay on the bedside table, along with some dirty mugs and a brass ashtray full of cigarette butts. The curtains were shut, but Giles drew them aside and cracked open the skylight window to let the room air.

When he turned back into the room, Spike was right behind him and leaning in for another kiss.

His fears somewhat allayed now they were safe inside, Giles kissed Spike back, marvelling all over again at how quickly his cool mouth grew warm.

Spike moaned around Giles's tongue. He pressed closer, the hard lines of his body moulding themselves to Giles's.

"Want you," he gasped, when the kiss finally broke apart. Then Giles felt eager fingers fumbling with his belt.

He set Spike back a bit. "Let's get you out of those wet things first."

Spike's lip lifted in a tiny smirk. "Whatever you say."

He tore the shirt open and flung it onto the floor. Shoes and socks came next, followed by the wet trousers, all kicked unceremoniously into the corner.

Naked, he renewed his assault on Giles's clothing, while dragging him backwards until they fell on the bed in an ungainly heap, with Giles on top.

Despite all his misgivings of the past few days, Giles felt himself growing hard. It was difficult not to, when such a beautiful creature was gazing up at you with total and complete adoration. He made to take off his coat, but Spike prevented him.

"Don't. You look fucking amazing in that big, black coat. All masterful, an' shit. I want you to –" and his voice dropped again to a sultry purr.

Giles felt a pleasant frisson run down his spine at Spike's words. His roaming hand squeezed a firm haunch.

"It'll be an absolute pleasure."

*

Afterwards, they lay in bed together sharing a cigarette. Giles was on his back, a hand pillowing his head, while Spike lay on his belly next to him, one arm flung across Giles's chest.

"Was nice," Spike said, muzzily.

"Very," Giles agreed. He squeezed again in the same place and Spike yelped.

"Bastard. That bloody hurts."

Giles ran his free hand through Spike's mane of unruly curls. "Well, it would, wouldn't it?"

"S'pose," Spike muttered in an aggrieved tone, as if the nature of their recent encounter hadn't been all his idea in the first place.

Squirming closer suddenly, he licked Giles’s ear. "Anyway, now you’ve had your wicked way with me, you gonna tell me what's goin' on? Can keep a secret, you know."

Giles played for time by taking another deep drag on the cigarette, even though the mere act of inhaling made his lungs feel constricted. He hadn’t smoked in years.

"How about you tell me what you were doing when I found you?"

"What d'you mean?" Spike took the cigarette out of Giles's hand and stuck it in his mouth. In the dim light, all Giles could see were his shining eyes and the glowing red tip of the cigarette.

"What do you mean what do I mean? I looked for you all over the house and you were nowhere to be found. I finally discover you alone out in the fields, in the dark, lying on the wet ground. What on earth were you up to?"

Spike blinked, very slowly in that eerie way he had.

"Don't remember. Just remember you trippin' over me, that's all."

"I see." Giles took the cigarette from him again and drew the smoke into his lungs one last time. Leaning across Spike's body, he stubbed the butt out in the overflowing ashtray.

"Any….other incidents like that while I've been away?"

"Dunno." Spike shrugged.

"And those voices you told me about," Giles went on, "the ones telling you to go to hell? Any more trouble with those?"

Spike sat up a little. "What is this? The sodding Spanish Inquisition? What're you getting at?"

Giles opened his mouth to reply, but then he remembered Robson's warning.

"Nothing." He kissed Spike's forehead. "Just concerned about you, that's all."

"Yeah?" The suspicious note was back in Spike's voice. "Already told you, the best thing you can do for me is not to leave me on my tod, all right? Get anxious then – afraid, even – an' that's not something I'd admit to just anyone."

Giles kept his voice neutral. "Afraid? Of the voices?"

Spike blinked again, more rapidly this time. "That's right. Of those." His voice wavered. "Don't leave me again, Giles. Don't think I can handle it right now."

Giles cleared his throat. He forced himself to look Spike straight in the eye. "I can't… promise that."

Spike went very still, staring at him. Then he rolled over onto his other side, facing away from Giles, and curled himself into a miserable, foetal ball. There was silence.

It wasn't long before Giles couldn't bear it any longer. Rolling over in turn, he put his arms around Spike and drew Spike’s lithe body flush against his, its curves fitting nicely into the hollow of his groin.

