Secrets Part 1
Nov. 20th, 2013 07:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shapinglightBeen saying I was going to post this for ages, so I thought I would just get on and do it.
Here is the penultimate story in my long-running (since 2008) Spike/Giles series set in early BtVS season 7. It's also my entry for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
letsgetitdone. There is one more story in the series to go, but that's also completed in draft. It just needs beta'ing (and possibly completely re-writing, but we'll see). If I can't post that to letsgetitdone too, I will be posting it before Christmas. No more WIP! Yay!
Setting: London, BtVS season 7, some time before Bring on the Night.
Rating: PG/R, for some violence and swearing.
Pairing: None as such in this part, though some Spike/Giles UST.
Beta: Beta'ed byhello_spikey, to whom many thanks.
Author's Note: This story carries on immediately from where the last part left off. And as it's over a year since I posted the last part, I suspect most people will have forgotten what happened in it. If you want to refresh your memory (might be advisable), previous stories can be found here. As previously explained, when writing Molly the potential Slayer, I just could not bring myself to write her as that horrible Dick Van Dyke from Mary Poppins' granddaughter type character so I just made up a different character with the same name.
Secrets
Part One
"Stay back!"
Giles held the piece of broken stool in front of him. His arm was steady, which was a relief, given how unnerved he was by Griffiths. If it came to a fight, Giles didn't fancy his chances at all.
Griffiths' frosty blue gaze didn't waver.
"There's no need for alarm, sir. Please lower your weapon."
So you can put me in a holding cell, or lock me away in the Annexe, Giles thought. Aloud, he said, "I don't think so."
Griffiths didn't even blink. "I said I wanted to talk to you. Now, I won't ask again - lower your weapon."
"Not bloody likely." Giles kept the cudgel-like piece of wood raised. He kept his eyes on Griffiths' while inside his head, the voice of his long-ago physical combat instructor intoned, "The eyes, lad. Always watch the eyes."
But Griffiths' unwavering gaze gave absolutely no warning - not even a tightening of the skin around the eyes - when the man suddenly grabbed the end of Giles's makeshift weapon, twisted, and disarmed him with terrifying ease.
Griffiths threw the stool leg into the corner of the room. "That's better."
Giles jumped back. It had happened so suddenly that it took him a second or two to realise that his whole right arm had gone numb. For a moment, he was afraid Griffiths had broken it, but the tingling in his fingers reassured him he hadn't.
Griffiths could have broken it, though. That he'd chosen not to....
Well, it might mean that things weren't quite as dire as they seemed. Equally, it might mean the opposite.
"What do you want?" Giles glared at Griffiths, nursing his sore arm.
"A few minutes of your time, sir, if you would." Griffiths indicated one of the wooden stools lined up along the nearest lab bench. "Take a seat."
Giles hesitated, then, because there was obviously no point arguing, he sat down. "I'm listening."
"Very good, sir." Griffiths adopted a somewhat more relaxed pose. Not 'at ease', but close. "You were listening outside the door when the call came through about the safe house in the Cotswolds."
It wasn't a question but a statement of fact. After a moment, Giles gave a wary nod.
"I was."
"Good. You also understand that, as a consequence of that incident, the three young women currently in detention here in this building have become a very valuable asset?"
Giles nodded. That was the longest sentence he'd yet heard from Griffiths, and something about the man's manner of speaking was ringing alarm bells.
"You're secret service," Giles blurted out. "Aren't you? Which is it? Five? Six? Or something else?"
Again, Griffiths didn't even blink. "Good guess, sir."
Giles noted that he neither confirmed nor denied the accusation.
"To return to the matter in hand" Griffiths went on, "I don't believe it's safe here any longer and it's my intention to remove the three girls from this building and place them in protective custody elsewhere. The less distress they suffer in the process the better, so I want you with me to reassure them."
"Me?" Giles stared.
For a moment, he was on the point of telling Griffiths that he didn't think any of the Potential Slayers would find him the least bit reassuring, given that he'd brought them here in the first place. But good sense prevailed. He needed to tread carefully - perhaps more carefully than at any other time in his life.
Stalling for time, he said,
"I would have thought being well protected would reassure the girls more than anything, and you have a whole squad of men at your disposal. You don't need me as well."
Griffiths shook his head. "They're not my men. They're Watchers' Council."
"Ah." Giles flexed his wrist. The numbness had practically gone now. "And Travers doesn't know who you-"
"He does know, but that's not the point," Griffiths interrupted. "I can't rely on them. Can I rely on you?"
Giles looked Griffiths in the eyes again, though their coldness made him shudder.
"Why me?" he asked, bluntly.
Griffiths' lips thinned - the most reaction Giles had seen from him so far.
"As you may have guessed, I have a twofold role here," Griffiths said. "One, to give the Watchers' Council the benefit of my expertise in certain...areas. The other, to report back on them to my superiors."
That explained Travers' odd deference to the man, Giles thought. The taciturn, non-commissioned officer persona was exactly that - a persona, and Travers knew all too well what lurked behind it.
There was a definite edge of contempt in Griffiths' voice as he continued.
"Recently, I've reported that Travers is becoming a liability. He's made some very poor decisions and allowed the current situation to spiral out of control. Good people have died because of him. He may even have put the country at risk. You, on the other hand, appear to have a good grasp of what's at stake here."
"And how do you come to that conclusion?" Giles asked, taken aback. What he could have done to make Griffiths form such an opinion, he had no idea.
"From your reaction to Travers' treatment of two of the girls," Griffiths responded.
Giles blinked. Either he wasn't nearly as good an actor as he'd hoped, or...
Oh, of course.
"Which you know about," he said, "because you heard every word of my conversation with Dr De Souza?"
"Yes," Griffiths agreed. "I told Travers there was something wrong with the sound on the surveillance system. That wasn't true. I decided it served me better to keep you in play and let him go on believing you were on his side."
"Thank you for that." Griffiths had hardly done it for Giles's sake, of course, but it seemed only right to say it.
Griffiths responded by glancing at his watch.
"Well? Do we have a deal?"
Giles looked at his own watch. Five thirty in the morning. It would be getting light outside.
"If I help you, what'll happen to me afterwards?"
Griffiths shrugged, "That's up to my superiors. I'm sure they'll be grateful for your co-operation."
Oh, are you? It seemed very unlikely, Giles thought, that once in their hands, Griffiths' 'superiors' would allow him to leave the country, or even to leave their custody. Nor could they be trusted to see the bigger picture, or to understand it even if they did.
On the other hand, if he wanted to save anything from this debacle, what choice did he have?
Aloud, he said, "There's one condition."
The look on Griffiths' face told Giles he was treading on thin ice, but all the man said was, "And what's that?"
"My friend, Charles Robson, has to come with us. And..." Giles licked his lips, wary of Griffiths' reaction, "... the vampire. Spike. Him also."
Griffiths shook his head emphatically. "No. To both. Robson's a Watcher."
Giles stared. "I'm a Watcher."
"Not like him," Griffiths insisted. "Travers may not like him, but unlike you, he still believes."
Giles frowned, unsure what Griffiths was implying.
"Be that as it may, I want him brought along. As for Spike, he may well hold the answer to how we're to defeat our enemy. He's a valuable asset, like the girls. Leaving him in Travers' power would be...unwise."
Griffiths shook his head again. "I disagree. Less an asset, more a threat to national security. Bad enough that it's a vampire, but the thing's been brainwashed. Better to kill it and be done with it."
Giles's blood ran cold. Griffiths would dust Spike without hesitation, he knew. In fact, maybe he'd already done it.
"I thought that myself at one time," he said, quickly. "Now, I think it's better to let him live. Imperative, even."
Griffiths' eyes were like ice crystals. "The answer's still no. It's too dangerous. Let Travers deal with it."
Giles's heart sank. It appeared that Griffiths hadn't already disposed of Spike, which was a relief, but it didn't look like he was going to change his mind.
Giles reminded himself that whatever his personal feelings for Spike, other things - older, deeper loyalties -were more important.
Still, he had to try.
"For the Slayer's sake," he said, "I'm asking you to reconsider. Spike may be our only shot at divining the enemy's purpose. There's more at stake here than-"
"I don't care about the Slayer," Griffiths snapped. "She's out of my jurisdiction."
Five, then, and interested only in national security. Suddenly, Giles was angry. Of course, Griffiths didn't care about Buffy. The myopia of national governments!
But the revelation only made him more determined to save what he could.
"All right, then," he said. "I can see how Her Majesty's Government could benefit from one of the three girls here - all of them British- becoming the next Slayer, and therefore how imperative it is to get them to a place of greater safety. That being the case, though, it's surely worth bearing in mind that one of them - Norah - has become very attached to Charles Robson. I think it unlikely she'll leave here without him."
When Griffiths said nothing, Giles continued, "And believe me, if you think you can make a teenage girl go somewhere she doesn't want to go without a great deal of fuss - very loud, noticeable fuss - you're mistaken."
Griffiths frowned, his composure ruffled at last. "Robson's been drugged. We'd have to carry him. It's not practicable."
"It is if we bring the vampire," Giles said, quickly. "He's strong. He could carry Robson easily."
Before Griffiths could interrupt him, Giles hurried on, "I understand your reluctance, believe me. But Spike still has the behaviour modification chip. He can't harm humans." As he said it, Giles reflected that he still didn't know if this was true.
"Unless he's triggered," Griffiths snapped, looking almost irritable now.
"Yes, well, I think, in the circumstances that's a risk we'll have to take. Besides, young Norah's rather fond of Spike too."
Griffiths' expression suggested that he thought 'young Norah' could go to the devil, but in the end, he said, "All right. But the first sign of trouble and I'll dust him. Got that?"
Giles nodded. "Absolutely."
*
Griffiths might not have had time to put Spike in a holding cell, as Travers had instructed, but he'd muzzled him again before setting off to track Giles down.
The worn, stained leather covering Spike's lower face was in stark contrast to his undernourished pallor. His blue eyes were darkly shadowed and wary as he watched Giles approach with Griffiths at his side.
