As long as he needed to be there to open the shop, Spike didn't see any reason why he should change his morning ritual just because Giles was back in town. Besides, the workout cleared his head, made a good start for the day. The hot shower afterwards didn't hurt either.

Still, mindful that there were likely more than a few things Giles would want to discuss before the shop opened at ten, he did take care to watch the time and make certain he was finished and dressed well before the watcher could be reasonably expected. Opening prep was speedily dispatched and Spike settled comfortably at the research table with his morning cuppa when Giles arrived at a quarter to nine. "I usually didn't open the grates until just before opening."

"Easier to do when I don't have to worry about the sun burning me. Do it at the same time I sweep down the sidewalk."

Giles seemed a bit surprised and more than a little pleased. "You do the sidewalk every morning?"

Spike put his mug down and looked up from the book he'd been perusing. "I'm not supposed to? I just remembered seeing shopkeepers do it and assumed…"

"No, no. No problem." Giles cut him off with a wave. "It's just that I could never get Anya to see the value in it. I do adore her, but if she doesn't see an immediate return on investment, she often doesn't understand why it's necessary. That you would do it…thank you."

The morning was getting off to a good start and Spike felt himself relax some. "There's hot water on if you want it, and I made sure to clean out a mug."

Giles, box of tea tucked under his arm, headed for the hot water and Spike took advantage of the silence to read a few more pages, not closing the book until Giles joined him at the table. "Origins and Legends of the Vampire Slayer. Any particular reason you're reading that?"

Spike shrugged. "Just trying to get a handle on our girl, see if I can figure out what makes her tick." He drained the last of his cocoa and started for the back to rinse the mug.

"Does this have to do with what you said yesterday about Buffy coming back wrong?"

He stopped, wondering exactly how to answer the question. "Two separate things, mate. One is learning where Slayers come from, why they are the way they are. I've been interested in that for over a century, for which you can thank dear old Angel. Didn't know they existed until he told me."

Sensing it would be some time before he got a chance to finish the task he'd started on, Spike put his mug on the coffee table and turned toward Giles. "As for the other, it's not a question of 'if'; it's a question of how."

To all outward appearances, Giles was calm. The suit he wore was neatly pressed, tie coordinating elegantly with his shirt. His shoulders looked relaxed beneath the tailored jacket, but Spike could sense the heart move a little faster, a slight shift in his scent with changing emotions. "What makes you so certain?"

"Don't pretend you don't have doubts that wake you in the middle of the night." Spike moved back to the table, resting his hands on the smooth surface as he leaned forward. "You have a pretty good idea what type of dark magic the witch used to bring Buffy back and you know that it's all too easy to bollix it up. You know it, I know it and Red knows that we know. That's why we were cut out. Now, those that done it don't want to admit something's gone wrong and we're left to pick up the pieces."

He was pushing harder than he had wanted, but Spike needed Giles to understand how serious things were. Since Tara had told him about her discoveries regarding the resurrection spell, his mind had turned constantly to the difficulties represented by them and they kept coming back to the same thing. He needed an ally, though, someone who knew the magic, who could help him uncover the truth. First, however, he had to avoid getting staked.

"You don't know for certain whatever's wrong is the result of a spell," Giles said softly. "For the symptoms Buffy's displaying, it could well be a post-traumatic stress reaction, a need to reconnect with the world."

Again, a slight shift in the heart rate, scent. Spike could feel his hunting skills go into full swing, using what he'd been taught so long ago to judge which way Giles might jump. "But she's not connecting." He kept his voice soft, matching Giles' tone. "Buffy does her best, but it's not working. And I am certain, as certain as I can possibly be."

Giles did not respond but looked at him expectantly. Caution and wariness as was expected, but he could see the glimmer of doubt in the watcher's eye, the tiniest hint he wanted something that could prove or disprove his fears. And Spike could give it to him.

Carefully, he straightened, checking to make certain there were no wooden implements at hand. "My chip doesn't work on Buffy anymore. Works just fine on everyone else, but doesn't work on her."

Spike saw Giles' fingers move, clenching into a fist, but the rest of him was still. "Still not sure how or why the bloody thing works," he continued, plunging on into the silence, "but whatever it uses to measure a 'human' isn't registering with her."

