Ethan leaned back in his chair, a smugly satisfied smile gracing his lips for a moment before the delightfully wicked grin faded, replaced by a more serious, almost apprehensive expression—an expression that looked remarkably out of place on his usually mischievous face. “I can’t tell you exactly ‘what the what’ is, as you put it, Miss Summers. I can tell you that something will happen shortly, something monumental, which will somehow set in motion a series of events that will ultimately bring about the end of the world as we know it.”
 
Buffy pushed back her chair, rising to her feet in frustration; she opened her mouth to speak, only to be cut off by her Watcher.
 
“No, Buffy. Not Acathla. We have already ruled that out. This is something that won’t occur for years. However, something we will do—or something that is done in the near future—will trigger these events.”
 
The Watcher’s words rang in Spike’s ears; the only event he could think of that was due to happen in the near future was his and Buffy’s prophesied child. With a harsh growl he stood, his arm snaking protectively around Buffy’s waist and drawing her back against his chest; with his hand splayed across her abdomen, he stared down the two men opposite, golden eyes flashing furiously. “Either of you bastards make one move to hurt our baby and I’ll rip your bleedin’ throats out.”
 
“What? No!” Joyce gasped, her face stricken at the thought of losing the grandchild she had only just discovered existed, even if she was yet to come to terms with it.
 
With the pain and fury emanating from Spike all but overwhelming her, Buffy turned to gaze questioningly at her mate’s savage, demonic face before turning wide, stricken eyes back to her Watcher. “Giles?” she asked quietly, her voice trembling slightly as Spike’s words forced her to consider the possibility of such a betrayal from the man she looked upon as a father.
 
With a trembling hand, Giles reached into his pocket; his fingers fumbled frantically for the stake within, his eyes fixed on the ferocious and, as he had predicted, dangerous vampire.
 
“Oh, for god’s sake. How any of you manage to achieve anything when you go off half-cocked like this all the time, I will never know.” Ethan’s hand snaked out, covering and trapping his erstwhile lover’s hand. “Rupert. Could you please try just for a moment to behave like an adult? You too,” he added, calmly arching an eyebrow at the snarling vampire before smiling reassuringly at the terrified mother-to-be. “I assure you, my dear girl, that your child is not at risk—at least not from myself or, to my knowledge, from Ripper here, despite his rather juvenile display. Whatever this threat may prove to be, it has existed in this world for some time,” he informed the now somewhat calmer couple. “I have no reason to suspect that your child is connected in any way to the evil I have foreseen. Now, if you could all please sit down?”
 
He waited until first Giles and then Spike had resumed their seats, the vampire first pulling his chair closer to the still-shaken Slayer in order to keep her hand grasped firmly in his; the only outward indication of Spike’s continued unease was an occasional flash of gold in the cold blue eyes that rarely left the Watcher seated opposite him.
 
“So, if it’s not my baby,” Buffy began quietly, then lifted her eyes to meet Ethan’s across the table and continued, more strongly, “What is it? And how do I stop it?”
 
“I wish I knew. All I do know is that a… power, if you will… that has recently been almost dormant will re-emerge in Sunnydale sometime in the near future. The events that follow its re-emergence will eventually lead to the rise of evil and the destruction of the world as we know it. How we stop it? Well, until we can determine exactly what it is, I dare say there isn’t much we can do.”
 
“Why do you even care?” Buffy asked accusingly. “I’d have thought that would make you happy. You know, all that chaos and mayhem.”
 
“On the contrary, my dear. Chaos is no more a force for evil than it is a power for good. If anything, it exists in the balance between good and evil. Chaos cannot exist amidst either pure evil or pure good, both of which are profoundly dangerous concepts.”
 
“How can good be dangerous?” Buffy frowned as she pondered Ethan’s words.
 
“Wherever there is inflexibility, there is danger. For example, you are the warrior of the light but, from what I can surmise, the … ah… terms of the prophecy involving yourself and your vampire have been fulfilled?” At Buffy’s slow, puzzled nod of confirmation, he continued, “If we were dealing with the extreme that comes with pure good, you would have committed an unforgivable sin to have sullied yourself in such a manner, regardless of your motivations.”
 
“Oi.” At Buffy’s sharply indrawn breath, Spike glared a warning across the table. “Watch it, mate.”
 