"I'm going to take that muzzle off him," Giles told Griffiths. "He's not a wild animal."
Griffiths said nothing, but Giles could tell he both disagreed and disapproved.
Giles unfastened the buckles, lifted the muzzle away and dropped it on the floor. He wanted to kick it into the corner, but what was the point? Spike no doubt felt so thoroughly betrayed by him at this point that he would see it as an empty gesture.
The muzzle hadn't been on long enough this time to indent its angry red criss-cross pattern in Spike's flesh, but he drew a deep breath as it fell away, and inhaled a grateful gulp of air.
With a chill, Giles realised that, prior to that, he'd not been breathing at all.
"What's this, then?" Spike said, in a hostile tone, looking from Griffiths to Giles and back. "Don't you wankers bloody listen? Draggin' old Rupert in here doesn't make any difference. I already said I'm not interested in becoming your secret weapon. In any case, his blood prob'ly tastes like crap."
Giles grimaced. He couldn't blame Spike for his animosity, though.
"No such thing," he said. "We're getting out of here, Spike. All of us. You included." He turned to Griffiths. "Give me the key to the shackles."
When Griffiths shook his head, Giles frowned. "Come on, man. You said yourself we don't have much time. Keeping him in chains will only slow us down."
There was a pause. Then, Griffiths dug into his pocket, brought out a key and handed it to Giles.
"I'm warning you again," Griffiths said, "if there's any trouble - any at all..." He didn't finish the sentence, but the meaning was implicit.
Yes, yes. I heard you the first time. Giles went down on one knee to unlock the shackles around Spike's ankles. As he did so, he glanced up into Spike's eyes, to find them staring back at him. Spike was frowning, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
And a good thing too, Giles thought, very aware of Griffiths' gaze on them both.
The ankle shackles fell to the floor. Those on Spike's wrists went next. The skin was rubbed raw underneath them. Giles frowned at the sight.
"Can you stand?" he asked.
"Think so," Spike muttered. He pushed himself out of the metal chair and wavered to his feet. Giles reached out to put a supportive hand under his elbow, but Spike shrugged off his grip. "'M fine."
"Glad to hear it." Giles let his hand drop, tamping down hard on his absurd sense of rejection.
He watched, purse-lipped, as Spike shook life back into his cramped limbs, stretching until each rib, and the concave hollows between them, were starkly delineated through his pale skin. Spike shivered. "S'bloody freezing in here."
"We need to find him a shirt," Giles said, to Griffiths. "Shoes too. I have spare ones in my room."
"Later," Griffiths snapped. "When we come back for the Gieves-Bowen girl. We have to get Robson and the other two out of the Annexe first. There's no outside exit from the building that side."
He crossed to the wall and pressed a switch, and at once a high, ear-piercing alarm began to sound. Spike yelped and covered his ears.
"Ouch! Give a bloke some warning, can't you?"
Griffiths ignored him. "The general alarm," he told Giles. "As Travers ordered. When it sounds, all senior Watchers on site will convene in the War Room in the basement, and the building will go on lockdown. If we're quick, we should encounter minimal opposition."
Giles glanced at Spike. Spike was frowning again, and from the look on his face, bursting with questions.
"Later," Giles mouthed at him. Spike's frown deepened, but he nodded.
*
The alarm was still shrilling as Griffiths unlocked the door into the Annexe, but as Giles followed him through, the sound cut off abruptly.
The ensuing silence, broken only by the sound of their running feet, was just as loud in its own way. It pressed on Giles's ears, which were already filled with the uncomfortable drubbing of his own heart.
If he ever got out of this, Giles told himself, he would make a concerted effort to get fit again. Turning fifty was absolutely no excuse for letting oneself go.
He gazed around him as they went. So this was the infamous Annexe. As a young Watcher, it had been out of bounds to him, and in later years, he'd spent very little time in Watchers' HQ, and never thought to ask about it.
The place had obviously been refurbished in the seventies, any original features of the Georgian building hacked about and destroyed by the addition of new plasterboard interior walls. The ceiling - another recent feature, from the look of it - was low and oppressive, and painted, like the walls, a particularly vile limp-lettuce green.
They were running along a corridor that ran straight in front of them, towards a blank wall in the distance. The carpet underfoot - another relic of the Seventies - was brown, with a loud paisley pattern, and worn thin in places by the passage of innumerable Watcher-ly feet. The air was close and smelt of damp and neglect.
At intervals, closed doors, painted brown, turned hostile blank faces on the corridor. Giles wondered what was behind them. Perhaps he was better off not knowing?
"What a fucking dump!" Spike muttered, and Giles couldn't help nodding in agreement.
"Down here," Griffiths turned left suddenly, into a side passage. At once, they moved from carpet to stained, ancient lino, and the sound of their feet grew louder. Certainly, someone seemed to have heard them, because at the far end of the corridor that someone was pounding on a door and shouting.
"Fucking lemme out of here, you perverts! I'll have the feds on you."
More of the same followed, the expletives growing more colourful with every word.
Molly, unmistakeably.
Giles glanced at Spike again, to see a look of mingled amusement and ...was that surprise, on his face, as Molly's tirade continued? Possibly, there were some swear words that even Spike didn't know.
When Griffiths put the key in the lock, the pounding stopped and there was the sound of feet retreating from the door in a hurry. When it was flung open, Molly had rammed herself into a corner, where she stood glaring at them from under her ferociously sculpted brows. A table lamp - the only thing even remotely resembling a weapon in the dull, utilitarian room - was held poised ready to throw.
"Stay away from me!" Molly shouted. "Bloody warning you."
Despite her belligerence, it was obvious the girl was terrified, and Giles was glad that Griffiths made no move to approach her - until he realised Griffiths was looking at him, as if to say, go on, then. Do your stuff.
Giles took a deep breath, stepped past Griffiths and into the room.
"It's all right, Molly," he said. "We've come to get you out of here."
But Molly only raised the lamp higher. "What d'you take me for? A bloody idiot? You was the one brought us here, you lying tosser."
"Yes, I..." Giles began, but Molly interrupted him.
"They stuck needles in my bloody arm!" she practically snarled. "They drugged me. And it's all your fault, you fucking paedo."
"I..." Giles tried again, but Molly was unstoppable.
"And what've you done with Annabelle? If you've laid a fucking finger on the dozy bitch, I'll rip your fucking head off, I swear I will."
Giles was beginning to feel annoyed - not least because he could sense Griffiths' growing impatience. If the man should change his mind...
He opened his mouth to try again. "I assure you, Molly..."
But at that moment, Spike pushed past him.
"Molly, 'ey?" Spike practically purred. "Always thought that was a charming name, and may I say, miss, how well it suits you?"
"What?" Molly gaped at him, and then it seemed she couldn't look away. "Who're you?"
Spike took another step forward. "Name's Spike. Me an' dear old Rupert -" he glanced over his shoulder - "oh, and James Bond over there, have come to rescue you."
"James Bond?" Molly's wide-eyed gaze almost drifted from Spike to Griffiths, but not quite.
"Yeah." Spike grinned at her, and Giles could almost see her melting towards him. "'Less I'm mistaken, bloke's on Her Majesty's Secret Service. Licensed to kill, an' all that."
Molly blinked, confused, but then her face cleared. "Oooh, you mean he's a spy." This time, she did look at Griffiths, though only momentarily. "Why're you called Spike, then?"
"It's a long story."
All the time they'd been speaking, Spike had been taking one slow step after another across the room. As he finished, he flicked his tongue at Molly in a way that struck Giles as positively indecent. At the same time, with great gentleness, he prised the lamp out of her hands. "Tell you later, when you're all rescued, like."
"All right," Molly said. She seemed half-dazed. "We gonna rescue Annabelle too? Poor cow can't manage on her own."
Spike was steering her in the direction of the door, a hand on her shoulder. "'Course we are. No man left behind, yeah?"
Giles watched Griffiths watching this display, and realised that the man was thinking the exact same thing he was. They'd just witnessed Spike's hunting technique in action.
Giles shuddered. Any other time, any other vampire, and Molly would be dead. As it was, he supposed they should be grateful that getting a soul hadn't made Spike lose his touch.
Griffiths led the way further down the corridor and unlocked another door, to reveal what at first seemed an empty room.
"Norah?" Giles made to cross the threshold, but again, Spike elbowed past him, Molly in tow.
"S'all right, Norah, love," he called. "S'me - Spike."
At once, a small, dark haired figure shot out from its hiding place behind the door, and flung itself into Spike's arms.
"Spike!"
"S'okay, love. S'okay." Spike crouched down, holding Norah while she sobbed, Molly hovering uncertainly over them both.
Again, Giles exchanged looks with Griffiths. Griffiths' lips were thin. He didn't like what he was seeing at all.
Giles wasn't sure he liked it either, and not just because of the danger Spike posed to the girls if the trigger were activated.
No, Giles had to admit, he didn't like it because it reminded him of Buffy, and where succumbing to Spike's dubious charms had led her.
And what about you, you idiot? a small voice seemed to whisper in Giles's ears. How are you any better? You had sex with that thing. You fucked it, even though you knew what it was capable of.... what it had done to Buffy.
Giles shuddered. Not here! Not now!
He glanced over his shoulder into the empty corridor, almost expecting to see Jenny standing there, the hurt plain in her eyes, or maybe Ms Harkness, rebuking him for his folly, or even Radley fussing with his bowtie. But there was nothing. All the same, he had a sense of being watched.
Filled with unease, he turned back to find Spike and Norah on their feet. Norah's nose was red and she was wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Her colour wasn't good in general. Her olive skin had a sickly, greyish cast.
Just how much of the poor girl's blood had they taken, in order to speed Spike's recovery?
From the sour look on Griffiths' face, Giles suspected he was asking himself the same thing.
"Where's Mr Robson?" Norah said, in a wavering voice. "I'm not leaving without him."
Giles refrained from giving Griffiths an I-told-you-so look, but it was very tempting.