"And how, precisely did you come upon this discovery?"

The voice was ice and Spike knew he was walking a very thin line. There was one thing Giles loved above all else and while he might send her off to die in battle to save the world, nothing else would touch her without suffering the consequences. It was something they shared, even if the watcher didn't want to face it. "She popped me in the nose one night for no good reason. I lost my temper and hit back. Imagine my surprise when I didn't get an instant migraine."

A frown and Spike longed to know what was going on in that brain. The instinct to protect had to be warring with the urge to find out more; he knew Giles well enough to guess that without much effort. But it was the other thoughts in the mix that intrigued him, how Giles would use such information. "You're sure the chip still works on others."

"Positive. Tested it myself. I could give you a demonstration right now." He favored Giles with a grin. "Or we could get the Whelp in here and use him as a test subject. Give me a hell of a headache, but I owe him one."

"Remind me that I need to speak with you about Xander. Right now, I'm more concerned with why your chip doesn't work on Buffy."

The watcher had won out over the father…or maybe Giles simply wanted to certain of what was going on before he disposed of the problem. Either way, it gave Spike the opportunity he needed. He settled himself back onto the bench he'd been sitting on previously, letting his elbows rest on the table to support his weight as he leaned forward. "Since the chip's working on others and I couldn't hit Buffy before her…death," he swallowed and continued, "it's got to be something to do with the resurrection spell. Buffy apparently asked Tara to do some research and she came up with the answer it was merely some slight change on a molecular level -- nothing for Buffy to worry about."

"I think it highly unlikely Tara had to opportunity to do any serious research as I took the volumes concerning that particular spell with me when I returned home. I didn't feel particularly easy about leaving them here where Willow could get at them again."

Something sad and regretful flitted across Giles' face and was gone. "Good idea," Spike said, "given the path Red's been taking. I did manage to acquire a copy for my own research -- not that I could make heads or tails of it. That kind of dark magic was Darla's purview, not mine."

"And where did you manage to acquire a copy of the Protocols of Osiris?" Giles' eyes had narrowed and grown cold and Spike didn't need vampire senses to notice the tension.

"From an old minion of mine. Wrote him and he sent me out a copy; knows better than to ask questions. You don't have to worry about it falling into the wrong hands. It kinda got blown up with the rest of my stuff."

"Yes, Buffy told me about the Suvolte eggs."

"Suvolte…?" Spike frowned. "You don't think…in my bedroom…where I…and Buffy…?" He took a deep breath. "As much as I'd like the pleasure, I don't actually have to kill Finn with my bare hands. Demon assassins will do quite nicely."

"Before you hire them, I think I'd like to hear your side of the story. Later, though. We have more serious matters to consider. Did you at least understand the ingredients required?"

"Urn of Osiris, blood of a fawn…dark stuff, 'specially since Red had to do the sacrifice herself. Pretty certain she didn't tell Tara about that; wouldn't want anyone watching her…"

Suddenly, Spike remembered Giles' discovery of the day before. As casually as he could, he jerked his head toward the bookcase and the skull. Giles nodded, catching the meaning. "I wanted to talk to you about Xander," he said, changing the subject. "Buffy also told me about the disinvite you gave him."

"Which he bloody well deserved." Spike picked the book he'd been reading up from the table and headed for the shelves. "Wasn't going to stand by and let him treat Buffy that way."

"I understand your feelings on the matter." Giles was on his feet as well, moving over to the counter. "However, Xander has put in a great deal of effort for me where the shop is concerned, so I only feel it is right he should be welcome. I will ask that he tone the rhetoric down."

"You'll need to define 'rhetoric' for him first," Spike grumbled. Noticing Giles was writing something, he wandered over to the counter. The sheet of paper read, "We can continue the discussion tonight, outside the shop."

Spike nodded, understanding. So, immediate staking wasn't on the agenda. That was a start. He had to wonder what research Giles had done into the matter. The memory of a conversation overheard from the Summers' back porch was imprinted in his mind, even if he'd tried to tell Buffy nothing had been meant by it. Both of them knew more about dark rituals than they let on; perhaps it was time to share.