"Spike –"

"S'okay." Spike's voice was muffled. "I get it. You got as far as the Smoke and then it hit you, right? You shagged a vampire – an evil thing – a murderer – a rapist. Thought better of it, haven't you? I don't blame you."

"Spike – "Giles tried again, but Spike steamrollered on.

"Thanks for all you've done for me anyway. I appreciate it – and the pity fuck? Was a nice way of saying sod off. Appreciate that too." He curled up into an even tighter ball.

"Oh for heaven's sake!" Giles was beginning to feel exasperated. Seizing Spike's shoulder, he rolled him over again, so they were almost nose-to-nose.

"Spike, listen. You have me all wrong."

Spike raised a sceptical eyebrow. "You mean you'll stay with me after all?"

When Giles opened his mouth to reply and then shut it again, Spike sneered a little. "Didn't think so." Abruptly, he sat up, back to Giles, perched on the edge of the bed, and lit another cigarette.

"Dammit!" Giles huffed. How to explain without really explaining? And without making things ten times worse.

He lay, pondering the question, and looking at Spike's pale, smooth back, which tapered from broad shoulders to slim waist, then swelled into muscular haunches. It didn't help, Giles thought, that he liked what he saw so much.

At last, when the silence became unbearable, he tried again.

"You really are wrong. I have no intention of abandoning you. In fact, your safety is one of my paramount concerns, believe me – " this was true enough – "but you have to understand, I have other responsibilities."

Spike didn't answer, but Giles could tell he was listening.

"I mean it, Spike. If it weren't for that, I would happily devote every minute of the day to your – your problems, but unfortunately there are claims on me that pre-date yours."

Spike went still. Then he stubbed out the cigarette and turned around, looking shamed-faced and anxious.

"Is it – something to do with Buffy? Is she all right?" He ducked his head a little. "Hope you don't mind my asking?"

"Of course not," Giles hurried to assure him. "And Buffy's fine." For now, he thought, but didn’t say. "However, what concerns me is Slayer business, so it does affect her."

"Ah." Spike's face was solemn. "You should've said."

A moment later, he'd lain down beside Giles again, arm once more flung across Giles’s chest, head pillowed on his shoulder.

"Do what you have to do. Buffy comes first. I get that."

Giles sighed with relief. Leaning down, he kissed Spike's forehead again.

"Thank you – and I promise I'll only be away for as long as I have to be. And in the meantime, you should be safe enough here."

"Safe." Spike shivered. "It's as safe here as anywhere, I 'spose, as long as the Slayer's not in order."

"What?" Giles stared, but a cool mouth on his stifled the question. Meanwhile, the closeness of their bodies was having its usual side effect, if rather sooner after the last time than Giles had become used to in recent years. Giles rolled them so as to have Spike underneath him.

"Ready for round two are we?" Spike grinned up at him.

"Miraculously, so it would seem."

As Spike shut his eyes and opened his mouth for another long, lingering kiss, Giles told himself the morning would be time enough to start laying down ground rules.

*

Giles wasn't sure what woke him. There was singing, but whether in reality or only in his dreams, he wasn't certain.

He sat up, trying to catch the strains of the fading melody. The tune was familiar all right, but he couldn't quite place it.

As he listened, there came the unmistakeable sound of the door latch clicking quietly shut. At the same time, he realised he was alone in the bed.

"Spike?" Giles had meant to call the name aloud, but it came out a strangled whisper. Unease, like a poisonous snake, coiled in his belly. Hurriedly, he got up and pulled on his trousers, jamming his feet into his shoes without socks and throwing his coat over his bare shoulders. He patted the comforting outline of the stake in his pocket and flung the bedroom door open.

Outside, all was quiet, but when Giles leaned over the banister, staring down into the dark stairwell, he saw Spike's pale form far below him. Spike had reached the ground floor already, gliding ghostlike and naked in the direction of the front door.

Giles opened his mouth to call again, but his throat was too tight and he couldn't get the words out. He could feel his heart beating fast in his chest and realised he was afraid. Meanwhile, Spike disappeared from sight.

Setting his hand on the banister, Giles took the stairs two at a time. He was panting by the time he reached the bottom, but more from panic than exertion. This wouldn't do, he admonished himself. He had to get a grip before someone got hurt.

