Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. (Well, actually, not quite all...) Distribution: OK, but let me know. Feedback: Please! Summary: A modest proposal for The Spike Show. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - RETURN Part 10. All the Dancing Moments Spike said, "So did you tell her?" "No," Giles said. "I think we can give her some time to relax, don't you? She's had so much pressure on her lately, even before the recent disasters - financial, family, school - " Spike suddenly slapped his own forehead. "Financial! I am a bloody twit!" he said vehemently. "Rupert, listen - Article 127, clause 12." Giles eyes widened. "Surely - surely you, you, you must be joking," he stammered. "Not a bit of it." "I've been researching that for months!" Giles exclaimed. "Are you sure?" "I've got everything; numbers, dates, everything. If we survive the next couple of weeks, everything's rosy." Giles stared at him incredulously for a moment, and then did something no one could remember ever seeing him do. He burst out laughing. Buffy stood in the doorway, puzzled. It was good to see them getting along, and she frankly had expected a bit more trouble in that area. But this was a little unusual. "Hey, guys, what's so funny?" she said. Spike looked at Giles. "You want to tell her, or shall I?" Giles took his glasses off and waved them, rubbing his eyelids and chuckling. "No, no, you go ahead." Spike moved down to the bottom step. "Come and sit down, love," he said. "Okay, now you're scaring me," Buffy said, complying. "What gives?" "I'm just gonna tell you straight out, love. You've got money." "What do you mean, I've got money?" she said. She sat with her back straight, looking from one to the other. "I have no money. I'm broke. I'm money-less. I'm without funds." "No. You aren't. You've got a numbered Swiss bank account, and now that you've turned twenty-one, you can access it any time you like." "I don't understand - " Giles said, "Buffy, I've been looking into this for some time, but I didn't want to say anything until certain obstacles had been overcome. Which, apparently, they have been. You and I were both supposed to receive a stipend from the Council, all along; usually a Slayer is more dependent on her Watcher. But because of your unusual circumstances, you had your mother, and a relatively normal life." "Like Kendra lived with Mr. Zabuto?" "Exactly. But the money was still due to you. I should have been paid to support you, and money should also have been disbursed to you directly for living expenses when you reached eighteen." "Except the bleeding Council of Wankers were a bit miffed with you both at that point." "So neither one of us got our money - " "But the stupid berks paid it out all the same. Just didn't tell you about it. Got to keep the books balanced. They knew all about you working in that sodding meat palace, don't think they didn't, the scuzzy weasels." "So there's money sitting in a bank somewhere? How does that help?" "Because the account is in the name of Buffy Anne Summers - that's you," Spike said. "And I've got the account number and password. All you need is your birth certificate or something, and you can swan along to your local bank Monday morning and start making withdrawals. And there's sod all anyone can do about it, because you're you, love, and it rightfully belongs to you." "Yes - not a very edifying performance by the Council, I must say." Buffy clapped both hands over her mouth to stifle a shriek. "Oh, my god," she said. "Oh, my god, oh, my god." Giles and Spike just sat and watched her happiness blossom. It was their job, after all. Her eyes grew brighter and brighter, as if she were mentally reviewing formerly intractable problems and seeing them fall like dominoes. After a few minutes of enjoying her ecstatic bouncing and inarticulate exclamations, Spike reluctantly said, "There is one more thing, love - " But Giles interrupted him, with a warning look. "Why don't we have a meeting over dinner? There are a few, ah, future events we should all talk over together." After a moment, Spike acquiesced in this. Let her be happy. * * * * In the end, Giles was voted most competent to handle the cooking, and they had a Scooby meeting of sorts over a simple but pleasant meal. Buffy had taken a peanut butter sandwich and glass of milk to Willow's room earlier, without response, but Spike assured her Willow was okay, and she trusted his judgement. She didn't ask how he knew. She roused the others; Xander and Anya clung together, subdued and oddly uncertain. Xander avoided even looking at Spike, who paid no particular attention to him. Meanwhile, Giles quite handily prepared omelets, with salad, crusty bread, and an actual bottle of wine, which he and Dawn had picked up earlier. Even after sleeping all day, everyone suddenly discovered an appetite. Spike had a bowl of blood warmed in the microwave, with burba weed and Wheetabix crumbled in it, which he enjoyed very much and everyone else