: BECOMING ME:
by Fangqueen13
 

BSV note-B/S, S/D

1.

"God, he's gonna kill her."

Angelus advanced on Buffy, some light from somewhere glinting off the sharp sword he was threatening her with. Spike watched, having difficulty tearing himself away. The bint is crying...She really is in love with him, isn't she...

Shrugging, Spike turned and walked off with a limp Drusilla slumped in his arms.

"Now that's everything, huh? No weapons...No friends...No hope." Angelus's cruel smile split across his face.

Buffy closed her eyes. He's right, I have nothing now. No weapons, no home, no chance at anything happy or beautiful.

She tried not to hear him taunting her. "Take all that away...and what's left?"

Buffy's mind flashed back to earlier in the day, wondering what she could have done differently to produce a different ending. She remembered that weird demon - Whistler, that was his name - and his unconventional pep talk. "In the end, you're always by yourself. You're all you've got. That's the point."

Buffy could hear the wind hiss as Angelus thrust the sword into her face. Quick as lightening, her hands shot up to sandwich the blade.

I'm all I've got, she thought wryly. She opened her eyes and stared menacingly into her ex-boyfriend's. What's left, he'd asked? Well, he was fixing to find out. "Me."

* * * * * *

"Bugger." The bleached-blonde swerved the car and it screeched to a halt in the freeway shoulder. He glanced at the unconscious Dru. As soon as she'd woken up she'd called for her Daddy. Spike had knocked her out again.

Growling, he scolded himself for his stupidity. He should have known she'd always prefer Angel to him. Of course he loved his Dark Princess, more than anything, but he didn’t see the harm in driving the ten miles back to Sunnyhell for one last breif visit. After all, he owed Angel a big, dusty death.

"Wonder, what are you doin’ now, mate?" Spike asked an absent Angelus. "I'll bet you're sucking the life right out of that sexy bird of yours."

Spike had gotten used to thinking of the Slayer as sexy. Sure, it had been shocking enough back in November, when he'd watched his minions' videos of her fighting. He'd started wanting her so badly he'd begun stroking himself as he watched her fight on tape.

And of course, she was as deadly to him as sunlight.

"Bugger," he said again. "Can't bloody get her out of my mind." He tossed his bottle of alcoholic beverage on the floor, and sharply pulled back onto the deserted freeway, speeding back towards Sunnydale.

* * * * * *

Willow felt the bed sheets slipping, pulling spell contents closer to the edge of the bed. She paused in her chanting for several seconds to tug the cloth back, and then continued.

Green sparks crackled around the Orb, but Willow was so intent on her chanting that she didn’t notice the undesired light.

* * * * * *

"Goodbye, Lover," the Slayer spat.

Buffy pushed the sword deep into Angelus's stomach, hearing his gasp of pain. Die, Angelus, you bastard.

The portal closed around the vampire, who was screaming pain so intense it overwhelmed his stomach's throbbing. The pain washed away thought and memory like a desert flood.

He opened his terrified, gentle eyes just as the portal closed round him. He had no recollection of what he was doing...wherever he was... but he had an idea. Terrifying guilt poured over him, incoherent knowledge of centuries of atrocities. "I'm sorry, Buffy," Angel whispered.

Buffy stared blankly at where Angelus had been seconds ago. I can't believe he's gone...I can't believe I killed Angel - even if he wasn't the same Angel I loved.

Leaving his car's engine running, Spike scrambled out and rushed down the steps, into the courtyard. "Slayer?" He called, following her smell at a run. "Slayer!"
Bloody hell, he thought. Why do I even care?

A few tears crept down Buffy's cheeks, but a solid barrier of surprise inhibited her ability to feel. She couldn't believe everything was really over.

"Slayer?" Buffy turned to look at him as he approached her. "If there's -"

"I killed him."

Spike raised his eyebrows at her, impressed.

"I didn't even think about it. It was just like, 'Stab, you're it!'"

Spike looked into her hazel eyes. "Well, yeah. You're impulsive, Slayer, it's in your nature." Buffy sniffed, and without thinking Spike pulled her into his arms. Guess bein’ impulsive’s in my nature too, the vampire reflected.

Buffy snuggled into Spike's duster. He held her gently, his mind miles away from Drusilla, Big Bad, and the blood pumping inches away from his mouth. All he thought of was the moment, and of the sexy blonde Slayer he cradled in his arms.

* * * * * *

The courtyard of the mansion was fading from black to blue. "I - I have to get out of here," Buffy told Spike, pushing him away from her.

The vampire smirked. "All this closeness making you uncomfortable, luv?" Sure made his pants uncomfortable; being so close to her and smelling her vanilla-scented shampoo gave Spike one of the largest boners he'd ever had.

"No - actually, yes - but I mean this town. I need to get out of Sunnydale."

"Oh. Well, I can see that," he said almost sympathetically, sliding his hand around the back of her neck and massaging her ear with his thumb.

"That's great, Spike. Now bye." She stalked off in the wrong direction, hoping he couldn't smell the wetness between her legs. He is kind of hot... she justified. What? Evil vampire, hot? No! Bad, bad Buffy... Only a physical reaction, betrayal by the flesh...

"Door's this way, luv," he called out to her in an amused tone. "'Less of course you prefer dead ends."

Buffy followed him, crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest to make sure he didn't make the mistake of thinking she was grateful.

* * * * * *

"Spike, just because I'm letting you give me a ride home, it doesn't mean we aren't enemies."

"Hell yeah, I'm evil, baby!" he growled, pulling over roughly on her street and running two tires up on the curb. He heard Drusilla's unconscious body slide around in the back seat.

Buffy looked at him scornfully. "Spike, you're wasted," she informed him snottily.

"We creatchures of the night can't get drunk. Vampire conshtitution and all."

"Whatever."

Spike dropped the keys into his pocket and made his way to Buffy's porch before realizing she'd gone along the side of the house. He took a swig of something very strong and followed her.

"Shneaking in, Shlayer? I thought chyou were too moral for tha'." He chuckled drunkenly.

"If you get me caught," Buffy hissed, "My mom'll be vacuuming you up off the floor tomorrow."

Spike had an inkling that his unlife had just been threatened, so he kept quiet as they entered her room.

After the Slayer had collected her things and left a note for her mother, she and Spike climbed back out her window.

"So, you're sherious abou’ this shkipping town deal?" Spike asked. He felt surprisingly guilty about helping her run away.

"I - can't stay here..." she mumbled.

Nodding, Spike walked her back to his car. "Geddin."

Incredulously, Buffy looked at him as she opened the passenger seat door. "Why are you being so nice to me?" she inquired.

"Schlayer, I don’t - lissen, le's chat about thish later, arright?"

"Spike, what..." She watched him sniff the air, his wrinklies rising out of his forehead.

"Dru. She's gone."

* * * * * *

"'Orrid, naughty Slayer," Dru moaned. "Stealing away my Daddy and my Spike." She walked along a torch-lit stone passageway. "But soon the water turns, and the earth will sing her lowest song to you."

Dru pushed open ornately carved doors with a soft cackle. "Soon the pretty Slayer will pay me back..."

2: VENDETTA

"There's another McDonald's, Spike!"

"Slayer," he demanded, "Would you shut up already? I'm tryin’ to drive here." Buffy decided that maybe there was something to his claims about a "vampire constitution." Already he seemed sober, although more irritable than usual.

Of course, his touchiness could be related to her presence in the car. "Driving would be easier if you were sober. And besides, I'm hungry." She pouted, the reflection in her glossy bottom lip catching Spike's eye. She's the Slayer, mate, he reminded himself. She'd dust you for even thinking it.

He stared pointedly at her neck. "You think I'm not hungry?" he asked suggestively, cocking his head.

"Ew, gross, Spike."

He drove in silence. He didn't know what to say - she'd already told him to take or to Los Angeles, so no room for conversation there. And every time he brought up the case of the missing Drusilla they began hurling accusations.

"Fine." He relented, and turned onto the exit ramp, above which was a neon sign for McDonald's. He thought he saw Buffy drooling - but maybe that was just her lip gloss.

* * * * * *

They were sitting outside, on the curb near his car. The crescent moon looked a bit spindly and pathetic, and the city smog veiled most of the stars. Just wait til we get to LA, Spike thought.Even Dru had trouble finding the stars there.

Dru. He missed her already. Drusilla was the love of his unlife, his definition of passion. For the thousandth time that night, he asked himself what he was doing helping the Slayer. Little old Becca and her blasted Sunnyhell farm were the two things Spike hated most in the world. The only excuse he could find for his actions was that he had a third thing he hated: the image of the spunky, sassy, sexy Slayer, limp in Angelus’s arms, her neck a bloody mess. The same thing he hated about the Slayer drew him to her – she was so full of energy and hate for vampires – and it seemed sacrilegious for her to be done in by the creatures she loathed.

Buffy tossed her wrappers away, and ran into Spike. She tried to step back, but his hands pressed into her lower back, holding her to him. "My turn." He traced a finger down her throbbing vein. With a grin he imagined her writhing and screaming beneath him as he yet again tasted the blood of a Slayer. Every thing he’d done to aid her that night only made him more resentful of her, because he knew she was somehow ensnaring him. He didn’t want her dead, or hurt too badly...But neither was Spike a stupid souled Poof, and the fact that he was displaying Slayer altruism disgusted him.