"This way," Griffiths said, in a tight voice. "And hurry. We still have to pick up the third girl and get out of here before we're missed."
He led them back to the main corridor, up it for some way and then off to the right down another side passage. The emergency lights seemed to have failed in this one, and Robson's room was at the far end, where it was darkest.
More and more, it felt like Travers had wanted Robson both out of mind and out of sight. Dumped like so much rubbish.
Griffiths fumbled the door open, and stale air exhaled into the corridor with an almost audible sigh. The room was even more sparsely furnished than Molly's and Norah's, containing nothing but a single bed made up with grey, army-issue blankets, on which a still form lay, and a chipped sink with a dripping tap. There was no natural light, just a dim naked bulb hanging from the ceiling.
Robson's small knapsack with his overnight things had been thrown unceremoniously into one corner. The contents were spilling out of it in a trail across the floor. A tube of toothpaste was crushed into the carpet, as if someone had trodden on it.
Whatever had happened in here, Giles was sure, Robson hadn't gone down without a fight.
"Mr Robson!" Norah wailed. She made to rush forward, but Griffiths put an arm in front of her, barring her way.
"Best not, miss."
"Robson?" Giles had already pushed past Griffiths into the room. Behind him, he heard Spike say to Norah,
"S'okay, love. He's alive. Heart's beatin' nice an' regular."
Robson lay on his back, arms at his sides, the covers pulled up to his midriff. He appeared to be fully clothed, save for his shoes, which were placed neatly, side by side, under the bed. His eyes were closed, his face pasty. His mouth hung open and he was snoring - loud, stertorous breaths that seemed to catch in the back of his throat.
"Charles! It's me - Rupert." Giles shook him, but there was no response, except for a slight pause in the snoring.
"It's useless," Griffiths said. "De Souza has him drugged to the eyeballs. He'll have to be carried, like I said."
De Souza? Giles grimaced. He hoped Robson never found out what his former lover had done to him. "Spike, if you please?" He beckoned Spike forward.
"A minute!" Spike muttered. He'd been going through Robson's knapsack and had one arm in the sleeve of a crumpled blue shirt, which Giles could remember seeing Robson wearing, somewhat less crumpled and with a rather natty tie.
"Said I was cold." Spike glared at Giles over his shoulder, as if Giles had forbidden the loan. "Anyway, his stuff'll fit me better than yours will."
The shirt buttoned, he began rummaging in the knapsack again. "Bloke must have some spare socks in here somewhere."
"Either we go now, or we don't go at all," Griffiths said, suddenly. He began to back out of the room, herding Molly and Norah with him. "I can't wait any longer."
"All right, all right! I'll look later." Spike stopped his rummaging, slung the knapsack onto his back and jammed his bare feet into Robson's discarded shoes.
A moment later, he had Robson's unconscious form draped across one shoulder in a fireman's carry, and they were retreating back down the corridor at a jog.
*
Giles was glad to leave the Annexe behind. It had felt like a place for the Watchers' Council to bury the dirtiest of its dirty secrets.
Robson and the girls could have died locked away in there, and no one would ever have known.
They'd come back into the main part of the building on the first floor, through the same door into the Annexe that Giles had tried in vain to open on the night when he'd had his disturbing conversation with De Souza.
It would be broad daylight outside by this time, but the building was hushed, as if everyone was still sleeping. The very opposite was true, of course. Travers and the senior staff would be in the basement War Room, junior Watchers confined to quarters awaiting further instruction. Meanwhile, armed operatives - Griffiths' men - would be on guard at key points in the building.
"Quiet!" Griffiths hissed at Spike, who'd been exchanging some drollery with Molly and Norah. Spike rolled his eyes, but complied.
Griffiths had brought them to a halt near a corner, where the corridor leading from the main building to the Annexe turned left towards Giles's own room, and - presumably- Annabelle's. His cold gaze raked over them all, daring anyone to speak.
"There are two guards on the girl's door," Griffiths said. "You stay here. I'll deal with them."
"What..." Giles began, but Griffiths was already gone. They listened to his steady tread receding down the corridor. At last, it halted and there was the sound of distant conversation. Giles glanced at Spike. Unlike the rest of them, Spike could hear what was being said.
Molly broke the uneasy quiet, to whisper, "I don't like that spy bloke. He's well scary. What's he gonna do?"
Whatever it takes, Giles thought, and sure enough, a moment later there was a sudden sharp exclamation, quickly muffled, followed by the sounds of a struggle. That didn't last long either. The ensuing silence seemed even more oppressive.
Spike's face was grim when Giles looked at him again, but with Molly and Norah hanging on their every word, it wasn't the time to discuss the incident.
And not just Molly and Norah, because a moment later, Annabelle ran around the corner, swerved to avoid Giles, and stopped short in front of Molly. Giles had the sense that Annabelle would have hugged the other girl if she'd dared. Instead, she contented herself with saying,
"Did they take your phone away, Molly, 'cos I tried phoning and you didn't answer?"
Molly looked sour. "Yeah - bastards." She hunched her shoulders. "You all right, then?"
Annabelle nodded. "You?"
Molly shrugged. "M'okay. Wish I hadn't listened to him, though" - and she pointed at Robson's dangling head - "an' just bloody stayed in Hastings."
Annabelle's mouth fell open in shock at the sight of Robson, then closed abruptly when she registered Giles's presence. She took a step back.
"What's he doing here? Where are they taking us?" She'd noticed Spike for the first time too. "Who's that man? Why's he carrying Mr Robson?"
"He's not a man," Norah cut in. "He's a-"
Before she could say any more, Griffiths came around the corner, so suddenly all three girls jumped. His eyes raked over them, coldly dispassionate.
"Quiet."
The word was softly spoken, but the girls fell silent at once, staring at Griffiths with scared faces.
Giles didn't blame them. He was beginning to wish that he'd told the man to go to hell and taken his chances with Travers. Travers might be a fool, and a dangerous one at that, but at least it was possible to second guess him.
With Griffiths, Giles had no idea.
"The tunnel is two flights down," Griffiths was saying. "Follow me, and keep moving whatever happens."
"Tunnel?" Giles put his hand on Griffiths' arm. "What tunnel? What are you talking about?"
Griffiths managed to convey the fact that Giles was lucky not to lose the hand without his expression changing at all. Giles let go of him.
"Didn't you know about it?" Griffiths said. "Dates from the Twenties, so I was told. It connects the building to Russell Square tube station. Emergency exit in case of a frontal assault."
"No," Giles had to admit. "I didn't know."
Yet more evidence, if any were needed, that the Watchers' Council regarded him as unreliable.
So unreliable, apparently, he thought, bitterly, that his death in this putative frontal assault was preferable to letting him know of the existence of a secret bolt hole.
Thirty years' service, and no one ever mentioned it to me. No one.
Griffiths' gaze was unsympathetic, as it slid from Giles to Spike and back again.
"Just as well for your vampire it's there," he said, "or he'd have to stay here or fry. Let's go."
He headed in the direction of the back stairs, not once glancing round to see if they were following him. Annabelle and Molly looked at each other, but their feet were already moving.
"Spike?" Norah said, in a small voice. She hung close to him, and Giles realised she was holding one of Robson's limp hands in hers.
Spike shrugged. "Don't think we've got much choice, love. Not if we wanna get out of here." He shifted Robson's body on his shoulder and set off after Griffiths. "Wish the bastard'd slow down enough for me to put some bloody socks on. Gonna get blisters at this rate."
Giles brought up the rear. As he stepped around the corner, he glanced left, towards the door of Annabelle's room. It was open, and when Giles craned his neck, he could just see a foot in a black military boot that must belong to someone lying on the floor.
"He stabbed one of them," Spike said, in Giles's ear, startling him. "Right through the heart. Then, once he'd got the girl out of the room, he broke the other one's neck. Talk about licensed to kill. Hope you know what you're doing, Giles."
"Christ!" Giles stopped in his tracks. For a moment, he considered turning back, but Spike, with Norah in tow, had already gone past him. Besides, it would have meant abandoning Molly and Annabelle. There was nothing to do but keep going.
*
They caught up with Griffiths and the two girls on the ground floor, in the dim back hallway that led, in one direction, to the cafeteria, in the other to the library. Molly and Annabelle were white-faced and trembling. Annabelle was trying to grab Molly’s arm, and Molly’s attempts to shrug her off were half-hearted at best.
"What's the matter?" Giles asked them, but then his eye was caught by something lying in the shadows at the bottom of the staircase. He peered closer. It was a body - a third Council operative, and from the angle of the neck...
Griffiths was heading in the direction of the library and beyond that, the stairs to the basement. "This way."
Giles hurried after him, made to grab his arm again, then let his hand drop. "No more killing. It's disgusting - appalling. These are men doing their job, that's all."
Griffiths just looked at him stone-faced, as if the cold-blooded murder of three men signified nothing. "So am I."
Giles hesitated again. There still seemed no option but to follow Griffiths, but somehow - he had no idea how - he had to find a way to wrest control of the situation from him.
There was no way he was handing himself, Robson and the girls, let alone Spike with all the dangers he posed, over to people who could order such atrocities.
"Bloke's a regular killing machine," Spike muttered, as they hurried after Griffiths, and Giles found himself nodding in agreement. He hoped against hope that they encountered no more opposition. It was just possible that Travers was too preoccupied with the fallout from the awful events at Upper Slaughter to have realised yet that anything was wrong.
He would expect Griffiths to be absent performing his security duties, wouldn't he? Not to mention he'd banned Giles from his presence.
Giles glanced back over his shoulder, to see Spike jogging after him, Robson's head jiggling up and down rather alarmingly at his back. Norah was still glued to Spike's side, but Molly and Annabelle were trailing some way behind.
Giles couldn't blame them. He paused outside the door of the library to let them catch up, then yelped and leapt clear as the door opened, and he found himself face to face with Lydia Chalmers.
