"I'm not a Watcher anymore, Spike," Giles sighed.
"Er, right," Spike replied. "Ripper-"
Giles lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was going to kill Ethan.
"Did you ‘ear the women's US football team won the World Cup?" Spike asked, reading the paper in his hands.
"Yes, Spike," Giles answered. "I heard it on the news this afternoon. Will you hand me that sword, please?"
"Depends on what you're going to do with it," Spike said, setting down the paper on the counter next to him and picking up the sword.
**Run myself through,** Giles thought darkly as he took it from the blond vampire. Spike had been at his home for only fifteen minutes, and Giles wanted to kill himself. It was a record, the former Watcher normally only lasted for ten. "Thank you."
"Would you please refrain from calling me by that ridiculous monkier," Giles snapped.
"Someone's got their short hairs caught in their zipper," Spike said. Giles glared at him. "Right, sorry, mate. So, Rupert, when do you think the Slayer is going to get here?"
"Hopefully soon," Giles muttered.
"What was that?" Spike asked.
"I said she should be here soon," he replied.
Spike nodded and faced the door again, leaning against the counter. "I wonder if she'll be wearing that low-cut top. Cor, that one makes me want to lick straight down her-"
"Ahem," Giles cleared his throat loudly. He did not want to hear about Spike's fantasies revolving around Buffy.
"Er, sorry again," Spike said, chuckling.
The door opened and Giles sighed in relief. "Buffy, hello."
"Hey, Giles," Buffy greeted. She looked at Spike, leaning casually against the counter with his arms folded across his chest and one ankle crossed over the other...in Birkenstocks?
"Spike, what's on your feet?" Buffy giggled, taking in the multi-colored toe-nail polish.
Spike wiggled his toes and gave her a lop-sided grin. "You like? A certain redhead gave them to me after that demon ate my one shoe."
"And the polish?" she asked.
"Well, I was bored..."
Buffy held up her hand. "Say no more," she told him. "Come on, let's boogie."
"Goodbye, Watcher," Spike said over his shoulder, heading out the door with the Slayer.
"Good riddance," Giles replied as soon as the door closed. He took off his glasses, stared at his closed front door, then shook his head. "Birkenstocks and nailpolish. Perhaps someone will stake him for the fashion offense. That would be bloody marvelous."