Figuring the conversation finished for the moment, Spike headed back to pick up his mug and rinse it as he'd originally planned to do. He hadn't moved more than a few feet, however, when Giles' surprised voice came from behind. "What are you wearing?"

Spike glanced down at his chinos, wished desperately for his comfortable old jeans and decided his hope Giles wouldn't notice the change in wardrobe had been a foolish one. "Clothes," he said, going for the nonchalant and keeping on track for that mug.

"Of course they're clothes, you ninny. I've just never seen you wearing anything like that before. Well, once; but you were hiding from that loan shark." A pause. "You're not in trouble for that again, are you?"

"Don't worry, Giles. Teeth has been paid off. Nor am I dressing this way to impress the customers, so you can get that thought out of your head right now." With that, he snagged his mug off the table and headed for the bathroom sink. Didn't hurt to let Watcher Boy stew with curiosity while he cleaned up.

Unless, of course, Giles followed him. "Chinos, shirt buttoned, a white undershirt and…good Lord, Spike! Are those loafers?"

"Yup. Loafers." He wiped the inside of the cup with a paper towel. "A sure sign of the apocalypse."

"Why on earth are you wearing such an absurd getup? I mean, it's not absurd but it is certainly not your normal taste."

"Looks too much like I'm trying to pass for a normal human? I'll let you in on a secret. I am."

He walked past Giles to return the cup to its place. "Tara and I forgot to tell you a few things yesterday. First, Dawn's social worker is coming to the store today to interview Tara and myself about how Dawn's doing. You can wipe the look of horror off your face; I have no intention of messing this up for either Dawn or Buffy. Hence the clothes."

Spike sighed, not relishing this next part. "Second, I'm going by the name of William Ashbury-Smythe. That's with a 'y' and an 'e', if you're interested. It's the name Buffy gave the social worker, so it'd probably be best if you called me 'William' instead of Spike."

There were any number of reactions he'd imagined Giles might have to the name, but none of them included a very thoughtful expression. "Interesting. Any relation to the Hertfordshire Ashbury-Smythes?"

The answer came out almost by reflex, but Spike caught himself at the last minute. "What makes you think the name's actually mine?" he said instead.

"Because I can't imagine you picking such a pretentious name without it belonging to you." Giles fumbled in his pocket, extracted a pen, then began to look about for a piece of paper. "Of course, if you wish to play coy, I have no intention of arguing. It will serve for now."

Finding a piece of paper, Giles scribbled himself a note and placed it in his pocket. "I do have to ask why on earth you agreed to speak with Dawn's social worker; isn't that something better handled by Tara?"

"Buffy asked me to." The words filled him with a small warmth. "Woman wanted to speak with whoever's usually in when Niblet arrives from school. She's going to speak with Tara as well, but Buffy thought it best we both be involved."

What he didn't say was how much he treasured the request for the quiet "thank you" he'd received upon his agreement. For once he wasn't simply muscle to be called upon when violence was required; dealing with the social worker would require quite a different touch. That she trusted him to speak with the woman and was glad Xander didn't have to was an added bonus.

"I suppose this visit is the reason you dispensed with the hair gel as well?" Giles was considering him, as one might consider a statue in a museum or an oddity in a sideshow. "I don't think I ever realized what a chameleon you are, Spike. We think of vampires as unchanging, but I have seen you adapt yourself to any number of circumstances in the time I've known you. I imagine your whole existence has been a history of change. Nor do you show any inclination to follow what is considered 'traditional' behavior for your kind. You show devotion, loyalty and even love. Yes, I said 'love'" he added at Spike's raised eyebrow. "Your treatment of Dawn certainly shows familial love."

Giles looked as if he wanted to say more, but his eyes slid toward the bookcases and he cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should go over what you've done for opening."

Spike didn't move as Giles bent his head over the paperwork on the counter. He hadn't expected any of that, least of all the admission he might have feelings. But then, hadn't Giles once suggested he was meant for better things?

Pushing thoughts to the back of his mind, Spike joined Giles at the counter to discuss paperwork.

