Title: The Possibility of Friendship

Author: Jeanny

Parts: 17

Summary: A young Watcher learns of a prophecy involving all of the Scoobies, and needs the help of the vampire least likely to give it - Spike.

Spoilers: Season 5 through The Body

Rating: PG-13

Feedback: Yes, please! jeannygrrl@hotmail.com

Distribution: Go ahead, I don’t mind, just credit me and tell me where it’s going.

Disclaimer: Joss & Co. owns all these people, demons, creatures, etc. I’m only playing with them.

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From beneath her sensible black umbrella, Lydia Stokes-Martin found herself looking askance at the sky once again. *Of course, it’s raining. I seem to have brought London’s weather with me. But not the blessing of the Council.* That thought brought to mind the final argument she had had with Quentin Travers, the one in which he had in no uncertain terms forbidden her to return to this place. The knowledge that what she had done in the last twenty hours, that what she was about to do now, could potentially destroy everything she had worked so hard for her entire life made her knees weak. Indeed, generations of Stokes-Martins, faithful Watchers all, were no doubt turning in their graves back in London this very instant. *Ironic that I am where I am, then,* she mused, turning up the collar on her coat against a sudden chill. Her hands then automatically went to the overnight bag she had so carefully packed. *Still dry as a bone.* She noticed absently that her hands were shaking. *I need to get on. This is not going to get easier by waiting.* With that thought her feet finally propelled her forward until she was standing at the door.

“Do I knock?” she murmured out loud. “Does one need to be polite under the circumstances?” Despite her years of training, she found herself oddly unprepared for the encounter she was about to have. She reached tentatively for the door.

“Hello, luv. Come to visit?” Lydia whirled and pressed her back against the door, her heart racing, and found herself nose to nose with the man that she sought. Piercing blue eyes met softer ones, and she felt her face flush as she dropped her gaze. The hand that had been on the door started to slowly slip into the pocket of her coat. The holy water and cross were there, inches away. A strong grip suddenly tugged her hand up, and she looked up at him, surprised. “Tsk, tsk, ducks. Don’t be naughty.” Lost in his gaze once again, she merely blinked at him. “Lost the power to speak, then? Nice to know I can still have that effect on some women.” The bitterness in his voice finally managed to break the paralysis of her vocal chords, but the first thing that came out of her mouth was -

“ I need your help.” *No, no, no,* she berated herself. *Not like that, I’ll be done before I’ve had a chance!* “William...Spike...may I come in?” Expressions flickered across his features so quickly that she was sure she hadn’t caught them all. Annoyance, curiosity, anger, amusement, and a strange sort of loneliness. He said nothing, just shrugged and let himself inside. Closing the umbrella, she followed, deliberately leaving the door open behind her. *I know he’s supposed to be harmless, but better safe than sorry.* He took a seat in the only chair and stared at a beaten up television that he hadn‘t bothered to turn on. Again, Lydia was uncertain how to proceed. After a few moments of tense silence, he sighed heavily.

“Go on. Speak your peace. You’re dripping on my floor.” She looked at the puddle being made by her sopping wet umbrella, and flushed once again. The voice of her mother unexpectedly echoed in her head. *Now is the time, Lydia. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps and have to. Make Mummy proud.*

“I’ve come because we--that is, the Council of Watchers--have uncovered a prophecy-” Lydia knew that vampires could move fast, but she’d never actually seen one in action before. She barely had time to register that he was wearing his vampire countenance when she was lifted into the air and thrust into the doorway. The umbrella flew from her hand and clattered to the floor. “Wait!” she squeaked, grabbing onto the doorframe with a death grip.

“I’ve heard enough. Bleedin’ prophecies, that’s Slayer’s business, you should take it up with her. I want no part of it. She wants no part of me.” Again that strange look of pained melancholy passed over his face, and she shook her head vigorously.

