His Slayer

CHAPTER 2

"Oi, Rupert, I've got to speak with you." It was night, and Spike stood in a phone booth fifteen minute's walk from the Port of New York, with one hand jammed in his pocket and a cigarette between his lips. It was a testament to his state of mind that he didn't realize the cigarette wasn't lit. Silence on the end of the line stretched long, longer. Just when Spike was about to hang up, a hard voice spoke at the other end.

"Spike, you bastard. You will never call here again, do you understand? If I so much as--"

"Rupert, don't hang up. Just listen for a mo'. It's about the Slayer."

"What is it Spike? This had better not be some twisted prank of yours."

"Okay watcher, here's the scoop. I'm in New York, and I know where there's a mother-huge gold and gemstone cross that some Russians smuggled out of Europe. Now I nicked stuff from church or three in my day, and things like that are usually not to be found. I'm thinkin' that it's likely to be trouble, 'specially 'cause the buyer is some pillock back in--"

"Sunnydale."

"Yeah, mate. What do you reckon?" It had been a shock to Spike. He just wanted to be left alone to start fresh in New York, but apparently the cosmos had other plans. 'Sunnydale' didn't translate well into Russian. Hearing the word in a conversation between two crewmen on the freighter convinced Spike he knew where that gold cross was going. Despite a strong desire to head off to the nearest bar to spend his ill-gotten gains, Spike felt compelled to call the Watcher. *Must be the bloody conscience.* Spike didn't want to think about the fact that he'd helped those in Sunnydale many times before he was resouled.

"Well, Spike, a detailed description of the cross would certainly be helpful, as would the identity of the buyer, should you be able to discover it."

Spike could practically hear Giles cleaning his glasses over threousaousand miles away. "I didn't get a great look, seein' as how it was a long ways off AND it was right 'bout the time a whole bunch of machineguns started shootin'--"

"Good grief!"

"Yeah, Watcher you can say that twice. Anyhow, it's at least a foot tall and got lots o' sparklies on it. Makes some of the Queen Mum's stuff in the Tower look poorly."

"Well, I'll start researching and see if we can get more information here." Spike would have been shocked if Giles hadn't used the phrase in their conversation.

"Right-o then, mate. I'll call back when I get more info."

"And Spike?"

"I know, Rupert. I won't be calling her."

"Thank you."

Spike looked at the phone in his hand for a moment. *Bloody hell. Mixed up with the Scoobies all over again. Least the topic of the chip didn't come up.*

Three thousand miles away Giles set the phone down. *I hope this isn't a trick of Spike's to get back into Buffy's life. He'll regret it for all of the two seconds it will take me to stake him.*


* * *

The bell above the door chimed as Buffy walked into the Magic Box. "What's the new news, Giles?"

Giles looked at her for a moment, knowing he had only to wait a few moments before his Slayer would feel compelled to explain her question.

"You know, all the news that's new and approved for the U.S. Slayer? What, you never saw 'Good Morning Viet Nam'? We must invite you to the next Harris and Summers video screening extravaganza!"

"Yes, well, that would be, ah, most enjoyable, I'm sure."

"Giles, don't feel like you hafta to lie to save my feelings. I'm sure there are a zillion things higher on your list that watching Dawn and Xander work themselves into sugar and caffeine-fuelled frenzy while watching videos that have 'no redeeming social value whatsoever." Buffy paused for a moment. "Come on Giles, you're supposed to disagree."

"Oh, yes. Right. Terribly sorry. I've been rather busy trying to track down descriptions of a stolen religious relic." Giles did not appear to be the least bit sorry.

"What, did someone lose a super-special dreidel? A self-cleaning cauldron? A glow in the dark cross?"

Giles' eyebrows threatened to crawl up off his forehead. "Actually, the latter." He hurried on to explain when he saw her 'superior smirk' start to form. "It doesn't actually glow in the dark; well, we assume it doesn't, but it may have some sort of mystical powers. I'm concerned because it was apparently smuggled out of Russia to be sold to someone here."

"So you're thinking 'relic plus Hellmouth equals badness' basically?"

"Well yes, Buffy, but--"

"Wait a minute, Giles. You said 'we.' Who's 'we?'"

"He, he's actually a, a colleague from England. Rather knowledgeable on the supernatural." *And please don't ask me for any more details or I'll have to lie for your own good.*

"Oh. Okay. I just thought it might be Olivia or some other Giles-worthy woman." Buffy was busy poking through a bin of little 'j' shaped bones while she spoke, so she didn't see Giles' face turn beet-red at the last suggestion.

"Thank you Buffy. I believe if you're finished embarrassing me I'll continue with my research. And by the way, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't play with the baculum."

"The what? Fine." Buffy dropped one of the raccoon penis bones back into the bin. "I'll be doing cardio workout in the training room, so if you need me yell loud."

*Loudly,* thought Giles. *I must insist that she take some sort of grammar class when she re-enrolls next term.* Rhythmic bass began to throb through the door of the training room. *And possibly music appreciation.*


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CHAPTER 3

"No, Watcher, I don't know if it had both emeralds and rubies in it!" Spike leaned against a pay phone outside a rather sleazy hotel in a fairly dangerous portion of New York City. *I bloody well told the prat that I didn't get that good a look the thing.* "Yeah, like I told you last time, one crosspiece I think. Yeah, it looked like it was solid gold." *Like I could figure that out from just looking at it from a distance.*

"Well I think you were right to be concerned, Spike. If my suspicions are correct, you're tracking the Cross of St. Timothy of Eritrea. The only prophecy I've found that pertains to a golden cross is quite dire." Giles pulled one opened, dusty tome from under several other old, leather-bound volumes also written in Latin. "It says here, now I'm paraphrasing and translating, mind you, '... and should the Cross ever be taken from it's rightful place on the altar, the very mouth of Hell will open.'"

"Well, then we'll just bloody well assume that it's the same cross as in the prophecy, and that some wanker is getting set to open the Hellmouth." *Again.*


* * *

"Come on Buffy. Puhleeez?" Dawn gave her best puppy-dog eyes.

"No, my Slayer powers render me immune to your feeble begging. Be gone." Buffy pointed imperiously. Her cow-chicken hat that she had 'forgotten' to return spoiled the effect, however. Dawn tried to swallow a laugh, but that turned it into a snort, and then both Summers girls were laughing uncontrollably on the couch.

"C'mon, please?"

"Okay, Dawnie. One small and reasonably supervised eighteenth birthday party. With NON-alcoholic beverages. And no wishes."

"Course not. I learned my lesson. No more wishing for Dawn, nope." *Unless it's that Spike comes back. I hope he's okay, wherever he is. *


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