The house was completely silent, save for the monotonous tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the hall. There was no sign of Spike, but it was easy enough to see which way he'd gone, because the front door stood ajar, letting chill, damp air into the house.

Giles forced himself to stand still for a moment or two, breathing in short, shallow breaths, trying to quell his rising panic. Spike was naked and barefoot. He couldn't get far. Besides, Giles had a pretty good idea where he might have gone.

With the fear diminished to a stubborn knot of anxiety, Giles turned the other way, to rummage in the cupboard under the back stairs, where he knew Ms Harkness kept a hand torch.

The torch was a big, black thing, made of vulcanised rubber, and probably older than Giles was, but when he switched it on, it worked perfectly. The beam cast eerie shadows on the high ceiling as Giles closed the cupboard door and set off after Spike.

Outside, the night was black as pitch. Giles turned the torch off and waited for his eyes to adjust, and after a while, the blackness turned deep charcoal grey, while the sky above became an indigo velvet blanket studded with innumerable tiny diamonds. Giles stared at it for a moment, in awe – he hadn't seen so many stars in years – but then something white flashed across his peripheral vision. Turning, he saw a pale shape take a standing leap over the high fence into the paddock and then lope across the short grass to vanish into the shadow of the far hedgerow.

Giles switched the torch back on, pointing the beam downwards to light his way, and set off in hot pursuit.

*

The night wasn't silent, Giles discovered, but full of odd little rustlings, some of them so faint he thought he'd imagined them, some loud enough to make him jump. Once, a barn owl screeched and his heart lurched unpleasantly in his chest.

He went down the drive and out of the front gate then climbed over a fence into a field. Indeterminate shapes loomed out of the darkness to resolve themselves into sheep, which stared at him with supercilious expressions before running away.

Giles didn't get another glimpse of Spike, but as he climbed over another fence and made his way up the hill in the direction of the solitary oak tree, it wasn't long before he heard him. Spike was humming loudly to himself – that same tune he'd been humming in the car the day Giles had brought him to Westbury – and when Giles finally made out his ghostly shape again, it was to discover Spike on all fours, scrabbling in the dirt with his bare hands. He'd already gouged quite a deep pit in the sloping field.

Watching him, Giles had the eerie sense that he was watching Spike dig his own grave.

Or possibly, a small warning voice inside Giles's head insisted, digging yours.

He stood, eyes on Spike, who was bent forward, shovelling the dirt in great handfuls and throwing it over his shoulder, while all around them the night was suddenly and profoundly silent.

Giles's shoulder blades twitched. He glanced back over his shoulder, but there was nothing there. When he turned around again, Spike was right in front of him. He was in vamp face, arms streaked to the elbows with dirt, and he was holding a large kitchen knife.

Giles yelped and dropped the torch. Its yellow light swung wildly, drawing Giles’s eye with it, to pool on Spike's bare feet. Bits of grass were stuck between his toes, and he must have trodden on something sharp, because one foot was bleeding.

"Spike?" Giles took a long pace back, while yellow eyes regarded him like their next meal. The flickering torchlight caught on the knife blade.

Giles scrabbled the stake out his pocket. "Spike –for God's sake! Snap out of it."

Spike blinked. When he spoke, his voice had the familiar eerie, lost quality that Giles had come to associate with Spike's 'episodes,' only this time the effect was even more unsettling as the voice lisped out between fangs.

"Wrong," Spike said. "I'm all wrong. Not supposed to be here. The light's too bright. Have to get down – down deep. But it's too far. Can't dig that far."

"Who told you –" Giles began, but Spike ignored him. Instead, his gaze tracked from Giles's face to somewhere just over Giles's left shoulder. He cocked his head, as if he were listening to something.

Giles glanced over his shoulder again. There was still nothing there, but this time, he had a definite sense of being watched, by something invisible and wholly malevolent.

Suddenly, Spike gave a cry of anguish and his face reverted to human. "Don't," he pleaded." Please don't. Don't look at me." He put his hands over his ears, swaying back and forth, moaning softly.

"Spike!" Giles redoubled his grip on the stake and took a pace forward. He had to break Spike out of this trance, whatever had caused it – bring him back to reality.

Giles's foot came down on the fallen torch and he half-stumbled. At the same time, Spike's voice rose to a wail. “Fucking soul! Oh God, it burns!"