***

By the afternoon, Spike decided Giles was likely a far better employer than Anya might ever prove to be. For one thing, Giles seemed willing to let Spike do things the way he saw fit without forcing it into a distinct mold. He knew Giles was more relaxed about making a sale.

They'd managed not to kill each other through the morning and Giles seemed generally pleased. Between sales, they went over the records in more detail, especially those for the larger artifacts that had been sold. "So the gallery has been referring patrons here?"

"Mostly for the African fertility statues. Joyce used to carry a good selection, but the new manager doesn't seem particularly into it."

"Well, one should play to one's strengths, I suppose…" Giles trailed off and Spike bet he knew exactly what was on his mind: check out the gallery and see what the current stock was like, what changes had been made.

"Buffy's dad's the one who made the recommendation on the manager," Spike said, guessing that question would be coming next. "As far as I can tell, Buffy doesn't take an interest, though it's hopefully bringing in some money."

He glanced at the clock. Two-ten. The Buckelew creature was supposed to arrive at two-thirty, but he intended to be ready before then. To tell the truth, it would be a relief to slip the glasses on; trying to read the tight scribbles Giles called handwriting was giving him a bit of a headache, as usual.

Spike retrieved the glasses from the nook on the shelf where he'd set them that morning and slid them on. Taking a deep breath, he turned and waited for Giles' reaction. This time, he wasn't going to anticipate.

"Good lord, you look like a graduate student," Giles declared. "One of those disreputable characters who hang about the student union looking soulful and trying to pick up undergraduate girls who don't know any better."

At least the watcher looked a bit surprised this time. "William is working on his doctorate at UC Sunnydale," Spike said with a grin. "Rather, he was until he had a fight with his advisor over his dissertation. He's currently taking some time off and was lucky enough to land a job here."

"You're mad."

"Wrong vampire. Dawn helped me cook this up over the Christmas Holidays, used to fool her father into thinking there was a reason for Buffy to remain in Sunnydale."

A stake happened to be lying on the counter and Spike could have sworn he saw Giles' fingers twitch toward it. "I'm not certain I want to hear this story."

"Not much of a story. I showed up appropriately dressed, spouted off some gibberish about romanticism in literature and convinced that wanker Summers that I had honorable intentions toward his daughter. Told me to be persistent and seemed happy to be rid of her." He snorted. "Too involved with his new wife to want the old family around, I'll wager."

"A tarty step-mom half old Daddy's age?" Giles queried.

"In one. Anyway, seemed like a perfectly reasonable façade to present to the Buckelew creature when she appears: serious, academic and, by the way, an acquaintance of the late Mrs. Summers."

Giles said nothing, but his fingers moved no closer to the stake. "A reasonable plan," he allowed at last. "It might even work."

"Then you'll back me up when I say we had no intention of reporting the thefts to the police, that we'd prefer Niblet, er, Dawn to work off her debt, feel it's a more solid lesson and all that rot?"

"As long as you leave off the 'all that rot' part, yes."

The shop bell tinkled and Spike decided to let his withering reply be lost to the ages. The new arrival wasn't Mrs. Buckelew, but it wasn't too early to slide into William's skin. The last thing he needed was to be ragging on Giles when the woman walked in.

She was instantly recognizable the moment she came through the door: badge, clipboard and a curious look as she took in the store's stock. Quickly, Spike wrapped his hands around Giles' mug of tea to warm them and moved to her. "Mrs. Buckelew? I'm William Ashbury-Smythe. We spoke on the phone."

Mrs. Buckelew shook his hand with a halfway enthusiastic grip that made him wonder if warming his skin had been necessary. "Good to meet you, Mr. Smythe. Or is it Ashbury? I wasn't quite clear on that."

He indicated they should head for the research table. "Actually, it's 'Ashbury-Smythe.' The family name was hyphenated several generations back." Oops! Make that 'almost two centuries ago.' "You can simply call me William. It's much easier."

Spike smiled his most endearing smile, but she didn't seem impressed as she settled on one of the benches. "It's an…interesting place you have here. Are all these books about…magic?"

This didn't sound promising. "A broad range of subjects. Metaphysics, folklore, some Wicca ritual. We also carry aromatherapy candles and herbs."