Buffy tried to feel repulsed, but it wasn't working out for her. His gold eyes watched her steadily. His lips were inches from hers, and slowly they came up to press savagely against her mouth. Her heart was beating wildly, and he could hear it.

His unnecessary breaths blew air on her cheek, her ear, her jawbone...and she just wanted him closer. She slid her body up against his, her loins throbbing for contact. The fact that he wanted to stand this close to her, press his body into hers was intoxicating, and Buffy was incapable of finding a reason to stop him. She didn’t want to stop him.

Never counted on it being this easy... Spike thought. He’d been on his guard; in front of him was one hell of a Slayer, and he hadn't expected her to let him take her blood without a fight. She quivered with anticipation. She felt sure Spike could feel her puckered nipples poking into his chest, even through all their layers. And she knew he could smell the wetness dripping from her core.

Spike licked a spot on her neck, and she melted in his arms, letting out one quiet wimper. That's sexy - no, bad Buffy! A small growl vibrated his chest as he slowly he sank his fangs into the Slayer's jugular, taking several small pulls of her blood.

Buffy gasped as unexpected euphoria tore through her inexperienced body. Feels so...Aah. Didn’t expect it not to hurt.... Neither Buffy nor Spike thought about the two Slayers he'd already killed; they pair of them was completely alone in the present.

As Spike carefully removed his fangs to begin sucking at and cleaning the bite, the entire area around them went dark. Spike's vampire seeing caught lights flashing out in all the surrounding blocks.

Something about this wasn't normal. Supernatural, decided Buffy as the sky and moon flashed red, white lightening ripping a whole in the hue. Definitely supernatural.

"Bloody hell," came from Buffy's lips. "Slayer, what the hell am I doing in your body?"

* * * * * *

///Author's note: from this point onwards (until it's no longer applicable) "Buffy" refers to Buffy's mind in Spike's body, and "Spike" refers to Spike in Buffy's body. For those who asked, Buffy sounds like Spike while she's in his body. Imagine it like S4 Who Are You, only with Spike instead of Faith.///

The vampire and the Slayer stared at each other, adjusting to being in each other's bodies. "Who the hell would to this to us? Who could do this to us?" Buffy frantically ran her fingers through her newly acquired platinum hair.

"Got any enemies who'd love torture you, Slayer? Cos this sure is Hell."

"Ha, ha," Buffy replied sarcastically. Although personally, she wasn't that horrified. When Spike got too boring to listen to, she knew she could amuse herself with her new body - which, she had to admit, was an extremely attractive body. She hadn't had very much exposure to naked male bodies, especially naked Spike bodies, and she was up to a little exploration, provided that the former owner was nowhere nearby.

The two continued bickering until Buffy, unsure about when the sun was going to come up, decided she didn't want to dust if it caught her by surprise. She dragged Spike back to the car and he resumed driving.

"Slayer," Spike scolded, "You haven't got a driver's license, have you?" He'd finished searching her purse, jacket, and jeans pockets.

Rolling her eyes, Buffy kept staring out the window. "Have you?"

"Well, no, but - Bloody hell, woman! Could you not argue with me for just one bloody second? It's your fault if I get pulled over because you never got yourself a stupid little card."

Quietly, Buffy fine-tuned her skills at acting superior. He was just so irritating - why did she let him drive her anyway? Come to think if it, why was his car even there to drive her, instead of miles away...? "Spike?" she asked innocently.

"Yeah?"

"Exactly what part of 'leave Sunnydale and never come back' doesn't make sense to you?"

Spike tried to growl, but Buffy's voice box wasn't made for it, and his growl came out sounding like a car engine very much on its last legs. "The part where nancy-boy kicks your ass when there's no one there to help you!" he retorted. Truthfully, Spike didn't know why he'd come back to Sunnydale like he promised not to. But he was beginning to he hadn't.

"Spike, the only ass that got kicked was his. And I don't remember your being there - you showed up after, for cleanup. Oh - turn left here, I think. This is Buena Vista..."

Spike ignored her directions, turning angrily into the parking lot for the hotel across the street. Who did the Slayer think she was, ordering him around? She may like to think she's above us vampires, he chuckled to himself, But right now, she IS one.

"Slayer." Spike tossed her a Neiman-Marcus purse. "You're paying for your room with your money, and I'm paying -" he pushed Buffy to the wall, reaching into the duster she wore and grabbing a wallet, "with mine."

"Hey!" Buffy shouted at him as he entered the lobby. "You think I'm gonna let you stay alone, with my body?! You're delusional!"

Spike smirked as he walked through the doors. "Try to stop me, Slayer."

Buffy raced through the doors and darted between customers with suitcases and the employees with dry-cleaning racks. She arrived at the kiosk and could see Spike still struggling to get through the crowds. It seemed a buff, shirtless man was talking to him insistently. Buffy sighed. How come the hottie talks to me when I'm not in there? Not that this body isn't any good or anything... she thought, running her hand over her new abs.

"Excuse me, sir, can I help you?" the receptionist asked, brushing a copper lock of hair behind her ear and blushing prettily. Buffy's new vampire ears could hear the redhead's heart beating rapidly.

Oh God, oh God...She's coming on to me! "I, um, my...wife and I, we need a room." Buffy tapped her black nails on the counter nervously. She is so not gonna buy that..

"Of course," the girl said, and Buffy could almost see the disappointed "fuck" that was trying to escape from the girl's lips. "Would you like queen-sized, king-sized, or a suite?"

"Uh..." said Buffy intelligently. Spike was approaching. "Um, there's my wife now...I'll go ask her." Buffy stalked over to Spike, and glared down at him. She was ready to forcefully inform him that they were sharing a room, but unfortunately the receptionist followed. "Er, hello, darling," she greeted, a forced smile on her lips.

"Slayer, what the bloody -"

The receptionist began to speak. "Sir, have you and your wife decided yet? There are some other customers waiting."

Suddenly understanding the situation, Spike turned to the receptionist. "There's been a mistake. We're not supposed to be sharing a room. In fact, it'd be great if you put us opposite ends of the bloody building." The receptionist stared at Spike incredulously. She assumed the petite girl was joking...but the tone of her voice had been so serious.

"Ha, ha, ha! She's kidding - really, she's such a comedian! We've decided to share a king-sized room." Buffy liked large beds - lots of sprawling room.

"Certainly," replied the receptionist. "Would you like the $85 a night option, or the $110 one?"

Spike waited for Buffy to pay, but she turned to him, saying "Honey? You have the money, remember?" Grumbling, but not finding a way out the situation, Spike handed the receptionist a wad of green bills. The receptionist handed Buffy two keys, and told them to have a nice day, trying to get rid of them.

"You'll pay for that, Slayer," Spike grumbled.

"Really? You're not gonna hurt me. I'm in your body."

Spike ran a finger down the vain in his wrist. "But I can hurt yours."

Buffy glared at him. "You're a moron - that would kill me. And since you're IN my body, you'd get to die with it. Not to mention that anything you do to my body while you’re in it, I bet you feel. Just to let you know." She stalked off, pounding in frustration on the elevator buttons. When the elevator took too long descending from the 17 floors, she gave up and made her way to the stairs.

Spike was close behind. "Not so fast, Slayer." He jumped up on the stair in front of her, blocking her from climbing any higher. "Pay me back. Half of the cost for the room, I want you to give it to me."

Lips closed tightly, Buffy shook her head.

He took one step closer, a small and frightening smile curling his lips. Spike pressed his body up against hers, experiencing the odd sensation of feeling his own body from the outside. Against his female thigh he could feel...Oh Christ, was he turning the Slayer on? "Slayer," he told her suggestively, "I had no idea you..." he looked down.

Buffy would have blushed furiously if she'd had blood in her cheeks. Shifting so that her erection no longer touched Spike, she glared defiantly despite her surrender. "Fine. I'll give you the money. Now get off me."

Spike backed up, but his senses screamed in disappointment at the lack of contact. Boring into her bright blue eyes, he brushed his fingertips down her cheek. It didn’t matter that they were his eyes, his cheek, because he knew she could feel the touch. She closed her eyes in a mixture of pain, annoyance, and ecstasy.

Then suddenly she pushed past him and ran up the stairs, leaving him sprawled on the steps. Bloody hell, he thought.



I hope the body swap isn't too confusing. For those who are wondering, Spike has Buffy's voice while in her body, and while in his body she has his. 3: LEARN TO LIVE WITH IT

She refused to let him in the room for two hours. She sat just on the other side of the locked door, tossing snide comments his way when he begged her to unlock.

Meanwhile, she used the solitude as time to get to know her new body better. Making sure she was out of his hearing range but he was within her own vampiric one, she familiarized herself with the male anatomy. Sex ed, she decided, is definitely lacking something in its descriptions. She'd sat through all the boring lectures, and of course she'd had that one experience with Angel, but she now found herself somewhat at a loss.

She sat down on the bed and unzipped tight black jeans. Hmm, so Spike didn't wear underwear. Interesting - no, gross. That was very definitely gross, not to mention too much information.

With her index finger, she poked her cock. It didn’t seem to notice. Buffy observed that the skin was softer than she would have imagined. In sex ed she’d often thought that penises looked weird, along the lines of What was God thinking, making it look like that? But when faced with the actual, physical thing, it didn’t look quite as odd as she’d originally thought. Little bit funny looking when it was all limp and everything, but Buffy did know from experience that limpness didn’t stay an issue for very long.

Buffy traced the length of her cock, running her finger up and down. The gentle caress felt nice, and as she felt an delightful tingling sensation within her, she felt the cock twitching beneath her touch. She rubbed faster, harder, causing it to spring to full attention.