“I’m simply saying that—while your motivations were selfless, and the end result appears to have proven beneficial—” Ethan nodded to indicate their obvious closeness, then took a moment to savour the delightfully chaotic improbability of the situation before him. It was truly golden—a slayer and a vampire having formed what appeared to be a very strong emotional bond. “Regardless of your motivations, those who are unable to see beyond the extremes of black and white would condemn you for your union.”
 
“I think we are straying a little from the point, don’t you?” Giles snapped wearily at the chaos mage, certain that Ethan was bringing up the mating ritual simply to rub his nose in it. “Theological debates can surely wait until after we have determined what this new threat is. As if we didn’t have enough to deal with already, with Angelus and his demented childe still about,” he added bitterly.
 
Willow timidly raised her hand and, at Ethan’s nod of acknowledgement, asked quietly, “How did you know? I mean, about the upcoming badness,” she qualified.
 
“I can feel it. Every time I cast a spell or perform a ritual, I can feel the darkness gathering, and it is growing stronger everyday. It’s hard to explain. There’s a malevolence there simply waiting to be released, hungry, eager, and expectant; above all, however, it seems self-satisfied that its long-made plans are so close to fruition. I can feel its anticipation.”
 
“Well… I mean, maybe… I was just thinking…” Willow’s face screwed up with embarrassment and she ducked her head, her words trailing off as all eyes turned to her.
 
“Out with it, Red. If you’ve got an idea that can help, we wanna hear it,” Spike prompted, offering the timid girl a brief smile of encouragement when she lifted her head; in return his hand received a gentle, appreciative squeeze from his Slayer.
 
“Can we use that?” Willow ventured a little more confidently. “That feeling. Trace it or something to find out what the big evil is?” she finished with a hopeful glance at the Watcher and his companion.
 
*****
 
Dust swirled in the air before settling slowly to the ground. With a furious growl, Angelus stepped through the remnants of the incompetent minion and fixed his golden glare on his almost-oblivious lover as she swayed and crooned, still as lost in her ramblings as she had been for the last 2 days. His limited patience had been worn out after the first few hours of her performance, her maddening incoherent mumblings about sunlight and effulgence interspersed with high-pitched wailing as she clawed savagely at her face and hair, refusing to feed or even to look at him. The fact that her current psychosis appeared to be directly related to Spike’s disappearance only fuelled his fury.
 
There had never been any love lost between himself and Drusilla’s obnoxious childe.  From the day Drusilla had brought home the small, foppish, too-pretty addition to their family, he’d had a far too-elevated opinion of his own worth. Cocky, arrogant, disrespectful, attention-seeking, and foolhardy, the fledgling had driven Angelus to distraction; if it hadn’t been for Dru’s pleading, the boy would have been dust over a century before.
 
Angelus had, of course, done his best by the boy; he’d chastised the young vampire when he stepped out of line and had given the stubborn fool numerous lessons in correct etiquette, endeavouring to teach the insolent pup his place within the family. But William had never been one to learn his lessons easily, refusing to show the deference due to his elders despite the regular beatings and humiliation bestowed upon him by his grandsire or the occasional, almost impassive ministrations of his great-grandsire. Darla’s colder, more calculated castigation had a more lasting effect on the boy, though it still failed to keep him in line for long. Spike had believed Drusilla’s fleeting fascination to be more than it was; the arrogant fledgling had actually thought he had some proprietary right to his ethereal sire, and Dru had indulged the boy far too often, unwittingly encouraging his grandiose delusions.
 
Now, in order to calm his childe and cease the horrendous wailing that was rapidly driving him as insane as she was, he needed to find the wheelchair-bound bleached pain in his arse. That Spike had somehow managed to leave the mansion in his weakened state and make his way out into the night unnoticed amazed him. He wouldn’t have believed the crippled vampire capable of making it as far as the street, let alone far enough to escape detection.
 
“How far could he have gone?” He growled his question impatiently, as if expecting her to pluck the answer from the air—which, given the right circumstances, she could. Spinning around, he turned his attention back to his remaining minions where they trembled uncertainly, awaiting further reprisals for their failure. Barking out his orders, he sent them back out into the demon underground in search of his wayward grandchilde or, at the very least, news of his fate.
 
The system of tunnels that wound beneath Sunnydale provided the town’s non-human residents with easy access to all areas; they were of particular benefit to vampires in allowing them mobility at any time of the day, regardless of the status of the sun’s deadly rays. The terrified minions took readily to the tunnels, eager to escape the master vampire’s wrath.
 