She nodded and made a note on her clipboard. "How long has Miss Summers been working at the store?"

"About two months."

"And how long until her debt is paid?"

"Another month. I'd have to check the records to determine the exact date."

The interview continued on in this vein. Spike did his best to remain polite, calm and as helpful as he could manage. He couldn't help the feeling, though, that Mrs. Buckelew didn't find the Magic Box a suitable environment for an impressionable young woman by its very nature.

The bell above the door jingled and Spike looked up, hoping Dawn had managed to arrive not only on time, but early. He was destined to be disappointed.

"Giles, I'm here," Willow called out, already unslinging her laptop as she made her way down the steps to the center of the shop. "Where do you want me to set up? Oh, and you don't have to worry about me being unchaperoned; tracing the source of this camera will keep me occupied and magic-free."

She was about to set the machine down on the table when she realized someone was already there. "Hi, Spike."

Mrs. Buckelew looked at him. "Spike?"

"It's a nickname," he managed between gritted teeth. "Willow, I don't think you've met Mrs. Buckelew from Children's Services."

Willow almost dropped her laptop, a sign of how rattled the introduction made her. "Children's Services! Oh…I…I'm Willow Rosenberg." She hastily stuck out her hand. "We're supposed to meet later in the week."

Mrs. Buckelew was looking Willow up and down. Why had she decided to wear that infernal fuzzy red top today? Spike considered a midnight raid on Revello Drive to seize and burn the damn thing. "You're Miss Summers' housemate, aren't you?"

"No! I mean, yes. I mean, I live there, but in a non-gay way. We're just friends."

Giles swooped down at that moment to pull Willow away. "Come over to my desk and I'll tell you what we need. Leave the computer here."

"Perhaps we could go ahead and talk once you're finished, Miss Rosenberg," Mrs. Buckelew said.

"But…but I'm not ready. I was supposed to have preparations, make my notes…"

At that moment, Giles mercifully pulled her into the back. Spike smiled at Mrs. Buckelew, trying not to look like he was panicking. "Shall we continue?"

Mrs. Buckelew looked at him sideways. "Is she always like that?"

"Willow's a good egg, if a little skittish. She's a long-time friend of the family. Went to high school with Buffy."

Another note on the clipboard. What he wouldn't give for a spot of telepathy at that moment.

A few minutes later, Dawn did enter, dressed in an Audrey Hepburn-ish outfit that quietly whispered, "I'm a good girl." Spike had managed to instinctively seatt himself facing the door with Mrs. Buckelew's back to it, enabling him to watch Dawn's steps slow as she approached. "Afternoon, Dawn," he called.

Mrs. Buckelew turned and Spike caught the first hint of a smile he'd seen so far. Maybe the woman did care a little. "Hello, Dawn."

Dawn managed a smile. "Hello, Mrs. Buckelew. Let me just put my things away, okay?"

She stowed the book bag behind the counter and joined them at the table. Party manners were very much in evidence in the straight line of her back and the neat folding of her hands. "I've been speaking with William about your work here," Mrs. Buckelew said. "He seems quite pleased with what you've done."

Dawn proceeded to give a credible imitation of the Buffybot as the interview proceeded, though with the perk turned considerably down. A customer made for the counter, requiring Spike's presence as Giles was still occupied with Willow.

Transaction complete, he lingered at the register, watching Dawn. Comparing her to the Bot had been an error, he realized; it wasn't an automaton he was watching, but a young lady starting to find her poise and balance. As Mrs. Buckelew spoke, Dawn lifted her chin regally, a gesture Spike recognized from her older sister. Dawn made it her own, though, displaying a calmness that made him proud. It'd been a rough patch, but she'd be alright.

Giles joined him at the counter as a somewhat sullen Willow headed for the shelves where the camera was located. She managed to poke quietly…until the moment Tara walked in. Willow, being Willow, spazzed and sent books tumbling to the floor, drawing everyone's attention. Tara started to move in that direction, but Spike was quicker. Tara had better things to do.

He could hear Tara quietly introducing herself as he knelt to help Willow with the books. He lost track of that conversation, however, when Willow hissed at him, "You couldn't have let her come over?"