*
Lydia opened her mouth - whether to speak or scream, Giles had no idea. With a wild glance in Griffiths' direction, he grabbed her arm with one hand, put his other hand over her mouth and bundled her back through the library doors. The armful of books she'd been carrying slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor with a sickening crack of broken spines.
Giles had been afraid that, despite the lockdown, the room would be full of junior Watchers conducting research, but thankfully, apart from himself and Lydia, it was empty. The blinds were pulled down at the windows, the room lit only by the dim white squares of blocked-out daylight. The door to Radley's little office behind the librarian's desk was shut and the office itself was dark.
Lydia pushed Giles suddenly, sending him staggering into the nearest reading table, but when she tried to get around him and make a break for the door, Giles threw himself in her way again.
"Don't!" he hissed, urgently. "He'll kill you."
Lydia backed away from him. Her glasses were slipping down her nose. "Who will?"
At that moment, the door opened again and Spike put his head around it. "You all right, Giles?"
Lydia gasped. "It's loose! Who let it loose?"
But then Griffiths shouldered Spike out of the way. His cold gaze went from Giles to Lydia and back again. Giles could almost see him working out which was the quickest, most efficient way to kill her.
"What on earth is going on?" Lydia exclaimed. "Mr Griffiths, explain yourself."
Giles took a pace forward, putting himself between Griffiths and Lydia. "It's obvious, I would've thought."
Lydia set her glasses straight. "Not to me." Her eyes narrowed. "Does Mr Travers know that vampire is roaming free around the building?"
"I'm right here, you know," Spike protested. The doors swung open and closed again as he came fully into the room, the three girls trailing him.
"Step aside," Griffiths said, to Giles, in a murmur. But Giles stayed put. Lydia, meanwhile, looked from the huddled trio of Molly, Annabelle and Norah, to Spike, in his ill-fitting shirt, and no socks on his feet, and with Robson's body draped over his shoulder, to Griffiths, and back to Giles. A sort of shudder ran through her body.
"Oh, of course," she said, suddenly, in a stilted tone. "Mr Travers has ordered you to take our three remaining Potential Slayers into protective custody, hasn't he, Mr Griffiths? And the vampire too, I assume? Very sensible. It wouldn't do at all for it to fall into the enemy's hands."
There was a pause. Then Giles said, hurriedly, "That's absolutely right, Ms Chalmers." He turned and looked Griffiths in the eye. "Isn't it, Griffiths?"
Griffiths said nothing.
"Because of course," Lydia went on, babbling somewhat now, "after the appalling events of last night, Mr Travers understands this building could be compromised at any time. Wise move, not keeping all your eggs in one basket."
"Yeah," Spike muttered, behind Giles. "That Travers bloke's just full of bright ideas."
"I expect you'll be leaving by the tunnel in the basement, won't you?" Lydia went on, in the same stilted tone. "Has Mr Travers given you the details of the counter-spell to open the door? So inconvenient, how they lock themselves when the general alarm goes off."
"As a matter of fact..." Giles began, but Lydia interrupted him.
"But if he forgot, it's understandable. He has a lot on his mind. Allow me."
She brought a small notebook and a slim, silver pencil out of her jacket pocket, opened the notebook and began to write.
"Fortunately, the counter-spell can be spoken by anyone," she said, as she wrote. "Mr Travers thought it too dangerous to make it person-specific, in case he should come to some harm, leaving everyone trapped in the building. He's always prepared for every eventuality."
"Very...astute," Giles said. By 'everyone', he supposed Lydia meant Travers' personal favourites. Lesser mortals, no doubt, were as ignorant of the tunnel's existence as he was.
But to give her the benefit of the doubt, perhaps Lydia didn't know that.
He glanced at Griffiths again while Lydia wrote. No clue from the man's face what he was thinking.
One could only hope that he would rather not kill her if he didn't have to.
As for Lydia herself, Giles could only guess that her motives for helping him must be bound up with the obvious discomfort he'd seen on her face the previous night, when Griffiths had marched Annabelle from this very room and into solitary confinement. Other than that, her loyalty to Travers had seemed absolute.
Unless this was a trap, of course.
"Here." Lydia handed Giles the scrap of paper. Her eyes met his as she did so, and she gave his hand a brief squeeze.
Not a trap, then.
"Thank you," Giles said. He didn't know what else to say.
As he turned to go, Lydia exclaimed, "Wait!" She reached into her other pocket and drew something out.
At once Griffiths tensed, and the three girls huddled closer together, eyes fixed on him in terror.
"Please don't," Annabelle begged, while a low growl erupted from Spike's throat.
Griffiths ignored them all.
Lydia, meanwhile, hardly blinked. "No need for alarm, Mr Griffiths, I assure you. I just wanted to give Mr Giles this."
As she spoke, she opened her clenched fist and dropped a tiny, polished stone into Giles's open palm. "The Prokaryote Stone. You'll need this if you're ever to disable that trigger." Her eyes looked past Giles to where Spike stood, and she gave him an almost imperceptible nod.
Spike frowned. "Appreciate the thought an' all, love, but..."
"Be quiet, Spike," Giles snapped. "Thank you," he said again, to Lydia. "And the incantation?"
Lydia adjusted her glasses again. "You'll find it in Bay's Book of the Dead, second row, third shelf, which coincidentally happens to be right next to Demons of the Primordium, our main source of information on the First. It's a copy, of course. Not the original, which is kept under lock and key."
She straightened her jacket. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I came out of a very important meeting to gather research materials. I must be getting back to Mr Travers, before he sends out a search party."
She bent down, gathered up the armful of fallen books, and, not looking to right or left, walked briskly to the door. Giles tensed as she went past Griffiths, but Griffiths watched her go by with no change to his usual, stoical expression.
At the door, Lydia paused again and looked back, her gaze taking them all in. "I want you to know that I am one hundred per cent loyal to Mr Travers," she said, primly. "Given the opportunity to reflect, he would have acted the exact same way, were he here. I am sure of it."
Her eyes fixed on Giles. "When you see the Slayer, tell her we're relying on her."
The door swung to behind her.
Griffiths frowned. "This is a mistake."
"No." Giles slipped the Prokaryote Stone into his pocket and headed for the bookshelves Lydia had indicated. "It's not."
"If she raises the alarm..." Griffiths began behind him, but Spike interrupted this time.
"She won't. She meant every word. Can tell from her heartbeat. She was trying to help us, all right? Makin' up for the sins of her boss."
As Giles reached the bookshelves, he saw Griffiths give Spike a sceptical look.
But Griffiths didn't argue. Instead, he looked at his watch. "Six thirty. We have to get out of here."
"On a schedule, are you?" Spike sneered, but Griffiths didn't reply.
"What are you doing?" he called, to Giles.
Giles had located the two titles Lydia had mentioned. He lifted them down from the shelf. Demons of the Primordium in particular was very heavy. The cover had an unpleasant, scaly feel - probably demon skin.
Giles grimaced and tucked it under his arm. He stared along the rows of shelves, overwhelmed yet again by the weight of irreplaceable esoteric knowledge they carried. If only he could take all of them.
With a sigh, he turned to go back to the others, but as he did so, the corner of his eye registered movement, as if someone had been standing watching him at the end of the row of shelves and had ducked out of sight into the next aisle.
The familiar chill snaked its way down Giles's spine. He'd only caught a glimpse, but he was sure it had been Radley, or possibly Ms Harkness - a tall, thin figure with gleaming glasses.
For a moment, the room seemed full of whispering, voices just on the edge of hearing. For a heart-stopping moment, Giles thought he heard Jenny's among them. He held his breath. If that wretched singing started up now...
But the whispering faded away into dusty silence, until it was broken by Griffiths calling, "What are you doing back there?"
Books clutched to his chest, Giles hurried back to the others. Spike had laid Robson's body on the librarian's counter, he saw, and upended the contents of the knapsack all over the floor. He was sitting at one of the desks pulling on a pair of black woollen socks. Griffiths, meanwhile, looking twitchy for him, seemed torn between staying near the girls to make sure they didn't bolt, and coming to roust Giles out of the bookstack.
He frowned when he saw the books in Giles's arms. "What do you want those for? They're heavy. They'll only slow us down."
They were heavy, it was true. Giles snatched the empty knapsack out of Spike's hands and stuffed the books into it. "The information they contain is priceless," he said as he swung it onto his back. "We need them."
Griffiths' frown grew deeper, but he didn't argue, just herded the three girls back towards the library door. "Get a move on."
"All right, all right!" Spike hoisted Robson back over his shoulder and followed him, and Giles brought up the rear.
Back in the corridor, Griffiths led them to the basement stairs and began to hurry down it, the girls and Spike close behind him.
Giles set his hand on the metal stair rail. At once, he felt a strange sensation in the palm of his hand - a sort of buzz, as if the metal were vibrating. Was it another earth tremor? Unnerved, he stopped.
Griffiths was right when he'd said that, because of Spike, their only option in daylight hours was to exit the building by this basement access tunnel - which, yes, it still grated with Giles that Griffiths had known about and he hadn't-but...
....under the ground was the First's domain.
Giles opened his mouth to call the others back, but then he closed it again. Short of waiting for nightfall, or abandoning Spike to Travers, there really was no other option.
Taking a firmer grip on the straps of the knapsack, Giles started downwards.
TBC
Here is the penultimate story in my long-running (since 2008) Spike/Giles series set in early BtVS season 7. It's also my entry for
letsgetitdone. There is one more story in the series to go, but that's also completed in draft. It just needs beta'ing (and possibly completely re-writing, but we'll see). If I can't post that to letsgetitdone too, I will be posting it before Christmas. No more WIP! Yay!Setting: London, BtVS season 7, some time before Bring on the Night.
Rating: PG/R, for some violence and swearing.
Pairing: None as such in this part, though some Spike/Giles UST.
Beta: Beta'ed by
hello_spikey, to whom many thanks.Author's Note: This story carries on immediately from where the last part left off. And as it's over a year since I posted the last part, I suspect most people will have forgotten what happened in it. If you want to refresh your memory (might be advisable), previous stories can be found here. As previously explained, when writing Molly the potential Slayer, I just could not bring myself to write her as that horrible Dick Van Dyke from Mary Poppins' granddaughter type character so I just made up a different character with the same name.