Giles regained his footing in time to see Spike turn the knife on himself, scoring one deep gash over his heart and then another, and another.

"Cut it out!" Spike howled. "Burns."

"Oh dear lord!" This time, Giles didn't hesitate. He grabbed Spike's left wrist, wrestling with him as Spike attempted to slash himself for the fourth time. They swayed backwards and forwards, stumbling over the uneven ground, while Giles tried to prise the knife from Spike's fingers. But it was useless. Spike was far too strong for him.

"Spike!" Giles shouted the name into seemingly deaf ears, but Spike didn't even look at him. He had eyes only for the knife, which was inching nearer and nearer to his chest.

Suddenly, Spike went down, with Giles on top of him. The smell of newly-dug earth filled Giles’s nostrils and he realised they'd fallen into the rudimentary pit that Spike had been digging. The knife went flying from Spike's grip as he banged his head on the hard ground. His eyes rolled up in his head and he groaned.

Giles took advantage of Spike's momentary dazedness to grab both hands at the wrist and pin them down. Straddling Spike’s body with his knees, he shook him hard.

"Spike! Wake up!"

Spike’s head lolled on his shoulders, body limp as an unstrung puppet’s. After a moment, Giles stopped shaking him. Lungs burning and pulse beating painfully in his ears, as if he’d just run a marathon, he peered closely at Spike’s face. Was he unconscious? But then Spike's eyes blinked open.

"What the fuck – " he began. Then he looked around him and his jaw dropped in astonishment. "Where the bloody hell are we?"

Giles opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated, while Spike stared about him, bewildered. At last, Giles said, "You don't remember how you got here?"

Spike's gaze came back to him, strangely blank. "My chest hurts," he whimpered. "And my hands. And I'm cold."

At the same time, Giles became aware that the night wasn't silent any longer. Instead, the air was full of birdsong, while the darkness had lightened to a grey dusk. When he looked up, the sky overhead was still indigo, but it had paled considerably at the edges.

"We'd better get you back to the house - again."

Levering himself off Spike's supine body, Giles staggered to his feet. He jammed the stake back into his pocket and picked up the fallen torch.

"Here." He held out his hand to Spike, who grasped it and allowed Giles to haul him to his feet. Spike rubbed the back of his head. "Bloody hurts."

"I imagine it would." Giles kept his voice neutral. Taking Spike's elbow, he steered him once again in the direction of the house. As they went, Giles looked back over his shoulder one last time, at the solitary tree and the black gash in the earth. He shivered.

*

Spike allowed Giles to manhandle him back up the stairs to the attic bedroom. He stood passive while Giles wiped the worst of the dirt and blood off his hands and feet, clipped his torn and broken fingernails and cleaned the wounds in his chest. He didn't seem very curious about them, but Giles suspected he was still half-dazed.

"Go back to bed," Giles ordered him, and Spike went without argument, like a tired child. He was asleep almost instantly.

Giles hung up his coat and trousers, frowning with annoyance at the dirt on the hems. He hesitated, then took the stake out of his coat pocket and approached the bed. Spike lay on his back, arms at his sides, still as a corpse. He was very pale – even more so than usual – and the gashes on his chest stood out angry, red and weeping.

Giles’s terror had faded since their return to the house, but as he stared at the gashes, it returned full force. Spike’s assault on himself might have been unfocused, but he’d still managed to inflict the gashes with an odd and disturbing precision. They radiated out from his heart, equidistant, like the spokes of a wheel.

Giles looked from Spike to the stake in his hand and back again. He tightened his grip on it and raised his arm.

It was the best thing to do, he told himself, not just for the sake of his mission, but maybe for Spike too, because if tonight had proved anything, it was that the evil that Giles had feared might tamper with Spike in his vulnerable newly-souled state was already doing just that, and its claws were sunk in deep.

Spike's brow creased suddenly, and his lips parted. Giles froze, staring at them, as they framed a word – a name. Then, Giles lowered his shaking arm, while Spike fell back into a deep sleep.

Giles returned the stake to his pocket. He closed the curtains against the daylight and climbed into bed beside Spike. For a while, he lay, contemplating the ceiling, while outside the dawn chorus rouse to a crescendo and died away. Then he rolled onto his side, put his arms around Spike and drew him back into the curve of his body. Spike's skin was cool but not unpleasantly so, and he smelled of grass and dirt.