*****
 
Xander slept fitfully, a combination of discomfort and guilt waking him at regular intervals. As the afternoon wore on, he resigned himself to the fact that the oblivion of sleep had deserted him; as much as he may have wished to avoid it, there was little left for him but to analyse his recent actions and the motivations that had driven them. Brutal self-honesty was something he usually chose to steer clear of, preferring instead to take shelter behind the facade of the perpetual comedian, joking away his fears, insecurities, and prejudices. If people were going to laugh at him, it would be for reasons of his choosing, and he would be laughing right along with them.
 
He knew that he was nothing special, nothing a girl like Buffy usually looked twice at; but Buffy had looked twice, and three times, and miracle of miracles she had seen him and she loved him—only not in the way that he wanted her to. And if he didn’t want to lose Buffy completely, he needed to accept that she never would.
 
Yeah, he hated vampires, but he had good reason. A vampire had murdered his best friend; another vampire had deceived them, had wormed his way into their lives and their trust and finally into Buffy’s pants. The creature had then reverted to type—trying to destroy the world, stalking Buffy, terrorising them all, and killing Miss Calendar. There was nothing good or trustworthy in these monsters.
 
And now Buffy was asking him to trust another vampire—one who’d already tried to kill them several times, and who didn’t even have the benefit of the soul that had granted Angel their acceptance, grudging as it may have been.
 
Spike. William the Bloody. Slayer of Slayers. The bleached vampire was one of the scariest things Xander had ever faced, and his bruised and aching testicles were a lasting reminder of how dangerous the vampire was; if he was honest with himself, however, he had to admit that he should be dead. Spike had let him off easy; with no urging other than Buffy’s gentle request, the vampire had let him go—had let him live. Spike had always been up front in his efforts to kill Buffy; there’d been no subterfuge, no games, no lies or apologies for who and what he was. So why would he start now?
 
Buffy said that Spike was on their side, that he would help them defeat Angelus and stop the apocalypse. If that was true, then he guessed he was all onboard with the taking help wherever they could find it. He’d worry about the rest later—once there was a later to be worrying about.
 
*****
 
Buffy felt useless. She leant against the doorframe, the sound of the television drifting in from the living room where Spike was dozing half asleep as some generic cops and robbers show flicked across the screen.

Giles had suggested, and her mother had quickly agreed, that she should hold off on patrolling—at least until they had some idea of what they were dealing with. Her protests had been ignored, and when she'd mentioned that she'd have Spike for backup her watcher had simply scowled and then muttered something about it being best if Angel didn't know they had Spike on their side—which did make sense, but meant that she was stuck inside feeling like a sixth wheel, or whatever kind of wheel it was that nobody had any use for.

She watched as Giles, Willow and Ethan sat around the dining table poring over the books they had gathered from the school library, searching for a way to identify the new bigger bad. Her mother had retired to the kitchen where, after a flying trip to the grocery store to pick up some supplies and to the butcher for blood for Spike, she was taking her mind off recent events by cooking up a storm for their ‘guests’.
 
A strong arm wrapped around her waist and cool lips pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her neck, making her smile.
 
“How you doing, kitten?” Spike asked quietly as Buffy shifted slightly until she was leaning back against his chest.
 
“Ok, I guess,” she sighed, her eyes remaining fixed on the researchers.
 
“But you’d be better if someone would point you at something you could hit?” the vampire responded.
 
“Yeah,” she agreed. “I hate this. The waiting, the not knowing. It drives me nuts.”
 
“I know, love. But the fight’s gonna be here quicker than you think, an’ you wearin’ yourself out fretting over something you can’t do a bloody thing about ’s not gonna help anyone.”
 
There was a moment’s pause, and then he looked down at her, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “You wanna blow off some steam?” he asked eagerly. The Slayer’s tentative nod of agreement was answered by the wicked gleam of the vampire’s delighted grin. “C’mon then, kitten. I know just the thing to wear off some of that excess energy.” Taking Buffy’s hand, he led her quickly up the hall and through the kitchen, giving Joyce a quick nod but continuing without breaking stride to the basement door as he pretended not to see the older woman open her mouth to question their destination. Closing the door behind them and flicking on the light, he led his mate down the stairs to the room below.

Days of Blood and Wine Series