Buffy stopped with her hands and stared at it. Not ogling, she told herself. God, it’s huge, and so...huge, and – okay, definitely some ogle action going on here, she admitted to herself. The cock was itching to be touched. Wrapping her hands around her cock experimentally, she squeezed it and rolled it between her palms. It was fascinating, touching such an intimate part of Spike, partly because she knew it was so wrong. Also intriguing was how she could feel the effects of what she was doing. Buffy felt the warm feeling of stimulation roll through her body.

Shifting her hands so that one supported her, she moved the other one up and down. Pleasure coursed through her body and she pumped faster, bucking her hips. She noticed how strange it felt to be active and not have her heart beating wildly inside her ribs. She continued to pump, and a small moan escaped her lips as she caressed the length. To her dismay, Spike, even with his new human ears, picked up the sound.

"Slayer? Bloody hell, what are you doin’ in there?"

"I'm, uh..Spike, did you know you don't have a reflection?" Okay, that had to be the lamest cover-up in the history of forever.

Spike replied cynically. "I'm not surprised, luv. Vampire here, I haven't had one for quite a while. Now let me in this instant, or make me bust down the door to see what you're really doin’."

Buffy hurriedly zipped up her fly, and went to open the door. "You really needed to check up on what I'm doing?" she asked, as if the negative answer should have been obvious.

Spike rolled his hazel, made-up eyes. "Yeah." He stared into her eyes, and she discovered how intimidating her face could be if used correctly. "And besides, I still want my money."

Buffy was about to protest his claims to her purse, but she remembered his ruthless use of embarrassing sexual situations as a persuasion tactic. Glaring daggers – or possibly pointy stakes – she opened her wallet and handed him several crisp bills. Spike pocketed them and then flopped down on the bed, turning on the television.

Buffy stared at him lying on the bed. And then she suddenly noticed something: he was lying on the bed. As in singular. As in, ONLY ONE BED.

"SPIKE! What did you do with the other bed??" she demanded, her demeanor verging on hysteria.

"Nothing, luv, I just came in here a few short seconds past. If anyone did anything with any bed, it has to have been you," he told her pointedly. As if he knew what she had been doing...which Buffy realized, he probably did.

She would have flushed. But what could I have done that would make one bed disappear? All I see is one, really big bed... Suddenly reality dawned on the teenager: she'd rented the $85 a night option. Suddenly the price difference between the two types of king-sized rooms made sense. They had spared a pretty penny, and she and Spike were now sharing a room with only one bed between them. “Dangers of frugality,” Buffy muttered sulkily.

He seemed amused at her discomfort. “What’s that, now?”

"Alright, move. Off, get off the bed." At Spike's confused expression, she informed him, "You're sleeping on the floor." Suddenly a large, fluffy pillow collided with her face - apparently Spike disagreed. "You have to," she ordered the rebel, "You're a vampire, and, and, a guy..."

Spike smirked. "Actually, Slayer..." he cupped his hands around two firm breasts, grinning at the way it felt. "It seems to be the other way around." She glared at him reprovingly, and because she couldn't think of a good comeback. She wasn't sure why she hadn't scolded him for touching her body so intimately; only she knew she wasn't altogether sure she wanted him to stop. It was kind of exciting to look at, voyeuristic as it might be. "Why don't you sleep on the floor and tell me how you like it. Then we'll see about trading places tomorrow. But for now, I get the bed."

Pouting, Buffy shuffled into the bathroom and closed the door. He thought he could punish her by making her sleep on the floor? Well, she'd show him. She'd sleep on the floor, and she'd even like it. Love it. Maybe she could convince him to trade places with her, after propagandizing him about the virtues of sleeping on the floor.

“Uh, Slayer?” Buffy turned around and glared at the man occupying her skin. “What’s this?”

She looked at the stuffed pig he held by the tail. “Oh my God, get your hands off him!” She pulled the pig from Spike’s hands and checked the stitching. “This is Mr. Gordo, and he’s really old and really special and you’ve got to be nice to him...And no, I am not six years old, but thanks for seriously contemplating asking. I know it’s a silly, girly thing, but Mr. Gordo means a lot to me, so you have to be careful with him, or I will kill you, body switch be damned.”

“Alright, alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and stalked into the bathroom. She picked up her toothbrush and lifted it to her mouth. Staring into the mirror, fear struck her unbeating heart at what she saw. A toothbrush floated in mid air, brushing invisible teeth.

A scream tore through the entire third floor.

* * * * * *

She'd never live it down. It was 3 in the morning and an hour after the incident, and he had not stopped laughing at her. The room-service ice cream they'd bought was hardly any consolation.

"So now you see why your sweetheart never kept any mirrors around," he commented, on the verge of laughter. "He didn't want to lapse into puerile screaming bouts every time he tried to gel his hair up. I still can't imagine why your watcher never taught you that vampires haven't got reflections."

Buffy threw her ice-cream container at him - the last comment had been obviously inaccurate and crafted with the sole intention of pissing her off - but he ducked and let it collide with the wall. "Okay, that's it!" she told him, mournfully watching her ice cream drip down the wallpaper. "You made me waste perfectly tasty empty calories on you. Now you have to share." She lunged over to the other side of the bed and thrust her spoon inside the carton.

The man in the Slayer's lithe body protested, "Hey, that's my - That's it, I'll make you pay for all of tomorrow's rent too!"

Enjoying his ice cream and giggling, Buffy teased him without thinking. "Oh yeah? How are you gonna make me?"

Spike could think of a million ways of the top of his head, and not a single one of them was particularly violent or at all evil. Irritated, Spike invented several gory ideas and added them to the list of sexually embarrassing situations. It was terrible how this little blonde teenager had changed him. First the truce, then the pity and the helping - combine that with the lustful attraction he felt towards her, and he might as well kiss his reputation goodbye and don a white hat. Maybe he'd get himself a poncy name like Angel while he was at it. Maybe Puff, or Sir Butterfly. Or Soddin’ Wanker.

Rolling her blue eyes at his contemplative expression, she leaned over him and devoured his ice cream. Whenever he squirmed against her she felt her cock respond. It must just be his body, lusting after mine, that's making it do that, she told herself, Cos I have so not got feelings for him. Well, okay maybe little lusty ones, but they all have to do directly with his appearance, and nothing more.

To his dismay, Spike found himself enjoying their almost-innocent snuggle-fest. He watched as lips that had once been in his possession closed over the spoon. Even if it was his body, when he thought of Buffy being inside, he wanted to suck on those lips until they were swollen. What is this? he thought. I'm supposed to be mean and evil. This is all that Slayer's bleeding fault!

"It's all gone," the Slayer whined in dismay. "Spike, can -" she was halted by the way he was staring at her. His gaze was intent and a little pained, and focused all on her.

Spike hated himself. If he wanted to kiss her so badly, then why didn't he? He was evil, right? He didn't understand what as holding him back. His expression changing to one of resolve, he leaned in to capture her lips with his.

She pulled away, shocked and trying to look disgusted. "Spike! Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Only what's natural, luv. You can't deny that there's somethin’ between us." He hoped she couldn’t. He wanted her to sit her ass down while he tried to kiss her.

"Yeah," she agreed sarcastically. "There is something between us – space! And more and more of it as I back away from you." She backed off the edge of the bed and then ran into a wall.

Spike sucked in his cheeks, making the gentle, round cheeks look hollow. There was something, he could feel it. Why was she so resistant? When would that aggravating bitch figure out what she wanted? Judging by her erection, she seemed to want him at least a little bit. Spike doubted she’d admit it any time in the present century, however, and he figured wouldn’t get over thinking the words “her erection” any sooner.

She walked over to the television and turned it off angrily. "Spike, be quiet now. I'm going to sleep." Grabbing Mr. Gordo and the comforter off the bed, she curled up on the floor and closed her eyes.

She hadn't realized exactly how hard the floor would be. She kept shifting her position, trying to find a way to sleep that didn't mash her skin against her bones. She found sleep quite elusive, and the few moments she managed to drift off, she was bombarded with nightmares about Angelus hurling her into a wall. A very hard wall, which slammed into her in the exact places the floor pressed against.

Spike groaned. The Slayer was making at least twice the noise he was making. What a hypocrite. "Slayer?" he whispered. If she was asleep, he didn't want to anger her, because he was sure her creative Slayer brain could come up with some terrible form of torture.

"What, Spike? Leave me alone, I'm trying to sleep."

He smirked. "You always this noisy?"

There was no reply. Maybe she had actually achieved slumber.

Five minutes later, he heard her covers shift. Then he could pick out footsteps and the creak of bedsprings. He strained his human eyes and saw a dark form sliding under the covers. "Slayer?"

"Alright, so the floor was harder than I thought. Happy?" Spike laughed at her, and she rolled over to punch him in the stomach. Her hand came in contact with bare flesh, and roamed around a bit to assure itself of the implications. "Spike? Are you naked?"

"I always sleep like this, Slayer."

There was silence again, but Spike doubted that his conversation partner had actually fallen asleep. Seconds later, he heard snoring.

"Slayer? Vampires don't snore. We don't breathe when we're asleep."

"Oh."

* * * * * *

"Show me my little, treacherous snakes," said the vampire.

The mage needed to take a few moments to process the demand.

"Are they backwards and inside out? I told you to punish my little snakes!"