Giles pressed a soft kiss to the nape of Spike's neck. He'd been stupid to think he could ever kill him. It was far too late for that. It had been too late back in Bath when he'd promised to help him, and now, seeing how profoundly Spike trusted him, it was impossible.

For a wild moment, Giles considered taking Spike back to London with him the next day. Surely, with both himself and Robson to keep an eye on things, their young charges would be safe enough should Spike have another of his turns?

Giles shook his head at himself. He was growing foolish in his old age – foolish enough to fall for a man he hardly knew – and not even a man, but a vampire, whose history with Giles’s loved ones was hardly free of incident. It was bad enough imagining the look of horror on Robson's face when Giles introduced them, but the thought of Buffy's likely reaction was too painful to contemplate.

No, Giles decided. He would have to leave Spike where he was until the latest bunch of Potential Slayers had been conveyed to a place of safety. Then he would return and take care of his Spike problem once and for all.

His mind made up, he dozed, to be awoken mid-morning by Spike's hand at his groin and Spike's soft kiss on his lips.

*

"When'll you be back?"

Spike was sitting up in bed, smoking a cigarette. He still looked pale, skin like old ivory next to the white of the sheet, and his hands were in a terrible state, the remaining nails crusted with blood and dirt. But at least the gashes on his chest were scabbing over.

Giles turned from combing his hair in the mirror. "I can't say exactly – just that I'll be as quick as I can, and when I come back this time, I'll be staying."

Spike's gaze grew warm. "I'll look forward to that."

Giles couldn't help smiling at him, while a wave of post-coital wellbeing washed over him, leaving his knees feeling faintly rubbery. "Me too."

He turned back to the mirror, unnerved as always at the way Spike ceased to exist within its confines.

"While I'm gone, I want you to get more involved in what goes on here. No more skulking in your room. It's not good for you."

Spike's voice turned sulky. "But it's boring. They just rabbit on about magic all day – and I bloody hate magic – fucks up everything it touches– or they sit around on their arses meditating. It's no fun at all."

"You aren't here to have fun," Giles snapped, more irritably than he'd intended. "You're here to be out of harm's way."

This was greeted by a sullen silence. When Giles turned around again, it was to find Spike almost pouting at him.

"Spike," Giles said, in a warning tone. "Enough."

For a moment, Giles thought that Spike would snap back at him, but then Spike's face fell and he ducked his head, looking sheepish.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I'll play nice with the witches. Promise."

"Good." Giles made his voice brisk. "I have to see Ms Harkness before I leave, so I'll tell her you want to become more – er, participatory."

Along with all those other things he had to tell her, he thought.

Spike reached across to the bedside table and fumbled another cigarette out of the packet. "Don't s'pose you could do me a favour, could you, when you have a word with the old girl?"

Giles was putting on his coat. "What sort of favour? And why don’t you speak to her yourself?"

Spike made a face. "Don't think she likes me."

Giles sighed inwardly. Spike was probably right. Ms Harkness might have seen some sights in her day that made a vampire with a soul seem like tame stuff, but Spike was increasingly - off, somehow, and Ms Harkness and the witches would sense that.

“I might. What do you want me to ask her?”

Spike indicated the room with his unlit cigarette.

"It's this room. Don't feel right here, stuck up in the attic like this. Can't you ask her to put me up a bed in the basement instead?"

"Basement?" The familiar chill ran down Giles's spine, as he remembered Spike's frantic digging.

"Yeah." Spike lit his cigarette. "Basement's a better place for a vampire. More fitting. Down in the dark."

Giles stared at him, while the shadows in the room seemed to deepen despite the bright daylight outside. "I'll see what I can do.”

"Thanks." Spike reared up suddenly and kissed Giles on the mouth. "Hurry back."

"I'll do my best." Giles returned the kiss. He ran his hand run down the smooth ridge of backbone to squeeze a cool cheek. "Take care."

Spike shivered pleasantly all over. "Don't you worry about me. I'll keep my ear to the ground."

That's what I'm afraid of, Giles thought, but he didn't say it.

As he shut the bedroom door behind him, and started down the stairs, that infernal humming began again.