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Warning: If you do not like the darkest side of Spike or character deaths, fly away little butterfly. For, as the title states, everyone dies, some horribly. Spike & Giles
Everyone Dies Chapter 2 Friday Early the next night, Giles stepped out of his apartment and locked the door. “Hello, Giles,” came a smooth voice from across the courtyard. The Englishman whirled around, dropping his books and seeking a weapon. Damn, I’m getting soft. Caught flat footed by William the Bloody! “Calm down,” Spike said, flipping away his cigarette, taking his feet down from the little white table, and standing up. He held out his empty hands in supplication. “I’m here on business.” Giles had his pocket knife out and was in a fighting stance. “What business could I possibly have with you, Spike? The last time I saw you, you were helping torture me.” Spike waved at him dismissively. “I never tortured you. That was Angelus. I was in a wheelchair thanks to your Slayer, remember?” “You didn’t stop him, either,” Giles said bitterly. His hands would forever carry aches from the broken fingers. “You can’t stop Angelus when he’s got a mission.” “Then you came back to town just to hurt my friends. Xander had a concussion and Cordelia almost died.” Spike looked puzzled. “Have I even met that one? I do remember slugging the boy a good one. Besides, that’s in the past.” Spike shrugged in dismissal. “We can go beyond that. And don’t forget, I got you away from Angelus.” He sounded very pleased with himself. “By trading my life for your own.” “But. I did save you.” Spike shook his head. “Look, something has the local population of baddies scared, and I know what it is.” Despite himself, Giles was interested. “I haven’t heard anything about this.” “Have you talked to your Slayer yet? I bet she hasn’t been so successful at patrolling lately.” “She did say it had been slow,” Giles admitted. Last time she talked to me a week ago. Spike reached into his pocket and Giles raised his knife. “What are you doing?” Spike pulled out a pack of smokes and calmly lit one with his silver lighter. “If you have cash, I have proof of what it is. You know, when the bad guys are afraid, you should be afraid, too.” Giles considered the vampire levelly. Damn. I hate this get. But he does have his ear to the ground. Better to play along than miss out. God knows I have nothing else to do. “How much?” “Five hundred dollars.” “I don’t have that much. I think I have one hundred.” Spike pursed his lips and thought about it. “Well, seeing as you blew up the high school and your job. One hundred and fifty.” Giles glared at Spike. “Wait here. I’m not about to invite you in to my home.” Giles unlocked the door by touch, not taking his eyes off Spike, then slipped inside. Spike finished his cigarette and looked to the starry sky. A few minutes later, Giles came back and held up the money, showing it to the vampire from inside the doorway. “Here is the cash. I’m leaving it inside until I see if you have anything worth while.” “Fair enough.” Spike pulled an electronic, handheld device from inside his coat and laid it on the table. From an outer pocket he took out a small wallet and tossed it down. “It’s a bunch of soldier types. Human. I’ve watched them tazer and drag off three vamps and a demon.” “They didn’t kill them?” Spike wandered off from the table and leaned against a wall on the far side of the courtyard. He lit a cigarette as he watched Giles come out holding a stake. A large cross hung around his neck. “Nope. I heard them say ‘successful capture of HST 16’ and some other military garbage. They tracked them with that gizmo there,” he waved his cigarette at the table and idly looked up at the stars. “Where did you get these?” Giles picked up the wallet first, finding it to contain a military ID and some kind of magnetic key card. He looked at the blonde, clean-cut square-jawed young man in the photo identified as Special Agent Finn, Riley. “I killed one of them. It was fun. Real sport. I had to get him away form the rest of the pack first.” Giles glared at him. “Oh, don’t be shocked. You know I’m evil.” “You say they capture demons alive.” He picked up the device, keeping the stake in his hand. Looks like it could be a tracker. Seems to be built to military specks, but what on earth is the military doing in Sunnydale capturing demons? “Where are they taking them?” He kept an eye on the vampire who was smoking and looking at the little patch of stars over the courtyard. How do you turn this thing on? If I can get it to work, it can be invaluable to Buffy. “Now, I think that should be worth more.” Spike quit leaning against the wall and took a slow, turning step away from it. Giles glanced over at the movement to find Spike still looking up at the stars. “I should be able to see Cassiopeia from here, I think.” “I can give you fifty more. It’s all I have. How does this thing turn on?” Distracted, Giles had put down the stake and was turning the device over and over. In one of Giles’ heartbeats, Spike was behind him, and grabbing the man’s head. “You turn it on by putting the batteries back in,” Spike hissed in his ear. Giles’ eyes widened and he tried to struggle. I’m sorry, Buffy. Before his heart could beat again, Spike gave a sudden, abrupt twist and he was dead. Spike dragged the body into the apartment. He picked up the device and wallet, reached behind a plant, pulled out the book bag he took from Buffy’s and brought it in, too. He closed the door, tossed his stuff aside and picked up the Watcher’s limp body. Spike’s face went demon and he drank. “Two rich meals in two nights. I’ll have to watch my weight at this rate.” Spike dropped the body and plucked the metal-rimmed glasses off Giles’ face. He scooped up some blood from the wound and flicked the it over the lenses. “An homage to John Lennon. Or should it be an homage to Mark David Chapman?” While licking his fingers clean, he waved the glasses in the air to dry the blood before dropping them in the drawstring bag that held Joyce’s hair. He picked up the body, carried it upstairs to the loft bedroom, rolled it in a blanket, and laid it out of sight behind the bed. Unless someone came looking, it would not be visible. Then he looked over the small apartment from above. “Okay, Rupert. Where is the juicy stuff? May as well start up here.” Spike started systematically searching the Englishman’s neatly stored possessions. In the beside table he found a half-empty bottle of scotch. “Lonely are we? You should have hooked up with Buffy’s mom. She was hot. And a tigress in bed.” Spike dug through the closet until he found a lockbox and made short work of the lid. “Bingo.” Inside were several journals, his passport, work visas, and at least two thousand dollars in cash. “Only two hundred dollars on you. Right.” scoffed Spike, stuffing the money in his pockets. Downstairs, he flopped down on the couch with the most recent dairy and the scotch, and then paused. “I wonder if he’s got Weetabix.” Shortly, settled down again with snacks and scotch, he flipped through until he found something interesting. He amused himself by reading the tiny, neat handwriting out loud in a stuffy British voice. “’I can’t stop thinking about him. It shames me to admit my thoughts. Lately he has been working hard and has matured from gawky boy to strong young man.’ Well, well, well. The librarian liked the boy. ‘I have invented jobs around my apartment so I can have excuses for him to visit. I suspect he would come over anyway for he feels as adrift and abandoned as I since Buffy and Willow have gone to collage.’ This is better than a soap opera. “’I believe he may be attracted to me, too, yet I am so afraid to approach him. If I loose my contact with Xander, I will have nothing at all.’ Oh, boohoo!” The phone suddenly rang, making Spike jump. “Bloody hell.” After a couple of rings, the answering machine picked up. “This is Rupert Giles. Please leave a message,” came Giles’ clipped English voice. It was followed by Xander’s cheerful tones. “Hi Giles, I just thought I would see if I needed to bring anything over tomorrow when I come to level that shelf. Well, besides my tools, of course. Call me if I do. Bye!” Perfect. Spike smiled at the good turn fate had sent him.
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