The mage suddenly understood what Drusilla wanted. "You...want to see the Slayer and the Vampire." Drusilla nodded as if he were an exceptionally stupid child. He waved his hands and the image appeared before their eyes.

"I call that the "Wicked Witch of the West" spell," he commented casually, proudly. Drusilla, however, was far too involved in what she saw.

"No..." the crazy vampire murmured in shock. "'E was my bad puppy, before 'er. What 'as she done to my Spike?"

* * * * * *

"No, Angel!" she screamed. She struggled against the hands that were holding her, trying to get to him. She had to explain why she'd killed him!

"Buffy, you can't go to him, you have to kick his ass," Willow told her. It was Willow who had her arms around Buffy, pulling her back.

"Yeah, Buff, kick his ass!" chorused Xander and Giles with excitement, apparently helping to restrain the Slayer.

"Buffy..." whispered Angel sadly. "I'm sorry for what I did... God, you have no idea how sorry..."

"NO!" screamed Buffy as she saw him falling into a swirling portal. Her friends’ hands were shaking her, pulling her away from the newly ensouled vampire...

"Slayer!" shouted Spike, trying to stop her writhing. She'd already tangled all the covers around herself, and she was crying and screaming wildly. "Buffy!" he shook her hard, willing her to wake up from her nightmare.

Her terrified blue eyes popped open, and she stared at him in fear. And then confusion. "Spike?"

"Shh..." he murmured, as he pulled her into his arms. She was bigger than him, but he wrapped his small arms around her and pulled her head and shoulders into his lap. "Shh, Buffy, it's going to be alright."

She sobbed into his stomach, clutching Mr. Gordo tightly to her chest. But her mind was racing. Buffy...Did he just call me Buffy?
4: FEEDING TIME

Spike was the first to wake up in the morning. Despite the sensation of waking up to daylight being entirely new to him, he adapted to his situation quickly, deciding to use the opportunity to take a shower without Buffy's interference. The ex-vampire noticed that Buffy's arms were tightly clutched around his middle, and he was somewhat captured by the embrace of her legs as well. Carefully extricating himself from her limbs and climbing off the bed without waking her, he padded on little Slayer feet to the bathroom.

Although he'd been anticipating it, he was not quite prepared to look at himself in the mirror. A cute little hazel-eyed girl, with a light golden tan and highlighted hair, stared back at him. Spike was glad he'd already come to terms with Buffy's sexiness, because otherwise the feelings evoked by staring at her naked body might have come as quite a shock.

Spike noticed a pair of scabs on the smooth and very kissable neck. A wave of pride washed over him as he remembered that he'd marked her. He'd bitten the Slayer. Chuckling to himself, he wondered what Buffy was going to think when she remembered.

Deciding that his unlife only got better, he stepped into the shower.

* * * * * *

Buffy awoke to the uncomfortable feel of skin being pressed into denim wrinkles. Oh right. I slept in Spike's jeans. She was used to sleeping in her flannel pajamas, but even if she hadn't left them in Sunnydale she doubted they'd fit her new body. She could of course make Spike wear them - that would be interesting in itself - but it wouldn't solve her problem.

A rumbling in her stomach interrupted her inner monologue. It surprised her that vampire stomachs growled, but nonetheless she realized she was hungry. She grabbed her purse, but then realized that maybe she could manipulate Spike into paying for room service, so she decided to wait for him.

Finally she heard the shower turn off, and a wet and dripping Spike strolled out of the bathroom. Buffy stared at him, scandalized. "Spike! Get dressed now!"

Spike looked down at the petite feminine body he was wearing. "Why? 'S not like you've never seen it before," he commented.

"Well, I know, but...You're in there now, and that means you’re naked, and..." having been unable to find a coherent argument, she glared at him with an expression that clearly said "Your question is so stupid it doesn't deserve an answer." Smirking, Spike put on Buffy's only pair of clothes.

Buffy's hungry stomach complained again. "Hungry, Slayer?" Spike asked, grinning.

"Yeah, and - Oh! It's your fault somehow, so you have to pay for room service. So hand over the cash, and I'll make the call."

Spike tossed his wallet in the air repeatedly, catching it deftly each time. "Now is that really a good use of my money?" Buffy rolled her eyes at him. "Well, you see, you sure as hell can eat all that, but you're still goin’ to be just as hungry. There's this thing about vampires, see, where we drink blood. Maybe your watcher neglected to teach you about that too, but -"

"Eew. Spike, I am not drinking blood. Ever."

Spike snorted derisively. Then he happened to catch the look on her face: the look of someone who's lost everything, for whom things only seem to get worse; the look of a girl who wouldn't be surprised to hear she's in Hell. "Slayer, it's not all that bad. We can find you pig's blood - humans eat that." He sat beside her on the bed, putting an arm around her shoulders.

"Will it taste bad?" Buffy was surprised that he was willing to help her, instead of watching and laughing. It seemed like he was trying to make her feel better - and that was odd, even though this wasn't the first time. Buffy remembered the previous night, how he'd talked to her after she killed Angelus. Maybe the whole ‘Big Bad’ thing is a total smoke screen, she thought.

"Not as good as the real stuff, but it'll fit with your morals self-righteous morals and all." She shot him a glare, but then snuggled back into his embrace.

"How do we get pig's blood? I think Angel just kept it in a cooler, but..."

Spike looked thoughtful. He'd never had to locate pig's blood before; he'd always been able to get human blood on tap. "S'pose we could call a butcher's or something...Sounds like a good place to start, anyway."

* * * * * *

By the time they parked the Desoto in a shady parking lot behind the butcher's, both stomachs were screaming. Buffy whined every time she was reminded of her hunger, but Spike was almost entirely quiet. Only when her complaints grew especially irritating did he inform her that she wasn't the only hungry one around, so to please shut the bloody hell up.

This particular butcher was obviously not very familiar with the needs of the undead, because all the windows were wide open. Buffy glanced around the shop apprehensively, refusing to move beyond the shadows that covered the back of the shop. "Spike..." she whined. "I'm going to starve myself to death!"

"Shh. Just wait here, luv, and I'll go buy you a few pints."

Buffy watched Spike walk up to the counter and order the blood. She realized that if it weren't in high-heeled boots, the little Slayer body would be only a head's height taller than the counter. Embarrassing, most definitely. As Spike returned to her with the much-needed sustenance, his belated complaints finally kicked in. "Slayer. I’m starving. We are going to a restaurant, now." He pushed her out the back door and into the parking lot. Grumbling, Buffy climbed into the passenger seat, primly sipping her blood.

Spike pulled out of the parking lot and onto a multi-lane road. He was so engrossed in his thoughts of Happy Meals that weren't on legs that he didn't see the car tailing him.

"Spike," Buffy called in annoyance. "Hello-o, earth to Spike? There's a police car behind you."

"Bollocks." He swerved and pulled over next to the sidewalk.

"Moron."

The police car pulled over behind them and a stout woman climbed out of the car with a notebook. "If she tickets me, eat her."

Buffy made a face, which would have looked cute if performed by her original visage, but just looked odd on Spike's. "Yuck."

"Excuse me, miss?" the policewoman interjected. She tapped on the blacked-out window and Spike rolled it down. "You look a tad on the young side. Could I see your license?"

Spike fumbled in Buffy's purse for a wallet, but upon opening it he found there to be nothing in the way of a driver's license. Soddin’ bint.. "I'm sorry, but I guess I left it at home." At the cop's icy stare, he continued. "You know, I also left my cell...Today's just been...hectic."

Pathetic, Buffy thought. She isso not buying that crap. Realizing that an angry Spike would probably force her to pay the ticket, she hurriedly chose to cover for him. "Really, it's been a hard day. A hard, hard...Buffy's mother, she just die-passed away on Monday, which was four days ago, a-and today we went to pick a coffin...Which, you know, is a hard, very hard thing..." Okay, I'm not really any better...

Spike leapt at his chance to save their asses and their cash: he started crying. Buffy was appalled; it was so sneaky, and he was making her make-up look even worse than it already did after being slept on. The policewoman looked taken aback, and even more so when Spike resumed talking. "My dad is gone...He's always away on some business trip or another, and so I have to get the funeral ready all by myself..." Sob, sob.

The policewoman wiped her moist eyes with her manicured fingers. "I'm very sorry, miss, it sounds terrible...I can't believe you're holding yourself together as well as you seem to be, given the awful circumstances..."

Spike smiled sweetly at Buffy. "Well, thank God for Spike! I don't know how I'd ever manage without him, he is the sweetest, most understanding boyfriend ever..." Buffy poked Spike angrily.

"Yes, well, you must be incredibly lucky. Now, I'll let you two get on your way home. And I'm incredibly sorry about your mother..." She drove off.

"Well, Slayer, that was bloody brilliant!" Spike grinned, basking in the glory of the successful lie.

"Yeah, well, you were good too. And that bit about my dad was a stroke of genius!"

"Can't deny it." Spike pulled away from the curb and merged with the traffic. "Where is he, actually? It's odd, I've never seen him around..."

The laughter in Buffy's eyes died and her smile shrank. "They're divorced. That's the main reason we moved, I guess." Spike could tell she was biting back tears.

He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, patting her toned bicep. "Shh. Your mum's a strong woman. You're better off learning from her anyway. Hell, that woman can really wield an axe."

Buffy smiled slightly. It seemed like Spike was becoming her reliable comfort blankie, and he was doing a nice job of it. He always figured out what to say. Maybe there was more to this unusual so-called evil vampire than she'd thought.