"I think she's a little busy," he hissed back.

"You could have let her take just a minute."

It was unbelievable. Willow had to know how important this was, that Buffy desperately needed to make the best impression she possibly could with this round of interviews. "When the social worker's done," Spike managed through gritted teeth.

He grabbed the stack of books and headed over to the counter. Giles raised an eyebrow questioningly, but Spike refused to acknowledge it. This was one time he desperately needed to keep a tight rein on his temper.

Fortunately, the interview didn't last much longer. Mrs. Buckelew spent approximately ten minutes with Tara, then gathered her things together and thanked both her and Spike for their help. "I have to run to another appointment, Miss Rosenberg, but I'll see you on Wednesday. Dawn, you will remind your sister I'll be there that afternoon?"

"Yes, Mrs. Buckelew," Dawn answered primly. One final note on the clipboard in reaction, and the woman was gone. Both Spike and Tara exhaled deep breaths, then cast conspiratorial glances at each other as they realized they'd made it through.

Dawn slumped dramatically back onto the bench. "That was dreadful."

"I thought it went reasonably well," Tara said. "She seemed polite and nice."

"You missed the bit before you came in, pet. She didn't seem terribly thrilled about Dawn working in a magic shop." Spike stretched his neck, cracking the bones to relieve the tension.

"I probably should have warned you about that," Dawn said. "I don't think she believes in having fun."

"Clearly she's not the only one," Willow grumbled as she headed for the table to open her laptop." If there'd been any magic behind the look she slid him, Spike knew he would be burning. When had the sweet girl in the fuzzy top turned into a self-centered bitch?

"How was school?" Tara asked, firmly and deliberately changing the subject. Spike took that as his cue to retreat. Grabbing the books off the counter, he told Giles, "We've got too many of these on the shelves. I'm going to put them downstairs, pull stuff for mail orders."

He was halfway down the basement stairs when a touch on his arm stopped him. Turning his head, he found Giles had followed him. Putting a finger to his lips, Giles began peering carefully at the corners of the slanted ceiling above their heads. After a few moments, he leaned in and said in a low voice, "I don't think there are any cameras here, but I want you to check downstairs thoroughly. When you're done, come upstairs and look like you're doing some dusting, but do what you can to see if there are any other cameras. I'd like to see if there's a spot I can have Willow work without them seeing her. I'll check the training room."

Spike nodded. Here was something useful to keep his mind occupied. He hoped there weren't any more cameras, especially in the training room. He didn't like the idea of the Nerds being witness to what had passed between him and Buffy last week. He didn't like the idea of Buffy's reaction if they'd witness that little scene.

Then again, shredded Nerd might not be such a bad thing after all.

The extra copies of Ann Rice put away, Spike began his search. It wasn't the simplest of tasks but a methodical survey didn't reveal any other devices. As he emerged upstairs, Giles was at the front bookcases, scanning the shelves. Spike gave him the thumbs up to indicate downstairs was clean and inclined his head in the direction of the training room. The thin line of Giles' lips told him everything.

Damn. He grabbed the feather duster from its place and headed for the back. He'd have to tell Buffy and they hadn't spoken since that morning in the training room. Not that he wanted to tell her, but he didn't particularly relish the idea of her finding out later they could have been observed.

The shop was quiet, no customers at the moment, everyone working on their own particular job. Spike made the best pretense he could of dusting, keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of a camera. He was finishing up when Giles joined him. "Clean," Spike told him in a whisper.

"The front, too. It appears the only cameras are covering the main area and the training room. Willow's found a way to hook into the back of the camera. Perhaps we should move her here to work. That display cabinet should block any view they might have of her trying to, er, hack."

"Or we could just clear the coffee things off the small table and she could work there. It's back up against the wall and should be out of range."

Giles patted him on the shoulder. "Good plan. You clear the table off and I'll let Willow know."

It was quick work to move the mugs, supplies and electric kettle. He could hear Giles whispering to Willow, catch a glimpse of her gathering up her things out of the corner of his eye. Grabbing the duster once more, he started to work his way along the bookcase, heading straight for the camera.