“No, please, you don’t understand. The Slayer cannot know about this! No one can! But the fate of-”

“-the world? Do you think I care about the fate of the world?” He gave a quick bitter laugh and released his grip on her, turning around so his back was to her. Almost immediately he turned back to face her, his handsome features restored. He reached up ran both hands through his cropped blonde hair in frustration. “There’s no point in having this world, not to me anyway. I’ve lost everything, don’t you see?” His voice shook with sudden rage. “Why are YOU even HERE?”

“I was going to say the fate of the girl is at stake.” Lydia’s quiet statement silenced him. He regarded her for a long moment, before stepping aside to allow her to enter further. She barely registered that he had this time closed the door behind her. “As I was saying, we have uncovered a very unusual prophecy involving the current Slayer, one that indicates a crisis about to take place. If these events are allowed to continue as foreseen, the Slayer will be seriously weakened, perhaps even destroyed.”

He paced back and forth for a minute, absorbing her words. Lydia could tell that he was working out something in his mind. The problem was, she had no idea what it might be. He stopped and turned to her with a cunning smile.

“Why come to me, pet? Was there something in your ‘thesis’ that indicated that William the Bloody would want to save a Slayer?” He approached her slowly, moving as gracefully as a jungle cat. He looked wild, dangerous, and downright sexy. A sound, half-squeak, half-sigh, escaped her before she could stop it. Her paralysis was utter and complete, and she made no other sound as he grabbed hold of her arms once again. Though the strong grip caused her no pain, it brought her much closer to his cold hypnotic eyes and derisive smirk. “I believe I was the cause of the death of two of them, isn’t that right?” The grip suddenly tightened, but before Lydia could register the pain, he abruptly let go of her and turned away, doubled over, gripping his head. “Bloody hell! I wasn’t trying to hurt her!” Lydia found her voice suddenly restored.

“But you said you worked for her. And I got the impression that...well...that you cared about her. Somewhat,” she added nervously as his furious and still pained glare met hers. His mouth worked for a second, a vehement protest forming. Then, to her surprise, he simply deflated.

“I think you could say that I care about her...somewhat,” he conceded gruffly, returning to the chair and sitting heavily. “Why does that matter? What’s this all about?” Lydia responded by placing her small overnight bag on top of the tomb and unzipping it. She pulled out a manuscript that was obviously incredibly ancient. It was not a text he recognized, but Spike could sense the powerful magic emanating from it.

“This manuscript was discovered in Santiago, Chile in 1909. It has no given name, so the Council refers to it as the Santiago Codex. Contained inside it are a number of incredibly powerful spells, some prophecies, and most importantly, some counter-spells and counter-prophecies. It was in this text that I found the prophecy I was telling you of. I also found a way to divert it.” Spike shook his head, still not understanding.

“So you’ve found the loophole. Goody for you, run right over and tell the Slayer. I’m sure the Watcher will give you a lollipop. Why come to me?” Lydia sighed, and her shoulders drooped.

“Two reasons. The manuscript makes it clear that this is not something that the Slayer can fight. If Buffy finds out about the prophecy, there will be no way to stop it. The other reason is--is that the Watcher’s Council has decided not to intervene.”

“They decided what?” Spike eyed her incredulously, then shook his head. “Going to leave their Slayer out to dry, are they? That’s lovely. Lovely bunch you’re with, pet.” Lydia found herself unable to meet his gaze until he continued softly. “But you came anyway, didn’t you luv? Got yourself in a bit of a mess. Got the Slayer in a bit of a mess, too. Need old Spike to help you fix it all up, make it better.”

Their gazes locked once more, hers pleading, his pained but softening. Finally he gave one abrupt nod.

“All right then. Let’s get on with it. Tell me what needs to be done to save our heroine from the new big bad evil and a certain death, so that I can get to it. I don’t want to miss Passions tomorrow for this.” Lydia almost smiled, but her expression became solemn almost immediately.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’ve not been clear. It’s not Buffy I need you to save.” Spike glared at her, shocked.

“You don’t--then what--”

“I need you to save her friends.”