 

5: TALK IT OUT

“1 large Whopper, 1 large fries, 2 large drinks, and a kids’ Happy Meal?” the employee repeated skeptically.

“He doesn’t eat much,” Spike replied, gesturing at his actual body. The pimply teenager’s eyebrows only went higher as he took in the size of the blonde female placing the order.

“Right-o, that’ll be $33.80.” Spike handed over the cash just as he felt Buffy’s hand on his arm.

“Spike, we’ve gotta talk.” The former-vampire nodded and gestured for her to follow him to the soda machine.

“So, Slayer. Spill.”

Buffy watched the level of Mountain Dew rise in one of the large paper cups. “Spike, you can’t fill my body up with this much junk food! And besides, Mountain Dew – EEW? It’s bad enough that I have to drink platelets, but I refuse to get fat on your watch. Large burger, large fries, large soda, and a Happy Meal, even if it is sans legs? That’s about 200 calories too many.”

Spike stared at her for several long seconds of silence. Then, “Is that how you get so skinny? You starve yourself and patrol off the few ounces you do eat?”

“Spike,” she said, obviously not amused, “I’m not anorexic.”

“No. Just obnoxious.”

The employee tapped the pick-up counter impatiently. “Your order is ready?”

The pair fell into silence as they went to pick up their breakfast and locate a table. As she passed him with her beeline for the booth she wanted, Buffy muttered, “You are so embarrassing.”

“I’m embarrassing, Slayer?” Buffy turned, mouth open, to spit some spicy retort out at him, but she found herself caught in his penetrating stare. How does he do that? she thought. I thought it was a vampire thing, but my human eyes seem to be working fine for him... After she realized she was gaping at him, not to mention looking into his eyes intently, she managed to tear her gaze away. Stupid vampire.

Buffy and Spike avoided each other’s gaze for Spike’s entire hamburger. Spike noticed with frustration that Buffy seemed to be ignoring him effortlessly, sipping on her Coke and reading the advertisements on the tray insert. In contrast, he was finding it nearly impossible to ignore her – he would hear her chewing, or shifting in her seat, or see her in the periphery of his vision. Once or twice he tried to alter his position to increase the comfort level of the booth, but every time he moved his legs they bumped into hers. If he consciously tried to stop thinking about her, unbidden images rose to dance behind his eyes. He remembered kissing her soft lips, remembered sinking his fangs into her sweet-smelling skin and letting her blood pool up on his tongue, remembered holding her while she slept...

“What?” she asked in annoyance.

“Nothing.”

She rolled her eyes. “You were staring at my neck!”

“Well, actually,” he began, “It’s my– ” He shook his head. “Slayer, we need to talk.”

She popped several of his fries into her mouth. Spike thought they had to talk? What the fuck about? She decided to ask.

“Bloody hell, Slayer. About this...thing – whatever it is – that we have.” Spike mentally slapped himself. His speech was even less eloquent than hers. Why couldn’t his inner poet rear his poncy head when he was actually needed?

Buffy raised her eyebrows.

“Not that I’m saying...It’s just, we teamed up for a purpose, but before that – there were clear reasons why I never killed you. Why I never really tried. And I’m starting to think there might have been similar once that were keeping me alive. Cos you’re one hell of a good fighter, Buffy.”

There it is again, she thought. Him, making with the “Buffy”...

“The tension building between...Th- It’s like a rush, the thrill and the fear, when we’re around each other, Slayer. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it.”

Buffy cocked her head, in a way that drove Spike crazy when she did it in her own body, with her golden hair slipping over her shoulders. “Spike...What are you saying?”

“Just- It's not so unusual. Two people...in the workplace...feelings develop.” He chanced a look at her face, to gauge her response.

What he saw made him regret opening his mouth in the first place. Some things obviously worked better as private thoughts than as conversation starters. “No!” she shouted, not quite sure whom she was trying to convince. “No, no, feelings do not develop. No feelings.” In her frenzy Buffy tipped over the paper cup of ketchup, spilling the thick red paste over her tray and the table.

Damn. Bloody hell and bugger. He’d certainly botched that one up. As he stared at the red mess, Spike wondered with detached interest whether or not the damage was irreparable. “Not talking ‘bout poncy feelings. I mean heat, passion–“

“This– This is insane! Crazy, ok?” Buffy stood up, clambering out of the booth. “We shouldn’t be talking, there shouldn’t be anything to talk about. What you’re saying...It-it’s wrong, and, and it’s not real.”

Already losing, he reminded himself. Not much else I can say that’ll screw this up more than it already is. “But it is real, Slayer. No matter what you, or I, have to say about it.” His blonde head had been turned downwards, studying the ketchup, but now he looked defiantly into her eyes.

“To you, maybe. But you’re sick, you’re a vampire!” Buffy ran her fingers though her platinum hair, realizing that the gel made the task no easy feat. “But me, all I have to say is...Whatever you say when you refuse to say anything.”

“Slayer –” God, how did she do that? Just by talking, she made his body feel all warm inside. Okay, so it was actually her body, but it was still warmer than usual. Especially in the between-the-legs vicinity...

“No! Just – leave me alone!”

His stomach twisted, as if she’d punched him with more than just words.

The nerve she’s got, to say that to me...I’m helping her out, slaughtering my bloody reputation to help her take a break from Sunnyhell, and she says to sod off? He stood up as well, pain-based anger fueling his outburst. “Fine! Bloody fine. You know, if you get your rocks off living at Burger King, then feel fucking free to do it, as it’s fine with me!”

Spike started to walk away, with of course no intention of actually carrying through with his threat. He wanted her to beg him to stay, to apologize and maybe offer to consider what he’d said.

Two steps later, he heard the first sob. It was immediately followed by three more sobs and then a wet-sounding gasp. She’s crying again?!

“Spike...” she squeezed in between noises that sounded a good deal uglier, “You’re wrong, you’ve got to be...I know what lust is like; it’s wrong, and it only leads to bad places...” Like Angel. And Acathla. And the sword. “Trust me...you don’t want to start...”

“Slayer...” He was at her side again, wrapping his arms around her, much like he had in the mansion. Only it was more awkward, considering he’d suddenly become the smaller one of the pair. “You needn’t worry your pretty head. I’m nothing like Angel. And ‘sides, if you shag me, I can’t suddenly turn evil, since I already am.”

Suddenly she looked at him, teary but icily penetrating eyes holding his with a ferocious glare. “Gee, thanks, Spike. Cordelia can has more tact.”

Bugger.

* * * * * *

Amelia Reinhardt sifted through a portfolio of papers, crushing the phone between her ear and her firm shoulder. “Yes...180 North Appleton...Definitely, you should...Prices? I’ll let you know...Mm-hmm...Well, thank you, Mr. Barry. Good day.”

With a curt sigh, she replaced the phone on the hook and snapped the portfolio shut. She allowed herself one and a half minutes of reclining peacefully in her chair before getting back to business. Even if it was the kind of business that didn’t pay as well as real estate.

Amelia opened one of her desk’s drawers, examining its contents. She carefully selected several objects and placed them on the desk’s surface, peering at them through a magnifying glass. The antique kitchenware glittered at her in an almost conspiratorial way, as if they were in on the secret of her game.

Amelia knew the price she’d paid for the silver spoons, forks, and knives had been far more expensive than their worth...Or rather, more expensive than their worth as antiques. But when she brought her fingers near the polished metal, her senses picked up a reassuring buzz. Her grumpiness about the overpricing melted away – her new magical dining utensils just might fetch her a small fortune on the demon market.

She needed to build up as much money as possible if she was to carry out her plans. And she wanted to carry them out as soon as possible.

* * * * * *

The sun had moved and there was no longer a save pathway of shade leading to the Desoto. Spike went ahead to unlock the car and open the passenger-side door, and Buffy made a wild dash under the cover of the duster. Even though Spike wasn’t expecting a barrage of thanks, he ended up being disappointed nonetheless by the untrateful silence that followed.

Buffy said absolutely nothing to him; she just slouched in her seat and adopted a pouty face. Gazing at it, Spike realized that pouting wasn’t really such a bad look for him. If he ever decided to give up being evil and menacing in the future, he decided he should seriously consider adopting the pout expression.

“Slayer?” He returned his focus to the road, hoping to keep the conversation as uncharged as possible.

She picked at the chipped black nail polish on her fingernails. A pile of little black chips of polish was collecting on Buffy’s stomach. “I don’t want to talk to you Spike.”

Spike felt the rumble in his mind that was usually voiced by a growl in his vampire body. The Slayer had a lot of bloody nerve. “Well I don’t really fancy talking to you either, so I guess that makes two of us then,” he shot back. Sodding Slayer.

She offered him one especially icy glare and then went pack to picking off her nail polish.

Way to calm her down, you daft wanker. Not that she doesn’t deliberately turn every conversation into the bloody Inquisition. Spike resorted to the feeble art of bribery. Nonchalantly he reached over her lap to flip open the glove compartment. He drew out a bag of truffles, dropping it in his lap. He extracted one sweet and undid the wrapper with his free hand and his teeth, popping the treat into his mouth.

Buffy couldn’t help herself. Her mouth was practically watering at the prospect of truffle melting on her tongue...No! She was supposed to be pissed off as hell at this guy. How come she constantly had to remind herself of that? The Slayer compromised with herself – she watched enviously as he enjoyed his candy, but kept her arms firmly crossed across her chest in a semblance of resistance.