Secrets
Part One
"Stay back!"
Giles held the piece of broken stool in front of him. His arm was steady, which was a relief, given how unnerved he was by Griffiths. If it came to a fight, Giles didn't fancy his chances at all.
Griffiths' frosty blue gaze didn't waver.
"There's no need for alarm, sir. Please lower your weapon."
So you can put me in a holding cell, or lock me away in the Annexe, Giles thought. Aloud, he said, "I don't think so."
Griffiths didn't even blink. "I said I wanted to talk to you. Now, I won't ask again - lower your weapon."
"Not bloody likely." Giles kept the cudgel-like piece of wood raised. He kept his eyes on Griffiths' while inside his head, the voice of his long-ago physical combat instructor intoned, "The eyes, lad. Always watch the eyes."
But Griffiths' unwavering gaze gave absolutely no warning - not even a tightening of the skin around the eyes - when the man suddenly grabbed the end of Giles's makeshift weapon, twisted, and disarmed him with terrifying ease.
Griffiths threw the stool leg into the corner of the room. "That's better."
Giles jumped back. It had happened so suddenly that it took him a second or two to realise that his whole right arm had gone numb. For a moment, he was afraid Griffiths had broken it, but the tingling in his fingers reassured him he hadn't.
Griffiths could have broken it, though. That he'd chosen not to....
Well, it might mean that things weren't quite as dire as they seemed. Equally, it might mean the opposite.
"What do you want?" Giles glared at Griffiths, nursing his sore arm.
"A few minutes of your time, sir, if you would." Griffiths indicated one of the wooden stools lined up along the nearest lab bench. "Take a seat."
Giles hesitated, then, because there was obviously no point arguing, he sat down. "I'm listening."
"Very good, sir." Griffiths adopted a somewhat more relaxed pose. Not 'at ease', but close. "You were listening outside the door when the call came through about the safe house in the Cotswolds."
It wasn't a question but a statement of fact. After a moment, Giles gave a wary nod.
"I was."
"Good. You also understand that, as a consequence of that incident, the three young women currently in detention here in this building have become a very valuable asset?"
Giles nodded. That was the longest sentence he'd yet heard from Griffiths, and something about the man's manner of speaking was ringing alarm bells.
"You're secret service," Giles blurted out. "Aren't you? Which is it? Five? Six? Or something else?"
Again, Griffiths didn't even blink. "Good guess, sir."
Giles noted that he neither confirmed nor denied the accusation.
"To return to the matter in hand" Griffiths went on, "I don't believe it's safe here any longer and it's my intention to remove the three girls from this building and place them in protective custody elsewhere. The less distress they suffer in the process the better, so I want you with me to reassure them."
"Me?" Giles stared.
For a moment, he was on the point of telling Griffiths that he didn't think any of the Potential Slayers would find him the least bit reassuring, given that he'd brought them here in the first place. But good sense prevailed. He needed to tread carefully - perhaps more carefully than at any other time in his life.
Stalling for time, he said,
"I would have thought being well protected would reassure the girls more than anything, and you have a whole squad of men at your disposal. You don't need me as well."
Griffiths shook his head. "They're not my men. They're Watchers' Council."
"Ah." Giles flexed his wrist. The numbness had practically gone now. "And Travers doesn't know who you-"
"He does know, but that's not the point," Griffiths interrupted. "I can't rely on them. Can I rely on you?"
Giles looked Griffiths in the eyes again, though their coldness made him shudder.
"Why me?" he asked, bluntly.
Griffiths' lips thinned - the most reaction Giles had seen from him so far.
"As you may have guessed, I have a twofold role here," Griffiths said. "One, to give the Watchers' Council the benefit of my expertise in certain...areas. The other, to report back on them to my superiors."
That explained Travers' odd deference to the man, Giles thought. The taciturn, non-commissioned officer persona was exactly that - a persona, and Travers knew all too well what lurked behind it.
There was a definite edge of contempt in Griffiths' voice as he continued.
"Recently, I've reported that Travers is becoming a liability. He's made some very poor decisions and allowed the current situation to spiral out of control. Good people have died because of him. He may even have put the country at risk. You, on the other hand, appear to have a good grasp of what's at stake here."
"And how do you come to that conclusion?" Giles asked, taken aback. What he could have done to make Griffiths form such an opinion, he had no idea.
"From your reaction to Travers' treatment of two of the girls," Griffiths responded.
Giles blinked. Either he wasn't nearly as good an actor as he'd hoped, or...
Oh, of course.
"Which you know about," he said, "because you heard every word of my conversation with Dr De Souza?"
"Yes," Griffiths agreed. "I told Travers there was something wrong with the sound on the surveillance system. That wasn't true. I decided it served me better to keep you in play and let him go on believing you were on his side."
"Thank you for that." Griffiths had hardly done it for Giles's sake, of course, but it seemed only right to say it.
Griffiths responded by glancing at his watch.
"Well? Do we have a deal?"
Giles looked at his own watch. Five thirty in the morning. It would be getting light outside.
"If I help you, what'll happen to me afterwards?"
Griffiths shrugged, "That's up to my superiors. I'm sure they'll be grateful for your co-operation."
Oh, are you? It seemed very unlikely, Giles thought, that once in their hands, Griffiths' 'superiors' would allow him to leave the country, or even to leave their custody. Nor could they be trusted to see the bigger picture, or to understand it even if they did.
On the other hand, if he wanted to save anything from this debacle, what choice did he have?
Aloud, he said, "There's one condition."
The look on Griffiths' face told Giles he was treading on thin ice, but all the man said was, "And what's that?"
"My friend, Charles Robson, has to come with us. And..." Giles licked his lips, wary of Griffiths' reaction, "... the vampire. Spike. Him also."
Griffiths shook his head emphatically. "No. To both. Robson's a Watcher."
Giles stared. "I'm a Watcher."
"Not like him," Griffiths insisted. "Travers may not like him, but unlike you, he still believes."
Giles frowned, unsure what Griffiths was implying.
"Be that as it may, I want him brought along. As for Spike, he may well hold the answer to how we're to defeat our enemy. He's a valuable asset, like the girls. Leaving him in Travers' power would be...unwise."
Griffiths shook his head again. "I disagree. Less an asset, more a threat to national security. Bad enough that it's a vampire, but the thing's been brainwashed. Better to kill it and be done with it."
Giles's blood ran cold. Griffiths would dust Spike without hesitation, he knew. In fact, maybe he'd already done it.
"I thought that myself at one time," he said, quickly. "Now, I think it's better to let him live. Imperative, even."
Griffiths' eyes were like ice crystals. "The answer's still no. It's too dangerous. Let Travers deal with it."
Giles's heart sank. It appeared that Griffiths hadn't already disposed of Spike, which was a relief, but it didn't look like he was going to change his mind.
Giles reminded himself that whatever his personal feelings for Spike, other things - older, deeper loyalties -were more important.
Still, he had to try.
"For the Slayer's sake," he said, "I'm asking you to reconsider. Spike may be our only shot at divining the enemy's purpose. There's more at stake here than-"
"I don't care about the Slayer," Griffiths snapped. "She's out of my jurisdiction."
Five, then, and interested only in national security. Suddenly, Giles was angry. Of course, Griffiths didn't care about Buffy. The myopia of national governments!
But the revelation only made him more determined to save what he could.
"All right, then," he said. "I can see how Her Majesty's Government could benefit from one of the three girls here - all of them British- becoming the next Slayer, and therefore how imperative it is to get them to a place of greater safety. That being the case, though, it's surely worth bearing in mind that one of them - Norah - has become very attached to Charles Robson. I think it unlikely she'll leave here without him."
When Griffiths said nothing, Giles continued, "And believe me, if you think you can make a teenage girl go somewhere she doesn't want to go without a great deal of fuss - very loud, noticeable fuss - you're mistaken."
Griffiths frowned, his composure ruffled at last. "Robson's been drugged. We'd have to carry him. It's not practicable."
"It is if we bring the vampire," Giles said, quickly. "He's strong. He could carry Robson easily."
Before Griffiths could interrupt him, Giles hurried on, "I understand your reluctance, believe me. But Spike still has the behaviour modification chip. He can't harm humans." As he said it, Giles reflected that he still didn't know if this was true.
"Unless he's triggered," Griffiths snapped, looking almost irritable now.
"Yes, well, I think, in the circumstances that's a risk we'll have to take. Besides, young Norah's rather fond of Spike too."
Griffiths' expression suggested that he thought 'young Norah' could go to the devil, but in the end, he said, "All right. But the first sign of trouble and I'll dust him. Got that?"
Giles nodded. "Absolutely."
Griffiths might not have had time to put Spike in a holding cell, as Travers had instructed, but he'd muzzled him again before setting off to track Giles down.
The worn, stained leather covering Spike's lower face was in stark contrast to his undernourished pallor. His blue eyes were darkly shadowed and wary as he watched Giles approach with Griffiths at his side.
"I'm going to take that muzzle off him," Giles told Griffiths. "He's not a wild animal."
Griffiths said nothing, but Giles could tell he both disagreed and disapproved.
Giles unfastened the buckles, lifted the muzzle away and dropped it on the floor. He wanted to kick it into the corner, but what was the point? Spike no doubt felt so thoroughly betrayed by him at this point that he would see it as an empty gesture.
The muzzle hadn't been on long enough this time to indent its angry red criss-cross pattern in Spike's flesh, but he drew a deep breath as it fell away, and inhaled a grateful gulp of air.
With a chill, Giles realised that, prior to that, he'd not been breathing at all.
"What's this, then?" Spike said, in a hostile tone, looking from Griffiths to Giles and back. "Don't you wankers bloody listen? Draggin' old Rupert in here doesn't make any difference. I already said I'm not interested in becoming your secret weapon. In any case, his blood prob'ly tastes like crap."