As if they'd rehearsed it, Giles waited until Spike blocked the view before helping Willow move everything from one table to another. Just a few seconds was all it took, and they were done.

Leaving Willow to her work, Spike headed for Dawn and Tara, giving them a quick sketch of the situation. "Giles wants us to carry on as normal," he told them. "Willow's going to try to trace the signal back or whatever it is computer geeks do to find things."

"Buffy should be here soon," Dawn said, dropping her voice to a whisper to match his own. "Her shift was supposed to be over at four. Should I try to tell her when she comes in?"

"I'll do that Niblet, or Giles will. Right now, I think we need to aromatherapy stuff inventoried. Things looked a little low. Got anything, Tara?"

"That and restocking the Tarot card display. I saw the new box behind the counter. Come on, Dawn; let's get that taken care of."

They dispersed, Spike busying himself with straightening the candle display in the front of the shop. It was a little difficult between dodging shafts of late afternoon sunlight, but it had the advantage of being there when Buffy came in twenty minutes later, still dressed in Doublemeat polyester. Before she could make it too far, he gently caught her arm. "We need to talk," he said quietly.

"Spike, I've had a really lousy day and if this isn't about the social worker, then I don't want to…"

She started to pull away, but he held firm. "We need to talk."

Buffy sighed and looked around, clearly trying to find some reason to escape. He knew she saw Willow watching them, saw the frown on her face at his hand on Buffy's arm. "The basement," he said quietly. "We won't be heard there."

He thought she might balk further, but she turned and headed toward the basement door. Spike, on her heels, cast a glance behind him to make certain they weren't followed.

"What is this about?" she demanded at the foot of the stairs. "Right now, all I want to do is find out how the visit from Mrs. Buckelew went and go home. "Unless…"

Her face filled with panic. "It went badly, didn't it? She realized you're a vampire. Dawn showed up late…no, she didn't show up at all."

"Buffy…" Instinctively, Spike reached out and lightly ran his hands up and down her arms, making gentle shushing sounds to calm her. "The visit went fine. There were a few bumps, but it went okay. Dawn did exactly what she should."

She took a deep breath and some of the tension drained away from her shoulders. "Thank goodness. That's one down. Now we need to get through Wednesday."

Perhaps it would not be wise to mention many of the bumps had to do with Willow. Buffy would learn about that in due course and he already had enough to say that would make her unhappy. "Willow's trying to track the source of the camera upstairs," he told her.

"Good. I'm sick of these geeks. I want to get rid of them, get on with my life." She started for the stairs, but stopped when he didn't follow her. "Was there something else?"

Now it was Spike's turn to take a deep breath. "Giles and I did a search of the shop. The camera he found Sunday isn't the only one. Down here is clean, but Giles found a second one in the training room."

Her reaction was as instantaneous as his had been. "They didn't…"

"They did. No idea how long it's been there, but I think we can safely bet it's been a while."

Her cheeks flushed red and she ducked her head, hair falling forward to hide the blush. "I'm going to kill them…" she gritted out.

"And I'll agree you have plenty of reason. Just save a bit for me, luv, will you?"

"You don't think they saw…"

"We don't know what they've seen, but, since that was the only thing going on in the shop then, it's probably a good possibility." He leaned back against a crate. "Never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad Giles' phone call interrupted us. Don't fancy giving those three a free show."

She covered her face with her hands and raised her head, angry eyes peeking through her fingers. "I can't believe we did that." A pause. "Ohmigod, I was topless! You took my top off!"

"I didn't know there was a camera there and you pulled my shirt off first, I might add." She slapped him on the arm. "Hey! I wanted to tell you before Giles did, give you a chance to compose yourself. The nerds might know what happened, but there's no reason for the lot upstairs to."

It was ironic; he'd pushed for her to tell her friends about them and now that it was out, all he wanted to do was build a protective wall around what he and Buffy had shared. Maybe it was because the details themselves were none of the bleedin' Scoobies' business or maybe it was because those memories were all he had right now. He didn't fancy them being spread out on the table for vivisection.

She thought for a moment, chewing on her lower, arms crossed tight across her chest. Then she nodded. "You're right. They don't need to know. It would just mess things up."