He swallowed. “Want one?” he asked, his lips twitching into a small, mischievous smile. As if he thought the whole situation couldn’t be more hilarious. Without waiting for a response that he quite correctly assumed wasn’t coming, Spike held a tantalizing raspberry truffle in front Buffy’s face. “Those ones are the best,” he offered.

Buffy hesitated two seconds for show, and then succumbed. “Can I have it?”

“Say please.” He smirked; he was loving every second of this, Buffy could tell.

“Okay, fine. Please. Please give me a truffle.”

Grinning, Spike brought the sweet closer to her mouth and placed it ceremoniously on her tongue, withdrawing his fingers slowly enough to feel her lips closing around them. Although she wasn’t a fan of patronizing and altogether too sexy way he’d fed her, Buffy discovered that the truffles were as delicious as she’d imagined.

She noticed Spike reaching into the bag for a second helping, and she assaulted him with her pouting, pleading, puppy-dog look.

He thought it was bloody fucking gorgeous.

“Spike? Why did you have these in your car? Do you eat human food normally?”

He chewed a few times and swallowed. “Wouldn’t exactly call this food, luv.”

“Angel never ate any.” She ran her tongue over her blunt, human teeth. Of course, I’ve been eating some human food too. Not that I’m a normal vampire, by any means.

Spike gave Buffy a look that very clearly pronounced DUH. “’Course not. He might actually run the risk of enjoying it, and ruin his entire soulful, brooding persona.”

The Slayer rolled her eyes, but in a way she recognized that Spike had a point. Perhaps majorly over-exaggerated, but still a point. But thinking at all made her mind drift.

Angel and his soul.

Angelus.

Acathla.

Buffy’s mind relived those horrible moments, fighting Angelus, the demon who wore the body of her lover. Plunging a sword through his gut and waiting for the blow of sadness to hit through the shock. She wasn’t sure it had yet.

Spike looked over at Buffy, who was gazing fixedly out the window. She seemed to have forgotten about his presence, and she definitely had forgotten to be angry with him about the Angel remark. The whole deal was worrisome.

Buffy didn’t even know what hit her. Suddenly she careened full-force into a wall of water, and the world seemed to shrink as the wave swept over her head and crashed over her shoulders. There weren’t words to summarize her thoughts. There were barely even thoughts. All she had was a numbingly painful sensation that was beyond thought or understanding.

Spike pulled over sharply, running the front tire up on the curb. He popped her seatbelt and pulled her over the gearshift into his lap. She snuggled into his chest, sobbing wildly. Spike was dimly aware of how awkward it was to have a much larger person seeking comfort from his lap, but he didn’t give it much thought. He knew the Slayer had finally hit the largest wave of grief, which was an emotion with which Spike was fairly acquainted. From this point onwards, there would be less denial of what had happened, but probably plenty more sobbing.

Spike rubbed her back. “Shh, Buffy...Buffy, it’ll be alright. Not yet, but it will be alright.”
6: GOOD AND EVIL

“I know I killed Angelus. I know he was evil and was trying to kill everyone, but it doesn’t change anything.” Buffy spooned the last of the chocolate ice cream into her mouth. She looked up at Spike, for...something. Understanding? Reassurance? Comfort? “I still feel like it was Angel I killed. I can’t stop thinking, what if, just at the end, Angel came back and wondered why the hell I was killing him...And...If that were true, I don’t know if I could live with myself.”

Spike started to lean over, to touch her shoulder and tell her everything would somehow right itself, but he stopped. What the bloody hell is happening to me? I’m turning into the soddin’ Poofter!
Without a word he jumped out of his chair and left the room.

Buffy heard the door slam. Anger surged through her body. What was his problem anyway? She’d been in the middle of share mode, and he just walked out on her moment of deepness. That’s what I get for picking an evil vampire as my heartfelt talk victim, I guess.

She realized that her eyes were puffy and most likely red from crying, and the rest of her had the sensation of being gross and sticky. A shower seemed just the thing to soothe her skin and soften her anger. She shuffled to the bathroom and turned on the water.

* * * * * *

Amelia drove through the classy wide-spaced neighborhood. Every few miles another luxurious Beverly Hills house greeted her. As she sped by in her shiny convertible, the fizzling sensation inside her chest grew. She knew she was getting close. The psychic energy emanating from whatever she was looking for was impossible to miss, at least for a woman of her abilities.

As she drove past one impeccably stylish building, firecrackers seemed to go off inside her skull. She u-turned and pulled into the driveway.

* * * * * *

As Spike sauntered down the hallways, he began to feel more like his old self again. Provided, of course, that his old self wore heels and a bra. What got me acting like such a ponce anyway? he wondered.

His reflection in the vending machine window had shoulder-length blonde hair, made-up but slightly smudgy eyes, small but preternaturally strong body, and a sturdy pair of 3-inch heels.

Buffy. It was all her fault. There was something about that woman that was absolutely unforgettable. Something that caused master vampires to follow her like lovesick puppies, and to do whatever she wanted, give her whatever she needed. When she was around, it was easy to turn into a complete git.

Spike slammed his open hand against the plastic of the window, sending a long crack up and down the height of the vending machine. 5 packs of Reese’s and a roll of Lifesavers fell off their hooks.

He just had to remember to be bad. Maybe not really bad, but bad enough to prevent people from hearing the words “big” and “bad” in conjunction with his name and bursting out laughing. Especially not Dru. He needed to be evil for his Dark Princess, whenever he found her.

The only problem was...he had a growing desire to be good for Buffy.

* * * * * *

“Shh! I see it, Miss Edith. A strange gentleman’s coming to town, and 'e’s planning a party! Ooh,” she sang, “I do love a party.”

Dru laid out porcelain tea dishes for herself and her dolls. The vampire danced around her table, straightening the cloth and folding the napkins, humming.

“An' 'is friends...'elp 'im for ambition...and anger.” Her fledgling watched her dubiously, and she wished Spike were there with her. Even if he weren’t quite as evil as her Daddy, he was patient with her and he tried his best to listen to her.

Because Drusilla knew something important was coming. She could feel the energy crackling in the air, and she could see the arrival of the newcomer in her mind. Something big and bad was coming, and she was excited.

Busy singing and dancing, she didn’t hear the door open behind her.

* * * * * *

Buffy let the hot water pound against her face. Not having to breathe is way better than it seems it would be, she thought to herself. Just like a lot of things. She realized she wasn’t sure what other things she meant. Maybe I mean now. Running away has turned out to be a lot better than I thought it would be. Even with the Spike part.

Or maybe it was because of the Spike part. Maybe the sarcastic, quasi-evil, bleach-blonde vampire was one of the things she’d been thinking of. Sure, he could be annoying and rude as hell, but he could be nice too. There were worse vamps to be stuck with. Like, say, Angelus.

There he was again, haunting her. Can I ever be rid of him?

Her thoughts could take short-lived vacations from him, but he was never far. Buffy wondered why she was able to think about it all somewhat rationally. How come I’m not more upset? I should be devastated. I should be drowning in sorrow, crawling into some cave somewhere to die, but I’m not. And was that black humor? Maybe it’s not...white...humor, but any color of humor seems like for-the-better kind of thing.

She rubbed shampoo into her bleached hair, and then rinsed her entire body off. How come I’m not as upset as I should be?

With her vampire hearing, Buffy probably could have heard the door click open, but she wasn’t listening for it. Spike closed the door behind himself and it occurred to him that the Slayer was no longer on the bed. He dumped half of the candy on the bed and stuffed the rest into a pocket of the duster draped over one of the chairs. And that was his coat, by the way, and even if it was too long for his current body, he was going to wear it anyway. He was not letting the Slayer continue her use of his precious leather duster. He’d have to remember to yell at her about that later.

Spike sat down in the other chair and grabbed the advertisement triangle on the table for light reading.

He was mesmerized by the artistic shot of the indoor/outdoor swimming pool. It shined and tantalized in all of its aquatic blue glory. Spike checked the pool’s hours.

7:00 AM – 11:00 PM. He felt like he wanted to kiss whomever had switched his body with the Slayer’s.

Buffy had packed a bright red bikini. Spike grinned. It was one of his colors. It was potentially sexy, too. He stripped off his clothes and put it on, the whole time in front of the mirror. He loved having a reflection again. Also, the whole watching-Buffy-change element had an erotic side to it anyway.

Spike snatched a towel from the bathroom and was out the door shortly before Buffy turned off the water.

The pool was completely empty. There was a shabby-looking old guy in the hot tub, but Spike had the entire deliciously wet pool to himself. He dove into the clear water and skimmed just above the bottom. He came up for breath at the orchid-covered island, and then slipped back into the water to pass into the outdoor section of the pool.

The midday sun felt wonderful against his skin. He recognized it as the first time in 100+ years he’d felt the warmth of the sun. He’d come close though. It didn’t compare, but half of the golden warm, half of the bliss he felt now he also felt when he was around Buffy. What a poncy, poetic notion, he realized, but instead of disposing it he let it float around in his body. He would have like to dismiss the original realization and forget about it, but as it was already out there and he knew it to be true, he might as well let it be. Embarrassing as it was, Buffy brought out the terrible poet in him and he found himself wanting to try and fail to capture her essence on the page. He hadn’t written a single poem since his first few months with Dru.

Spike used the side of the pool to lift himself up and then roughly throw himself backwards into the water. You’re evil, he firmly reminded himself. You’re an evil bloodsucker in a temporary working relationship with the Slayer. He floated on his back. Not to mention she denies any relationship with you at all.