Giles grimaced. He couldn't blame Spike for his animosity, though.
"No such thing," he said. "We're getting out of here, Spike. All of us. You included." He turned to Griffiths. "Give me the key to the shackles."
When Griffiths shook his head, Giles frowned. "Come on, man. You said yourself we don't have much time. Keeping him in chains will only slow us down."
There was a pause. Then, Griffiths dug into his pocket, brought out a key and handed it to Giles.
"I'm warning you again," Griffiths said, "if there's any trouble - any at all..." He didn't finish the sentence, but the meaning was implicit.
Yes, yes. I heard you the first time. Giles went down on one knee to unlock the shackles around Spike's ankles. As he did so, he glanced up into Spike's eyes, to find them staring back at him. Spike was frowning, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
And a good thing too, Giles thought, very aware of Griffiths' gaze on them both.
The ankle shackles fell to the floor. Those on Spike's wrists went next. The skin was rubbed raw underneath them. Giles frowned at the sight.
"Can you stand?" he asked.
"Think so," Spike muttered. He pushed himself out of the metal chair and wavered to his feet. Giles reached out to put a supportive hand under his elbow, but Spike shrugged off his grip. "'M fine."
"Glad to hear it." Giles let his hand drop, tamping down hard on his absurd sense of rejection.
He watched, purse-lipped, as Spike shook life back into his cramped limbs, stretching until each rib, and the concave hollows between them, were starkly delineated through his pale skin. Spike shivered. "S'bloody freezing in here."
"We need to find him a shirt," Giles said, to Griffiths. "Shoes too. I have spare ones in my room."
"Later," Griffiths snapped. "When we come back for the Gieves-Bowen girl. We have to get Robson and the other two out of the Annexe first. There's no outside exit from the building that side."
He crossed to the wall and pressed a switch, and at once a high, ear-piercing alarm began to sound. Spike yelped and covered his ears.
"Ouch! Give a bloke some warning, can't you?"
Griffiths ignored him. "The general alarm," he told Giles. "As Travers ordered. When it sounds, all senior Watchers on site will convene in the War Room in the basement, and the building will go on lockdown. If we're quick, we should encounter minimal opposition."
Giles glanced at Spike. Spike was frowning again, and from the look on his face, bursting with questions.
"Later," Giles mouthed at him. Spike's frown deepened, but he nodded.
The alarm was still shrilling as Griffiths unlocked the door into the Annexe, but as Giles followed him through, the sound cut off abruptly.
The ensuing silence, broken only by the sound of their running feet, was just as loud in its own way. It pressed on Giles's ears, which were already filled with the uncomfortable drubbing of his own heart.
If he ever got out of this, Giles told himself, he would make a concerted effort to get fit again. Turning fifty was absolutely no excuse for letting oneself go.
He gazed around him as they went. So this was the infamous Annexe. As a young Watcher, it had been out of bounds to him, and in later years, he'd spent very little time in Watchers' HQ, and never thought to ask about it.
The place had obviously been refurbished in the seventies, any original features of the Georgian building hacked about and destroyed by the addition of new plasterboard interior walls. The ceiling - another recent feature, from the look of it - was low and oppressive, and painted, like the walls, a particularly vile limp-lettuce green.
They were running along a corridor that ran straight in front of them, towards a blank wall in the distance. The carpet underfoot - another relic of the Seventies - was brown, with a loud paisley pattern, and worn thin in places by the passage of innumerable Watcher-ly feet. The air was close and smelt of damp and neglect.
At intervals, closed doors, painted brown, turned hostile blank faces on the corridor. Giles wondered what was behind them. Perhaps he was better off not knowing?
"What a fucking dump!" Spike muttered, and Giles couldn't help nodding in agreement.
"Down here," Griffiths turned left suddenly, into a side passage. At once, they moved from carpet to stained, ancient lino, and the sound of their feet grew louder. Certainly, someone seemed to have heard them, because at the far end of the corridor that someone was pounding on a door and shouting.
"Fucking lemme out of here, you perverts! I'll have the feds on you."
More of the same followed, the expletives growing more colourful with every word.
Molly, unmistakeably.
Giles glanced at Spike again, to see a look of mingled amusement and ...was that surprise, on his face, as Molly's tirade continued? Possibly, there were some swear words that even Spike didn't know.
When Griffiths put the key in the lock, the pounding stopped and there was the sound of feet retreating from the door in a hurry. When it was flung open, Molly had rammed herself into a corner, where she stood glaring at them from under her ferociously sculpted brows. A table lamp - the only thing even remotely resembling a weapon in the dull, utilitarian room - was held poised ready to throw.
"Stay away from me!" Molly shouted. "Bloody warning you."
Despite her belligerence, it was obvious the girl was terrified, and Giles was glad that Griffiths made no move to approach her - until he realised Griffiths was looking at him, as if to say, go on, then. Do your stuff.
Giles took a deep breath, stepped past Griffiths and into the room.
"It's all right, Molly," he said. "We've come to get you out of here."
But Molly only raised the lamp higher. "What d'you take me for? A bloody idiot? You was the one brought us here, you lying tosser."
"Yes, I..." Giles began, but Molly interrupted him.
"They stuck needles in my bloody arm!" she practically snarled. "They drugged me. And it's all your fault, you fucking paedo."
"I..." Giles tried again, but Molly was unstoppable.
"And what've you done with Annabelle? If you've laid a fucking finger on the dozy bitch, I'll rip your fucking head off, I swear I will."
Giles was beginning to feel annoyed - not least because he could sense Griffiths' growing impatience. If the man should change his mind...
He opened his mouth to try again. "I assure you, Molly..."
But at that moment, Spike pushed past him.
"Molly, 'ey?" Spike practically purred. "Always thought that was a charming name, and may I say, miss, how well it suits you?"
"What?" Molly gaped at him, and then it seemed she couldn't look away. "Who're you?"
Spike took another step forward. "Name's Spike. Me an' dear old Rupert -" he glanced over his shoulder - "oh, and James Bond over there, have come to rescue you."
"James Bond?" Molly's wide-eyed gaze almost drifted from Spike to Griffiths, but not quite.
"Yeah." Spike grinned at her, and Giles could almost see her melting towards him. "'Less I'm mistaken, bloke's on Her Majesty's Secret Service. Licensed to kill, an' all that."
Molly blinked, confused, but then her face cleared. "Oooh, you mean he's a spy." This time, she did look at Griffiths, though only momentarily. "Why're you called Spike, then?"
"It's a long story."
All the time they'd been speaking, Spike had been taking one slow step after another across the room. As he finished, he flicked his tongue at Molly in a way that struck Giles as positively indecent. At the same time, with great gentleness, he prised the lamp out of her hands. "Tell you later, when you're all rescued, like."
"All right," Molly said. She seemed half-dazed. "We gonna rescue Annabelle too? Poor cow can't manage on her own."
Spike was steering her in the direction of the door, a hand on her shoulder. "'Course we are. No man left behind, yeah?"
Giles watched Griffiths watching this display, and realised that the man was thinking the exact same thing he was. They'd just witnessed Spike's hunting technique in action.
Giles shuddered. Any other time, any other vampire, and Molly would be dead. As it was, he supposed they should be grateful that getting a soul hadn't made Spike lose his touch.
Griffiths led the way further down the corridor and unlocked another door, to reveal what at first seemed an empty room.
"Norah?" Giles made to cross the threshold, but again, Spike elbowed past him, Molly in tow.
"S'all right, Norah, love," he called. "S'me - Spike."
At once, a small, dark haired figure shot out from its hiding place behind the door, and flung itself into Spike's arms.
"Spike!"
"S'okay, love. S'okay." Spike crouched down, holding Norah while she sobbed, Molly hovering uncertainly over them both.
Again, Giles exchanged looks with Griffiths. Griffiths' lips were thin. He didn't like what he was seeing at all.
Giles wasn't sure he liked it either, and not just because of the danger Spike posed to the girls if the trigger were activated.
No, Giles had to admit, he didn't like it because it reminded him of Buffy, and where succumbing to Spike's dubious charms had led her.
And what about you, you idiot? a small voice seemed to whisper in Giles's ears. How are you any better? You had sex with that thing. You fucked it, even though you knew what it was capable of.... what it had done to Buffy.
Giles shuddered. Not here! Not now!
He glanced over his shoulder into the empty corridor, almost expecting to see Jenny standing there, the hurt plain in her eyes, or maybe Ms Harkness, rebuking him for his folly, or even Radley fussing with his bowtie. But there was nothing. All the same, he had a sense of being watched.
Filled with unease, he turned back to find Spike and Norah on their feet. Norah's nose was red and she was wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Her colour wasn't good in general. Her olive skin had a sickly, greyish cast.
Just how much of the poor girl's blood had they taken, in order to speed Spike's recovery?
From the sour look on Griffiths' face, Giles suspected he was asking himself the same thing.
"Where's Mr Robson?" Norah said, in a wavering voice. "I'm not leaving without him."
Giles refrained from giving Griffiths an I-told-you-so look, but it was very tempting.
"This way," Griffiths said, in a tight voice. "And hurry. We still have to pick up the third girl and get out of here before we're missed."
He led them back to the main corridor, up it for some way and then off to the right down another side passage. The emergency lights seemed to have failed in this one, and Robson's room was at the far end, where it was darkest.
More and more, it felt like Travers had wanted Robson both out of mind and out of sight. Dumped like so much rubbish.
Griffiths fumbled the door open, and stale air exhaled into the corridor with an almost audible sigh. The room was even more sparsely furnished than Molly's and Norah's, containing nothing but a single bed made up with grey, army-issue blankets, on which a still form lay, and a chipped sink with a dripping tap. There was no natural light, just a dim naked bulb hanging from the ceiling.
Robson's small knapsack with his overnight things had been thrown unceremoniously into one corner. The contents were spilling out of it in a trail across the floor. A tube of toothpaste was crushed into the carpet, as if someone had trodden on it.