Her face was grim, mouth tight and he wondered what thoughts might be pounding through her brain. "We'd better get back upstairs. They'll be looking for us."

Buffy started up the stairs but stopped almost immediately. Spike had seen that set of the shoulders before, the way she drew in upon herself. He wanted to take her in his arms, tell her it'd be alright, but she usually ran away when he did that. What he did do, what she'd let him do before, was to step up close behind her and begin to massage her shoulders, thumbs working at the knots he felt rippling beneath the skin. After a moment, she relaxed against him, eyes closed as her head rested against his chest. He'd love to do this properly, oil to ease the passage of his hands over bare skin, candlelight to help set the mood. Even if the tools were available, there wasn't the time, though.

After a few minutes, she let out a small sigh, her eyes fluttering open. It was tempting to lower his head and plant a kiss on her forehead, but he didn't want to spoil the moment, the way she looked up at him a bit dreamily as if she were just coming awake. In these fragile seconds, he could feel the connection between them, a closeness he didn't understand how she could deny. If she would just keep looking at him like that, he swore he could be good and brave, all the things she wanted; he'd slay dragons and lay their heads at her feet as a token of his love. Barring that, he'd do what he could to make certain Warren and his cronies didn't bother her again.

"I don't think," she said in a soft voice, "that I am ever going to get use to those glasses. They just don't look…well, 'Spike.'"

Spike sighed and gently steadied her as he stepped back. "That's because they're not Spike; they're William. All part of the protective coloring." He removed the glasses and slid them into his shirt pocket. "Come on, Slayer. We've got nerds to catch."

This time, she didn't stop on her way up the stairs, but as she opened the door leading into the shop, Buffy turned her head back and flashed him a look that was half smile, half…something else. Spike stopped, his stomach lurching in preparation for a world-class series of flip-flops. And all that's best of dark and bright/Meets in her aspect and her eyes.

Chiding William for not being able to recall anything less cliché than Byron for an analogy, he climbed the last few stairs, closing the door behind him. The shop looked much as it had when he and Buffy had descended. Buffy headed straight for Giles, shoulders set once more. The Watcher drew her aside, out of the anticipated range of the camera. Even vampire hearing couldn't catch their conversation, pitched low to avoid detection by any microphones. Giles gestured at the skull and the training room, and while Buffy's jaw clenched, her posture revealed nothing.

Dawn and Tara were busy with the business of the shop and Spike joined them. Time stretched on. Willow hunched over her computer while Spike, Dawn and Tara dealt with the after-work crowd that trickled in. Giles and Buffy disappeared into the training room, apparently deciding on a work out despite the presence of a camera. Around six, Xander wandered in, full of glares for Spike even as Dawn headed for the back. Giles emerged and steered Xander toward the basement, undoubtedly intending to explain the meaning of rhetoric.

When they reappeared, Xander's glare was worse, if possible, but he gave the counter a clear berth, heading instead for where Willow sat. Giles said nothing, merely picked up the day's receipts and began sorting through them. Nothing needed to be said.

It was as they were beginning to close that Willow triumphantly cried, "Eureka!" That brought Buffy running from the back, now in workout clothes instead of Doublemeat orange. "I've got it!"

Buffy looked hopeful even as Giles ushered Willow as far from the camera as possible, the others crowding in close to hear. "You've got an address?" Buffy asked.

"Nooo, but I've got their IP address. Assuming it's not dynamic, which I don't think it is because they're up and running twenty-four hours a day and it doesn't look like they refresh on a regular basis…"

Spike's head began to hurt. He was more technologically savvy than most vampires, but he couldn't handle it when Willow got going on the doubletalk. In self-defense, his mind began to tune the words out until he heard Buffy ask, "But can you get me an address?"

"Piece of cake. Well, a couple of days piece of cake because there might be some false routing, but not only can I get an address, I should be able to find out where they're getting their other signals from."

"It would be a good thing to know what else they're watching," Giles said.

"Fine." The Slayer was taking command; Spike could hear it in her voice, see it in the way she held herself. He never loved her more than at moments like this. "Just get me that address. Warren and I need to have a little…discussion."

On to Episode 8: Discoveries

Back to Episode 6: Business Matters