With his internal lectures finished, Spike realized that the scruffy man had vacated the hot tub. Spike climbed out of the pool and walked over to the bubbling bath that he had all to himself.

He winced as the hot water scalded his pedicured feet, but soon he was able to slide into the hot tub and enjoy the sensation of bubbles pressing into his skin.

One jet stream blasted directly against his back. Shifting under its rough attention, Spike caused the water to shoot between his legs and brush lightly on the edge of his outer labia. This could be fun, he realized. He turned around, and allowed the water to pound full on between his legs. The touch of the jet wasn’t as firm as fingers would be, and so its tickling was tantalizing.

Spike slid the bottom half of the bikini off, and the sensation increased tenfold. The water massaged his swollen nub and at the same time danced over the rest of his pussy. He felt ecstasy building within him.

And then he heard the door open. Flustered, he hurriedly turned around and grabbed at where he’d put the bikini bottoms. Only...they weren’t there. He sank lower into the bubbly water.

The young couple came over to the hot tub and joined Spike. They didn’t seem too interested in talking to him, but they murmured to each other in German. Bloody tourists.

Several times Spike saw a flash of red spin past the couple before being sucked once more into the spinning water. Well, isn’t this just dandy, Spike grumbled to himself. The Germans kept staring at him, and he wondered if they were able to discern more of his nakedness than he’d anticipated. Buffy is going to kill me. She won’t even care about the body-swap. She’ll have murder first and foremost in her mind.

Shockingly enough, the male German glanced at his waterproof watch and suddenly his relaxed expression became panic-stricken. He told his companion something and the two of them scrambled out of the tub.

“Bye,” the male told Spike with a heavy accent.

“See ya,” Spike replied, although he didn’t have any particular desire to do so. Ever.

As they were leaving, Spike heard the gentleman again say something in English. “Thank you.” Maybe his honey took French in school, ‘stead of English, Spike reasoned. Too caught up in the shit he would be very deep in as soon as he ran into Buffy, he was startled when she spoke to him from halfway to the hot tub.

“Hey Spike,” called Buffy cheerily. “Thought I’d join you.”

“Lucky me,” he replied sarcastically. He noticed what she was wearing, and raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, yeah.” Pointing to the black Speedo that left little room for questions concerning the vampire’s lower endowments, she explained, “I noticed you didn’t have a swimsuit packed, so I had to buy one from the gift shop. Like it?” She slipped into the water.

Spike guiltily sank lower in the tub, letting the water fan his golden hair out around his shoulders. “’Least it’s black.”

“Gee, unthankful much?” Buffy realized she was smiling broadly – an activity in which, in her current state of suffocating depression, she should not be participating – and quickly transformed her face to neutral. The whole ordeal somehow reminded her of the shower she’d just taken, and despite not remembering what she’d been thinking about, this struck her as a not-good thing.

Spike smirked. “I’ll give you bloody thanks, Slayer.” Reaching out his foot, he brushed his toes over her hardened cock. Buffy stiffened and clenched her jaw against a pleasure-filled groan.

She spat, “You are so dust, Spike!” Buffy scooted out of reach of the offending limb and sank into the relaxing pounding of the water, sighing. “Any day now.”

Something bright red spun around in the bubbles and plastered itself against Buffy’s white chest. Spike winced.

Buffy peeled the bikini bottom from her skin and gave the vampire the iciest, most terrifying glare he’d ever seen.

* * * * * *

Amelia rammed the brass knocker six times. Once to get attention, a second time to make sure the attention had been gotten, a third to initiate a sense of urgency, a fourth to spur the answerer on as they raced to the door, and twice more for good measure.

However, no answerer came running. “Hello?” Amelia called. “Anyone home?”

She turned the handle and the door creaked open. Amelia walked inside and searched for a napping senior citizen or some other type of person who would fail to answer the door. “I’m with home insurance,” she lied to the empty house, in case it wasn’t empty.

The real estate agent wandered through every downstairs room and then climbed the stairs. If Amelia were the kind of person who watched movies for entertainment, she might have wondered if she’d stepped right into Edward Scissor-hands, but she was not that kind of person.

After the attic she searched the cellar. Upon opening the door, energy hit her so forcefully she nearly stumbled off her work heels. In the middle of the first room a chasm crackled with its electric blue light. Even if a person missed the spatial disturbance, he would have noticed the stench wafting from the carcass in front of the chasm.

An ugly green thing was stuck halfway out of the hole. It’s mantis-like arms waved in frustration. Amelia gazed at the monster. Then she briskly brushed some cellar dust from her suit before speaking. “You’re the Fantasma demon that is trapped crossing over, correct? I may have a deal you’d be interested in.

“I don’t need low prices in home insurance,” the demon gurgled.

“Good.” Amelia inspected her dark red nails. “I’m not offering them. I don’t even sell insurance.”7: AGAINST NATURE

“Hi, Mrs. Summers.” Xander squeezed through the door, two large paper bags in tow. Willow followed and closed the door.

“Xander. Willow.”

Xander grinned. “We thought you might be a bit lonely.”

“We came bearing snacks,” added Willow, a little too cheerily.

Joyce smiled weakly, helping her daughter’s friends set the take-out and desserts on the coffee table. “Thanks, you two.” She nibbled on a sugar cookie. “Do you...Do you think she’ll ever...”

“Of course she will.” Xander nodded in agreement. “She didn’t leave for good, she just...needed a break from her Sunnydale life, for a while.

* * * * * *

“Just a quick slay,” she pleaded. “I’ll only be a few minutes.” Spike pulled over 2 blocks from the McDonald’s, leaving the motor running.

“Make it fast, I’m hungry,” he urged the girl occupying his body. “And Buffy, be...careful. Don’t want you messin’ up my body.”

“God! Who are you, my mother?” She groaned, and closed the car door, strolling into the alley. A petite figure followed her, hugging the shadows.

Buffy approached the pair of vampires that was hunched over a body. Human, Buffy’s nose told her. She could hear a faint heartbeat. Alive. The female vamps were dressed in vinyl mini-skirts and Go-Go boots that just screamed 60s.

“Hey,” Buffy addressed the two, “Have you guys checked your calendars lately? It’s 1998, by the way. You should think about picking up a magazine or two for fashion inspiration.” Dealing a forceful kick to one vampire’s stomach, Buffy sent the fashion nightmare flying off her tall shoes. She drove the stake into her adversary’s heart.

Buffy approached the second vampire, who backed away. “Wh-what do you think you’re doing, staking your own kind?”

“Hey – “ The insulted Buffy suddenly realized she was killing her own kind, having temporarily forgotten whose body she wore. I’m a vampire. A male vampire, with a very large dick... Her mind took an unplanned vacation to the gutter before she hastily reminded herself that Spike was gross, and evil, and in no way sexy at all.

The remaining vampire screamed as she exploded into a pile of dust. Buffy switched her gaze to the burly male vampire who’d staked the 60s reject. He snarled at Buffy. “Gonna fight me? Or do you have to run home to your boyfriend?” The vamp spat scornfully.

“He’s not my – oh.” Buffy realized that her earlier fashion tips, coming from a male vampire like herself, had probably bestowed upon her a slightly different image than she’d intended. But that meant this vamp had been watching her...Which meant his agenda was something different from usual. Or that he was just smarter than usual.

Or that, like Spike’s minions, he’d been ordered to watch her by his master vampire.

Buffy could hear the human’s heartbeat wavering. And Spike honking the horn impatiently. She had to kill this guy fast.

Despite his bulk, he wasn’t a very challenging adversary. The opposite of Spike, Buffy thought absently. I mean, Spike’s smaller, but way deadlier...Is “deadlier” a word? She resolved the struggle with several well-aimed kicks and a stake to the back. Then she raced back to the victim.

The dying teenage girl looked up at Buffy. “They...bit me...” she rasped, pointing to the two bite marks on her neck.

But Buffy already knew that – she could smell the youthful, sweet blood calling out to her. Her entire body throbbed with excitement over the thought of sinking her fangs into the soft skin and drinking...

But at the same time her entire chest seemed to be splitting in two. It reminded her of jumping into the swimming pool she’d had as a child, and feeling the icy winter water crash into her. So wrong, the cold water murmured, so wrong...

So this is what having a soul is – was like for Angel. It was still hard to remember that Angel was the same as Angelus, and that he was gone.

Buffy punched “9-1-1” into her cell phone. “Hello? Yes...I’ve found a young woman who is badly injured...Oh, I’m in an alley outside Safeway...Yeah, something is wrong with her neck, how did you - A lot, huh? Strange. Someone should look into that.” Someone being me. “Is someone on the way? Good...”

She decided to wait with the girl, and comfort her until the paramedics arrived. Spike would be so pissed, she would bet millions.

The pair of gold eyes that had been watching from the shadows ever since Buffy had first arrived on the scene continued to observe with interest.

“Interesting...” Amber murmured. She ran black-painted fingernails through her dyed-purple hair, skillfully messing it up. “Fucking weird, actually.”

* * * * * *

“What is your problem?” Buffy demanded as Spike rolled to a stop in front of her. “Weren’t you supposed to be waiting for me?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be doing a ‘quick slay’?”

Buffy slipped into the passenger seat. “There was a girl with neck trauma.”

“How bloody unusual,” he commented snidely. “Was she tasty?” He stepped on the gas pedal.