Whatever had happened in here, Giles was sure, Robson hadn't gone down without a fight.
"Mr Robson!" Norah wailed. She made to rush forward, but Griffiths put an arm in front of her, barring her way.
"Best not, miss."
"Robson?" Giles had already pushed past Griffiths into the room. Behind him, he heard Spike say to Norah,
"S'okay, love. He's alive. Heart's beatin' nice an' regular."
Robson lay on his back, arms at his sides, the covers pulled up to his midriff. He appeared to be fully clothed, save for his shoes, which were placed neatly, side by side, under the bed. His eyes were closed, his face pasty. His mouth hung open and he was snoring - loud, stertorous breaths that seemed to catch in the back of his throat.
"Charles! It's me - Rupert." Giles shook him, but there was no response, except for a slight pause in the snoring.
"It's useless," Griffiths said. "De Souza has him drugged to the eyeballs. He'll have to be carried, like I said."
De Souza? Giles grimaced. He hoped Robson never found out what his former lover had done to him. "Spike, if you please?" He beckoned Spike forward.
"A minute!" Spike muttered. He'd been going through Robson's knapsack and had one arm in the sleeve of a crumpled blue shirt, which Giles could remember seeing Robson wearing, somewhat less crumpled and with a rather natty tie.
"Said I was cold." Spike glared at Giles over his shoulder, as if Giles had forbidden the loan. "Anyway, his stuff'll fit me better than yours will."
The shirt buttoned, he began rummaging in the knapsack again. "Bloke must have some spare socks in here somewhere."
"Either we go now, or we don't go at all," Griffiths said, suddenly. He began to back out of the room, herding Molly and Norah with him. "I can't wait any longer."
"All right, all right! I'll look later." Spike stopped his rummaging, slung the knapsack onto his back and jammed his bare feet into Robson's discarded shoes.
A moment later, he had Robson's unconscious form draped across one shoulder in a fireman's carry, and they were retreating back down the corridor at a jog.
Giles was glad to leave the Annexe behind. It had felt like a place for the Watchers' Council to bury the dirtiest of its dirty secrets.
Robson and the girls could have died locked away in there, and no one would ever have known.
They'd come back into the main part of the building on the first floor, through the same door into the Annexe that Giles had tried in vain to open on the night when he'd had his disturbing conversation with De Souza.
It would be broad daylight outside by this time, but the building was hushed, as if everyone was still sleeping. The very opposite was true, of course. Travers and the senior staff would be in the basement War Room, junior Watchers confined to quarters awaiting further instruction. Meanwhile, armed operatives - Griffiths' men - would be on guard at key points in the building.
"Quiet!" Griffiths hissed at Spike, who'd been exchanging some drollery with Molly and Norah. Spike rolled his eyes, but complied.
Griffiths had brought them to a halt near a corner, where the corridor leading from the main building to the Annexe turned left towards Giles's own room, and - presumably- Annabelle's. His cold gaze raked over them all, daring anyone to speak.
"There are two guards on the girl's door," Griffiths said. "You stay here. I'll deal with them."
"What..." Giles began, but Griffiths was already gone. They listened to his steady tread receding down the corridor. At last, it halted and there was the sound of distant conversation. Giles glanced at Spike. Unlike the rest of them, Spike could hear what was being said.
Molly broke the uneasy quiet, to whisper, "I don't like that spy bloke. He's well scary. What's he gonna do?"
Whatever it takes, Giles thought, and sure enough, a moment later there was a sudden sharp exclamation, quickly muffled, followed by the sounds of a struggle. That didn't last long either. The ensuing silence seemed even more oppressive.
Spike's face was grim when Giles looked at him again, but with Molly and Norah hanging on their every word, it wasn't the time to discuss the incident.
And not just Molly and Norah, because a moment later, Annabelle ran around the corner, swerved to avoid Giles, and stopped short in front of Molly. Giles had the sense that Annabelle would have hugged the other girl if she'd dared. Instead, she contented herself with saying,
"Did they take your phone away, Molly, 'cos I tried phoning and you didn't answer?"
Molly looked sour. "Yeah - bastards." She hunched her shoulders. "You all right, then?"
Annabelle nodded. "You?"
Molly shrugged. "M'okay. Wish I hadn't listened to him, though" - and she pointed at Robson's dangling head - "an' just bloody stayed in Hastings."
Annabelle's mouth fell open in shock at the sight of Robson, then closed abruptly when she registered Giles's presence. She took a step back.
"What's he doing here? Where are they taking us?" She'd noticed Spike for the first time too. "Who's that man? Why's he carrying Mr Robson?"
"He's not a man," Norah cut in. "He's a-"
Before she could say any more, Griffiths came around the corner, so suddenly all three girls jumped. His eyes raked over them, coldly dispassionate.
"Quiet."
The word was softly spoken, but the girls fell silent at once, staring at Griffiths with scared faces.
Giles didn't blame them. He was beginning to wish that he'd told the man to go to hell and taken his chances with Travers. Travers might be a fool, and a dangerous one at that, but at least it was possible to second guess him.
With Griffiths, Giles had no idea.
"The tunnel is two flights down," Griffiths was saying. "Follow me, and keep moving whatever happens."
"Tunnel?" Giles put his hand on Griffiths' arm. "What tunnel? What are you talking about?"
Griffiths managed to convey the fact that Giles was lucky not to lose the hand without his expression changing at all. Giles let go of him.
"Didn't you know about it?" Griffiths said. "Dates from the Twenties, so I was told. It connects the building to Russell Square tube station. Emergency exit in case of a frontal assault."
"No," Giles had to admit. "I didn't know."
Yet more evidence, if any were needed, that the Watchers' Council regarded him as unreliable.
So unreliable, apparently, he thought, bitterly, that his death in this putative frontal assault was preferable to letting him know of the existence of a secret bolt hole.
Thirty years' service, and no one ever mentioned it to me. No one.
Griffiths' gaze was unsympathetic, as it slid from Giles to Spike and back again.
"Just as well for your vampire it's there," he said, "or he'd have to stay here or fry. Let's go."
He headed in the direction of the back stairs, not once glancing round to see if they were following him. Annabelle and Molly looked at each other, but their feet were already moving.
"Spike?" Norah said, in a small voice. She hung close to him, and Giles realised she was holding one of Robson's limp hands in hers.
Spike shrugged. "Don't think we've got much choice, love. Not if we wanna get out of here." He shifted Robson's body on his shoulder and set off after Griffiths. "Wish the bastard'd slow down enough for me to put some bloody socks on. Gonna get blisters at this rate."
Giles brought up the rear. As he stepped around the corner, he glanced left, towards the door of Annabelle's room. It was open, and when Giles craned his neck, he could just see a foot in a black military boot that must belong to someone lying on the floor.
"He stabbed one of them," Spike said, in Giles's ear, startling him. "Right through the heart. Then, once he'd got the girl out of the room, he broke the other one's neck. Talk about licensed to kill. Hope you know what you're doing, Giles."
"Christ!" Giles stopped in his tracks. For a moment, he considered turning back, but Spike, with Norah in tow, had already gone past him. Besides, it would have meant abandoning Molly and Annabelle. There was nothing to do but keep going.
They caught up with Griffiths and the two girls on the ground floor, in the dim back hallway that led, in one direction, to the cafeteria, in the other to the library. Molly and Annabelle were white-faced and trembling. Annabelle was trying to grab Molly’s arm, and Molly’s attempts to shrug her off were half-hearted at best.
"What's the matter?" Giles asked them, but then his eye was caught by something lying in the shadows at the bottom of the staircase. He peered closer. It was a body - a third Council operative, and from the angle of the neck...
Griffiths was heading in the direction of the library and beyond that, the stairs to the basement. "This way."
Giles hurried after him, made to grab his arm again, then let his hand drop. "No more killing. It's disgusting - appalling. These are men doing their job, that's all."
Griffiths just looked at him stone-faced, as if the cold-blooded murder of three men signified nothing. "So am I."
Giles hesitated again. There still seemed no option but to follow Griffiths, but somehow - he had no idea how - he had to find a way to wrest control of the situation from him.
There was no way he was handing himself, Robson and the girls, let alone Spike with all the dangers he posed, over to people who could order such atrocities.
"Bloke's a regular killing machine," Spike muttered, as they hurried after Griffiths, and Giles found himself nodding in agreement. He hoped against hope that they encountered no more opposition. It was just possible that Travers was too preoccupied with the fallout from the awful events at Upper Slaughter to have realised yet that anything was wrong.
He would expect Griffiths to be absent performing his security duties, wouldn't he? Not to mention he'd banned Giles from his presence.
Giles glanced back over his shoulder, to see Spike jogging after him, Robson's head jiggling up and down rather alarmingly at his back. Norah was still glued to Spike's side, but Molly and Annabelle were trailing some way behind.
Giles couldn't blame them. He paused outside the door of the library to let them catch up, then yelped and leapt clear as the door opened, and he found himself face to face with Lydia Chalmers.
Lydia opened her mouth - whether to speak or scream, Giles had no idea. With a wild glance in Griffiths' direction, he grabbed her arm with one hand, put his other hand over her mouth and bundled her back through the library doors. The armful of books she'd been carrying slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor with a sickening crack of broken spines.
Giles had been afraid that, despite the lockdown, the room would be full of junior Watchers conducting research, but thankfully, apart from himself and Lydia, it was empty. The blinds were pulled down at the windows, the room lit only by the dim white squares of blocked-out daylight. The door to Radley's little office behind the librarian's desk was shut and the office itself was dark.
Lydia pushed Giles suddenly, sending him staggering into the nearest reading table, but when she tried to get around him and make a break for the door, Giles threw himself in her way again.
"Don't!" he hissed, urgently. "He'll kill you."
Lydia backed away from him. Her glasses were slipping down her nose. "Who will?"
At that moment, the door opened again and Spike put his head around it. "You all right, Giles?"
Lydia gasped. "It's loose! Who let it loose?"