tried their best not to look at. Or even towards. At last they were all together at the table, a Scooby reunion - except Willow and Tara. Each face showed some sadness as they glanced towards the place where Tara used to sit, but they all sensed that there wasn't much time for mourning. They knew they had to get on with the job. "So we're like independently wealthy now?" Dawn said, after a suitable interval for group munching. Visions of home entertainment systems and many, many clothes danced in her head. "Well, I wouldn't say that, but let's say we won't actually be homeless, hungry, or unclothed," Buffy said, having secured some reassuring details from Spike. "You should plan some investments, Buffy, so your funds will work for you," Anya said seriously. "Ahn, I don't think now is the time - " "No, she's right," Spike interrupted, astounding everyone. They waited breathlessly for him to start speaking with an accent of some kind. "If you set it up right, you can keep the bread rolling in forever," he went on, unheeding. At the sudden silence, he looked up. "What?" he said testily. "I can't have a sensible idea?" "I guess the novelty hasn't worn off yet," Buffy admitted, squeezing his hand under the table. "I gotta say, Giles, this doesn't reflect well on your former cohorts," Xander said, oblivious to this by-play. "Yes, well, it's not as though I ever got on with them that well; I was fired, you might recall - " "It's a little known fact," Spike interrupted rather acidly, "that Watchers haven't always been such tweedy bleeding wankers as this lot now are." "Excuse me?" Giles said, affronted. "Present company excepted. Anyway, you're an ex-Watcher, aren't you? Hell, you're not even tweedy anymore. But all that 'please pass the port' and buried-in-the-library lifestyle is all recent stuff. A lot of 'em from earlier times are quite decent blokes." "Well, things have gotten more codified - " "They've gotten moss-covered, you mean. In the old days," Spike said loftily, "there were some right warriors taking the field. Swordsmen, samurai, adventurers. Guys who'd be some use in a fight. Hell, Rupert, your Gran was no shrinking violet." "No, she wasn't, was she?" Giles eyes lit up reminiscently. "But how did you - ? You don't mean - ?" he said, almost incredulous. At a nearly imperceptible nod from Spike, he said, "Good lord." "Beheaded a Vor demon at the age of sixteen, and on Christmas morning, too," Spike pursued. "Yes, indeed, it was a favorite family story for years," Giles said. "The pudding was quite ruined." No one knew quite what to say to this unusual glimpse of Giles family lore. "Is Spike going to turn into Giles' grandmother now? Because I so don't want to see that," Xander said. "I do!" Dawn said with a mischievous grin. "Hey, we don't do these things for fun," Spike said piously. "Only when it's strictly necessary. It's not a game, people." Giles set down his glass. It seemed like an appropriate time to raise another subject. "Yes, well," he said more seriously, "We're going to need all our skills, including Spike's new ones, in the coming days." "Let me guess - a very dark power is about to rise over Sunnydale?" Buffy said. "Well, ah, yes." "I knew it!" Xander said. "Just when it looks like things have settled down. Tell me, why do we live here again?" "To fight evil, honey," Anya said kindly, taking his hand. "Oh, yeah; I forgot. Well, I guess that job never gets old." "As you all know," Giles began, "Sunnydale and everyone in it, including us, has been subject to an energy drain, caused by the confluence of Willow's and Warren's magical energies. I have been looking into the question of where the energy went, and I'm afraid the answer is not encouraging." "Where did it go? Where could it go?" "To the Other Side," Spike said. "Precisely. Warren opened a channel through the Hellmouth to funnel power out for his own purposes. Unfortunately, he was not as expert as he believed himself to be, and the reverse happened. He drained power from this world, from us, and sent it to the Other Side of the barrier between the hell dimension and this one." "Which means all the nasties who've been trying to get through all these years now have a nice power boost," Spike said helpfully. "Yes, exactly. Whatever spells and magical energies have been directed to breaking through from the Other Side are now that much stronger. And therefore I think we can expect some of them to succeed." TBC - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "WHEN you were there, and you, and you, Happiness crowned the night; I too, Laughing and looking, one of all, I watched the quivering lamplight fall On plate and flowers and pouring tea And cup and cloth; and they and we Flung all the dancing moments by With jest and glitter. Lip and eye Flashed on the glory, shone and cried, Improvident, unmemoried; And fitfully and like a flame The light of laughter went and came. Proud in their careless transience moved The changing faces that I loved." Rupert Brooke