Giles gripped the porcelain and heaved himself up. He didn’t look in the mirror, but ripped a handful of toilet paper from the roll and wiped his mouth. The bright, lurid blood made his eyes sting and he swayed on his feet. He fought his dizziness; if he fell Jack would hear and his secret would be out. He swallowed and placed a calming palm on his stomach. He would find out today what was wrong. In his heart he knew. Four months to go before the time Eyghon had set for his demise.

He heard footsteps on the stairs. Jack was up. He cleaned the toilet bowl hastily and was standing by the sink, combing his hair, when Jack bobbed his head in and inquired if he wanted breakfast.

Breakfast? His stomach lurched.

"I’ve already had something Jack. I’m going into town today." Rupert saw his son’s eager face about to offer to come with him; he looked so much like his mother…"Christmas Shopping." Jack’s face fell and Rupert smiled. "I won’t be long. I’m popping into the shop for a book signing, after my hospital check up." He turned and walked smartly past his concerned son. He took his keys off the hook and shouldered into his leather jacket. He was out of the door with a last farewell before Jack got down to the hall.

Rupert strode briskly to his car. He ran his fingers over the deep green burnished surface and smiled. Willow had loved this car. His nostrils caught a hint of her perfume as he opened the driver’s door and slid onto the deep soft leather seat. Willow surrounded him as he opened the glove box and searched for the sealed bag containing the last of Willow’s tissues he had used to wipe her tears. He would bury it by the Christmas tree he’d ordered.

The scent of pine wafted upward as his footsteps crushed the needles littering the ground of the conifer plantation.

The farmer walked beside him in respectful silence. Every year for the past five years, Rupert Giles had picked the weediest specimen of a tree that had then grown strong, sturdy, and lush. The farmer was beginning to suspect witchcraft! But since his customer always paid for the harvested product, he didn’t ask too many questions. "Here you are Mr. Giles. I thought you might like this one…" He pointed to a weak shrimp of a tree.

Rupert smiled. The slim tip of the sapling bent his way on an otherwise still morning. Willow liked this one. "Thank you, Mr. Graves. It will do nicely… Oh, by the way. I’d like to give you extra this year. My son will buy the trees after this Christmas."

"There’s no need…" Mr. Graves said automatically, and then he looked closely at Mr. Giles. "Are you all right, sir?" When he didn’t receive a reply, he backed off into his hut to put the kettle on. Mr. Giles always shared a mug of tea after choosing his tree.

Giles knelt in front of the tree and scooped out a handful of earth. He laid the tear-stained tissue by the roots of the tree and replaced the divot; patting the soil and stroking the trunk of the sapling. The kettle’s whistle sounded. He stood, brushed the needles from his knees and turned to the foresters hut.

Behind him, Willow stood and played with the growing tip of the sapling; her gentle fingers whispered through its branches and it straightened at her touch.

The hospital gown he wore flapped around his ankles. The tests were taking longer than usual. He gave his consultant no clues to his new symptoms. Let him earn his money this month.

He swallowed the barium meal and obeyed all their instructions. After an hour, the tests completed, he sat in the garden area nursing a pot of tea. Many patients passed by in various states of recovery. He felt like a fraud. He didn’t look or feel as ill as these poor wretches.

His consultant looked serious as he approached him. "Mr. Giles, Rupert… I can’t do anything more for you. Your cancer has spread and is affecting your stomach. But I think you already knew that."

Rupert’s grip on his cup tightened and he savoured the mouthful of tea for longer than usual. Rupert replaced the cup on the saucer, noisily. "What can I expect, doctor?" Nausea overcame him once more. He opened his eyes to see the doctor mopping his chin with a handkerchief. "Sorry." Rupert took the handkerchief from the doctor. "I didn’t make too much mess, I trust."

"No… Rupert. I can help you to control the nausea, but you only have four or five months at the most. If you came into hospital, I could stretch it to ten." He looked hopefully at his patient and watched Rupert smile.

"Four or five months will suit me doctor. Thank you for everything." He reached into his jacket pocket and placed an envelope on the table between them. "See what good you can do with that…" He drew back his chair and shook the consultants hand. "Good-bye."

He walked for a long time, not noticing the setting sun, the gathering chill, or the tears on his face until someone noticed them for him.

"Well, what do we have here?" The harsh unhuman cackle invaded Rupert’s senses and charged his heart. "My favourite crumbly snack."

Rupert did precisely the wrong thing and froze. All his years of training had evaporated with the sun. He gave in.

And the vampire sensed it. He was an easy kill. Until, a sleek streak of black flashed past him and pinned the vampire youth to the wall with a bone white hand.

"Not this one, little vamp. Not on my chomping ground!"

Rupert almost fainted with relief; he’d not heard that voice in over twenty years. Spike, Spike was in London and rescuing him.

The young vampire struggled in Spike’s grip, snarling and spitting the contents of his last meal in Spike’s face. The older vampires eyes closed "Only newbies spit up their food. Blood clot!" He snapped the youngster’s head round to face Rupert. "Y’see who that is you almost ate? He’s a Watcher… The Watcher of The Greatest Slayer that ever trod the Earth. He’s slain more of our kind than you’ve had hot dinners!" Spike glared at the young vampires lack of recognition. "You are a waste of space!" He head butted him and then staked him before he could utter another sound. "You mouldy, sorry pile of dust!"

Spike turned on his heel, grinding the dust into the ground and studied his friend. "Hello Giles, long time. What you doing here?"

Rupert’s hand on Spike’s forearm stopped his key on its passage towards the locked door. "You live here." He asked.

Spike nodded, "Yep, twenty years. I work here too. Since someone started writing stories about a hot-chocolate-loving vampire…Ring a bell."

"But," Rupert looked around and recognised the sign above another door in the dark alley. "This is Deacons. You can’t work here. It’s the bookshop I was supposed to do a signing for today."

"Yeah, and you didn’t turn up! All them kids. It took me hours to get rid of ’em! You’re a bloody cult, Watcher. Didn’t you know?"

Seeing Spike unchanged and sniping in front of him filled Rupert with such mourning for his past that it wrenched a sob from him, as he clasped the vampire to his chest.

Spike struggled with his feelings for a moment, with his arms full of Watcher, then decided that shock had set in and helped Rupert into the back room of the shop.

Jack slammed down the phone. His father wasn’t home yet. He’d left the hospital in the afternoon and had never arrived at his book signing. He marched into the kitchen and turned the oven off, the dinner was ruined anyway. Where could he be?

Jack worried at his lower lip and decided to try the shop again.

End of part one.

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