But then Griffiths shouldered Spike out of the way. His cold gaze went from Giles to Lydia and back again. Giles could almost see him working out which was the quickest, most efficient way to kill her.
"What on earth is going on?" Lydia exclaimed. "Mr Griffiths, explain yourself."
Giles took a pace forward, putting himself between Griffiths and Lydia. "It's obvious, I would've thought."
Lydia set her glasses straight. "Not to me." Her eyes narrowed. "Does Mr Travers know that vampire is roaming free around the building?"
"I'm right here, you know," Spike protested. The doors swung open and closed again as he came fully into the room, the three girls trailing him.
"Step aside," Griffiths said, to Giles, in a murmur. But Giles stayed put. Lydia, meanwhile, looked from the huddled trio of Molly, Annabelle and Norah, to Spike, in his ill-fitting shirt, and no socks on his feet, and with Robson's body draped over his shoulder, to Griffiths, and back to Giles. A sort of shudder ran through her body.
"Oh, of course," she said, suddenly, in a stilted tone. "Mr Travers has ordered you to take our three remaining Potential Slayers into protective custody, hasn't he, Mr Griffiths? And the vampire too, I assume? Very sensible. It wouldn't do at all for it to fall into the enemy's hands."
There was a pause. Then Giles said, hurriedly, "That's absolutely right, Ms Chalmers." He turned and looked Griffiths in the eye. "Isn't it, Griffiths?"
Griffiths said nothing.
"Because of course," Lydia went on, babbling somewhat now, "after the appalling events of last night, Mr Travers understands this building could be compromised at any time. Wise move, not keeping all your eggs in one basket."
"Yeah," Spike muttered, behind Giles. "That Travers bloke's just full of bright ideas."
"I expect you'll be leaving by the tunnel in the basement, won't you?" Lydia went on, in the same stilted tone. "Has Mr Travers given you the details of the counter-spell to open the door? So inconvenient, how they lock themselves when the general alarm goes off."
"As a matter of fact..." Giles began, but Lydia interrupted him.
"But if he forgot, it's understandable. He has a lot on his mind. Allow me."
She brought a small notebook and a slim, silver pencil out of her jacket pocket, opened the notebook and began to write.
"Fortunately, the counter-spell can be spoken by anyone," she said, as she wrote. "Mr Travers thought it too dangerous to make it person-specific, in case he should come to some harm, leaving everyone trapped in the building. He's always prepared for every eventuality."
"Very...astute," Giles said. By 'everyone', he supposed Lydia meant Travers' personal favourites. Lesser mortals, no doubt, were as ignorant of the tunnel's existence as he was.
But to give her the benefit of the doubt, perhaps Lydia didn't know that.
He glanced at Griffiths again while Lydia wrote. No clue from the man's face what he was thinking.
One could only hope that he would rather not kill her if he didn't have to.
As for Lydia herself, Giles could only guess that her motives for helping him must be bound up with the obvious discomfort he'd seen on her face the previous night, when Griffiths had marched Annabelle from this very room and into solitary confinement. Other than that, her loyalty to Travers had seemed absolute.
Unless this was a trap, of course.
"Here." Lydia handed Giles the scrap of paper. Her eyes met his as she did so, and she gave his hand a brief squeeze.
Not a trap, then.
"Thank you," Giles said. He didn't know what else to say.
As he turned to go, Lydia exclaimed, "Wait!" She reached into her other pocket and drew something out.
At once Griffiths tensed, and the three girls huddled closer together, eyes fixed on him in terror.
"Please don't," Annabelle begged, while a low growl erupted from Spike's throat.
Griffiths ignored them all.
Lydia, meanwhile, hardly blinked. "No need for alarm, Mr Griffiths, I assure you. I just wanted to give Mr Giles this."
As she spoke, she opened her clenched fist and dropped a tiny, polished stone into Giles's open palm. "The Prokaryote Stone. You'll need this if you're ever to disable that trigger." Her eyes looked past Giles to where Spike stood, and she gave him an almost imperceptible nod.
Spike frowned. "Appreciate the thought an' all, love, but..."
"Be quiet, Spike," Giles snapped. "Thank you," he said again, to Lydia. "And the incantation?"
Lydia adjusted her glasses again. "You'll find it in Bay's Book of the Dead, second row, third shelf, which coincidentally happens to be right next to Demons of the Primordium, our main source of information on the First. It's a copy, of course. Not the original, which is kept under lock and key."
She straightened her jacket. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I came out of a very important meeting to gather research materials. I must be getting back to Mr Travers, before he sends out a search party."
She bent down, gathered up the armful of fallen books, and, not looking to right or left, walked briskly to the door. Giles tensed as she went past Griffiths, but Griffiths watched her go by with no change to his usual, stoical expression.
At the door, Lydia paused again and looked back, her gaze taking them all in. "I want you to know that I am one hundred per cent loyal to Mr Travers," she said, primly. "Given the opportunity to reflect, he would have acted the exact same way, were he here. I am sure of it."
Her eyes fixed on Giles. "When you see the Slayer, tell her we're relying on her."
The door swung to behind her.
Griffiths frowned. "This is a mistake."
"No." Giles slipped the Prokaryote Stone into his pocket and headed for the bookshelves Lydia had indicated. "It's not."
"If she raises the alarm..." Griffiths began behind him, but Spike interrupted this time.
"She won't. She meant every word. Can tell from her heartbeat. She was trying to help us, all right? Makin' up for the sins of her boss."
As Giles reached the bookshelves, he saw Griffiths give Spike a sceptical look.
But Griffiths didn't argue. Instead, he looked at his watch. "Six thirty. We have to get out of here."
"On a schedule, are you?" Spike sneered, but Griffiths didn't reply.
"What are you doing?" he called, to Giles.
Giles had located the two titles Lydia had mentioned. He lifted them down from the shelf. Demons of the Primordium in particular was very heavy. The cover had an unpleasant, scaly feel - probably demon skin.
Giles grimaced and tucked it under his arm. He stared along the rows of shelves, overwhelmed yet again by the weight of irreplaceable esoteric knowledge they carried. If only he could take all of them.
With a sigh, he turned to go back to the others, but as he did so, the corner of his eye registered movement, as if someone had been standing watching him at the end of the row of shelves and had ducked out of sight into the next aisle.
The familiar chill snaked its way down Giles's spine. He'd only caught a glimpse, but he was sure it had been Radley, or possibly Ms Harkness - a tall, thin figure with gleaming glasses.
For a moment, the room seemed full of whispering, voices just on the edge of hearing. For a heart-stopping moment, Giles thought he heard Jenny's among them. He held his breath. If that wretched singing started up now...
But the whispering faded away into dusty silence, until it was broken by Griffiths calling, "What are you doing back there?"
Books clutched to his chest, Giles hurried back to the others. Spike had laid Robson's body on the librarian's counter, he saw, and upended the contents of the knapsack all over the floor. He was sitting at one of the desks pulling on a pair of black woollen socks. Griffiths, meanwhile, looking twitchy for him, seemed torn between staying near the girls to make sure they didn't bolt, and coming to roust Giles out of the bookstack.
He frowned when he saw the books in Giles's arms. "What do you want those for? They're heavy. They'll only slow us down."
They were heavy, it was true. Giles snatched the empty knapsack out of Spike's hands and stuffed the books into it. "The information they contain is priceless," he said as he swung it onto his back. "We need them."
Griffiths' frown grew deeper, but he didn't argue, just herded the three girls back towards the library door. "Get a move on."
"All right, all right!" Spike hoisted Robson back over his shoulder and followed him, and Giles brought up the rear.
Back in the corridor, Griffiths led them to the basement stairs and began to hurry down it, the girls and Spike close behind him.
Giles set his hand on the metal stair rail. At once, he felt a strange sensation in the palm of his hand - a sort of buzz, as if the metal were vibrating. Was it another earth tremor? Unnerved, he stopped.
Griffiths was right when he'd said that, because of Spike, their only option in daylight hours was to exit the building by this basement access tunnel - which, yes, it still grated with Giles that Griffiths had known about and he hadn't-but...
....under the ground was the First's domain.
Giles opened his mouth to call the others back, but then he closed it again. Short of waiting for nightfall, or abandoning Spike to Travers, there really was no other option.
Taking a firmer grip on the straps of the knapsack, Giles started downwards.
TBC
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Date: 2013-11-20 11:26 pm (UTC)I do love the way Spike was able to calm Molly with his charm/hunting skills. That whole episode made me wish for tons of "Spike luring the lads and lasses" fic. There isn't enough of it, ever. I think we forget what a smoothie he was originally, because he's so clumsy in his wooing of Buffy.
"We need to find him a shirt," Giles said, to Griffiths.
Must we? No doubt the lack of one helped a bit with the Molly situation. ;-)
I loved the implication that Molly's language is so colorful that possibly, there were some swear words that even Spike didn't know. Hee!
"Why're you called Spike, then?"
"It's a long story."
At that point, Spike hikes up his trousers, right? Nonchalantly? Pointedly? That's where my mind went, anyway. (Molly would have some choice descriptives for me, I know. She wouldn't be wrong.)
And, oh god, did Lydia come through like the fantastic woman I always suspected her to be! You did it just for me, didn't you? ♥ So satisfying to deny the operative another killing, through the amazing power of helpfulness. She killed his killing impulse with kindness. Or stunned it, anyway.
And now, unto the breech. Out of the pot and into the black. I am on tenterhooks again.
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Date: 2013-11-21 04:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-11-21 10:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-11-22 09:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-11-24 07:07 pm (UTC)It's true. The only person in canon who seems to remember that Spike can be 'charming' when he wants to is Angel,when he's trying to warn Fred off him.
So glad you liked how I wrote Lydia. :)
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Date: 2013-11-24 07:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-11-24 07:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-11-24 07:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-08 09:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-11 05:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-22 07:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-28 10:05 am (UTC)Hope you enjoyed it?
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Date: 2013-12-28 02:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-01-03 06:54 pm (UTC)