Buffy gave him a look, and then continued with her narrative. “Actually, it was kinda weird. I dusted one, but I didn’t have a chance to do the other, because this other vamp got her first. But it’s not like he’s good, cos he tried to attack me when he definitely knew I was helping the girl. So, evil vamp dusts evil vamp. Why would he do that?”

Spike shook his head. He didn’t understand it either; it seemed completely against a vampire’s nature. But it was also against a vampire’s nature to want to help the Slayer, and he feared he might be beginning to understand that move of his a bit too well. “At least you’re not hurt,” he told her, watching the street lamps whiz by.

* * * * * *

Amber slammed the door and menacingly stormed through the house, the pounding of her combat boots causing her minions to become instantly occupied in some task or another. A small human girl hopped out from below the kitchen sink and surveyed the entryway. “Mama, she tracked mud all over the rug again.”

A tired-looking woman carried a broom across the kitchen and swept the dirt into her daughter’s dustpan.

“Amber’s mad, isn’t –“

“You shouldn’t call her that, mi vida.”

The little girl pouted. “But she calls me Lilia, when she speaks to me. And she never seems to care what I call her.” The mother turned a disapproving glare on her child. The creature who had taken over their house was a dangerous monster, and the fact that they were still alive was nothing short of a miracle from Dios.

Amber came back into the entryway, and put her shoes near the door. She stared at the new mud tracks, swept away by old memories of sunlight and mothers and mud on the floor, hugs and bedtime stories, all of them as elusive as the breeze from the wing of a butterfly. Then she tore herself from her reverie and sulkily turned on her heel, gold eyes glaring at the humans as if daring them to challenge her.

Amber stalked moodily down the hall. Why did this pair of humans bring out her wimpy, tender side? They were just like any other meal, only...not. She’d decided not to kill them when she took over their house, and on several occasions had protected them from her minions. No vampire did things like this. It was just against nature. And it put Amber in an even worse mood.

The second she stomped into the basement, the entire assembly of vampires became silent, waiting for their mistress to speak. Amber smiled with pleasure, letting the ridges on her forehead subside. “We heard rumors that Spike had helped the Slayer in Sunnydale, and he was spotted entering Los Angeles with her by the Switchblades’ watchmen. Tonight there were plans to monitor him for more of this unusual behavior, and damn is unusual the word. I saw him stake two vamps.

“One had been feeding, and he called the police to help the victim. The second was Maurice, under my orders to kill any non-gang demons who noticed Spike.” There was some sniggering, but the room was silent as the grave when Amber continued. “And I expect each one of you to take the exact same risk, as we want to keep the mystery among Revolvers only, until we’ve unraveled the cause of it.

“And seeing as we need answers, I think it might be time for me to pay our houseguest a little...visit.” This statement was met with wild cheering and the basement buzzed with excitement. Amber climbed two flights of stairs and removed several heavy locks on an upstairs door.

The adolescent vampire kicked a sleeping figure, which moaned.

“Wake up, Drusilla.”

Dru sat up and ran her hands over her hair slowly. “We’ll 'ave a party, when it’s done. 'E’ll come round, round, and we’ll drink 'er –“

“And I’ll bring the balloons,” added Amber disdainfully. She punched Drusilla in the face. “Tell me what you know about Spike. Recent news, I mean. Why is he acting like he isn’t a vampire? Why is he hanging with the Slayer, why is he slaying our kind...Assuming you even count as ‘my kind,’ you ho-bag excuse for a vampire.”

Dru cackled. “It’s 'er...It’s all 'er, and I did it! And my Spike will come 'ome to Mummy when we’re through...”

“Yeah? So... how do we make go back how he was?” Amber hissed, twisting Dru’s arm painfully. The teenage vampire was surprised by the strength of her anger. She guessed some things, like emotion or like memories, didn’t fade over time.

“Let me...persuade him,” Drusilla said suggestively. “I’ll talk, and I’ll -“

“You 'aven’t got a chance, little girl,” Drusilla cackled. “You’ve got to be bad...And you’re not bad enough.”

Amber threw Dru against the wall savagely. “You?” she asked with engineered calmness. Then her face hardened and her tone cut like steel. “Never.”

We’ll see who’s bad, Drusilla. Just you wait.8: DEALING

The full expanse of the room lay before them. Buffy’s eyes were trained on the solitary bed. “That bed looks a little lonely, don’t you think?” she chatted, feeling flustered at the thought of his naked body – even if it was hers, really – up against her under the sheets, his lips close enough to...

“I think it’s managing fine on its own.” He was smirking at her.

Extricating her would-be-pink-if-she-were-alive cheeks from the embarrassing situation, Buffy crossed the room and tossed the duster on the back of a chair and sat down in front of it. The motion seemed to suddenly remind Spike of something, and he came to stand behind her. “You know, pet, that nice piece of leather is mine.”

“Well, your whole body is mine – uh...“ she winced. “Anyway, I’m keeping the jacket.”

Spike reached around her. “Yeah? We’ll see about that...” Buffy relocated the duster to her other side, initiating a scuffle which caused her to find herself caged in by Spike’s arms. She could hear his heart beating rapidly. His immediacy was suffocating (or would have been, had breathing been necessary), and all of her itched with the need to do something...And his face...I really want to kiss him, it occurred to her. Without another thought, she brought her lips to his.

The kiss was soft at first, as Buffy had thousands of inhibitions swimming in her consciousness. Spike, however, returned the kiss with a fervor that helped Buffy relax, and soon there was nothing in the room except Spike. Buffy pulled Spike against her, but found that the arm of the chair got in the way. She attempted to stand, but her feet became tangled in the base of the chair and caused the pair of them to stumble. Spike walked backwards, pulling her with him, and when the back of his legs hit the bed, he spun her around to sit and seated himself on her lap, his legs straddling hers.

Buffy’s hand found the hem of Spike’s shirt, and slid up inside. The whole concept of touching her body, but knowing Spike felt what she was doing, still seemed strange and was enough to distract her now and then, but his erratic breathing was more than enough to spur her onwards.

Spike felt the hook to his bra come undone, and as he shivered with pleasure a question surfaced in his brain: exactly how far did he want this to go? It was a terrible question that he wanted to ignore, because it led to even more confusing thoughts. He was aware that Buffy had just sent the man she loved to hell, and was most likely rebounding. The problem arose with his stand on the situation. An evil vampire would want to take advantage of the situation, without caring that her choice making might not be at its best. Not to mention, Spike realized, I can’t suss out what a properly evil vampire would be takin’ advantage of in the first place. ‘S not like I’d be ravishing a gorgeous young Slayer. Buffy’s wearing my skin. And again Spike found himself asking questions whose answers he was afraid to learn. What did he see in Buffy right now, apart from important in getting his own body back?

Spike had established long before that he was attracted to the Slayer’s body. Lust was a perfectly evil, lechy thing. Being attracted to Buffy for more emotional reasons, however, was something much more troubling.

Spike pulled back, putting his manicured hands on Buffy’s shoulders. She stared at him incredulously, hurt at first, but the emotion quickly melted into anger. “What are you –“

“You’re on rebound, pet,” he told her calmly, stroking the inside of her shoulders with his thumbs.

She shook off his touch. “What do you care? Aren’t you supposed to be evil? You’re not supposed to say ‘Ehhh, you’re rebounding,’ you’re supposed to be sneaking a way to get off! What is your deal?”

“Can we not do this now, luv? Jus’...” Buffy seemed over her burst of fire and ready to begin a sobbing stage. Spike pulled her against his chest, and scooted them to the head of the bed, pulling the covers over them, holding Buffy beside him comfortingly. He decided he’d just leave his feelings for Buffy and whatever amount of evilness they entailed as unanswered questions until the morning.

* * * * * *

“Vampire gangs?”

The scaly gentleman nodded. “You got it. They’re actually becoming quite a problemo. Vamps, you see, are violent demons, and many of ‘em just kill for fun. Obviously they feed on humans, but sometimes they’ll look for other demons to give ‘em more of a chase. And they of course kill vamps from other gangs – rivalry is a big issue.”

Amelia nodded calmly. “Which gang, would you say, is perhaps the most dangerous?”

“Oh, it’s hard to say. Death’s Advocates can be hard to predict, but most of their plans are crap. They’re rash and more or less morons. But I guess I’d have to pick the Revolvers.”

“The Revolvers?”

“Sure. It’s funny, they’re pretty new and they’ve got a leader who’s not only new in town, but also new to the ranks of the undead. But ma’am, they are lethal. Ruthless killing, and they make millions out of it. Not that they don’t like mindless violence, mind you, but they also do the Mafia thing.”

Amelia pulled out a notepad. “Do you know what the leader of the Revolvers is called?”

The demon laughed. “Any demon in Los Angeles knows her name. She goes by Amber.”

* * * * * *

Buffy woke up in Spike’s arms. It was a strangely nice, new feeling for her, and it seemed like his warm body shielded her from having to be aware of the rest of the world just yet. She snuggled back into him, and caused him to laugh. Just then she realized he was awake. Probably he had been awake for quite a while, and he had been sniggering at various weird positions she’d made while asleep, knowing him.

“What time is it?”

“Four forty-seven,” was the reply. Buffy’s eyes practically bugged out. Had she slept the entire day away?

Duh, she chastised herself, Do I sleep during the day? YES. “Did you just sit there the whole time?” she asked incredulously.

“More or less. ‘Cept I got up to pick up the room service twice, an’ I rolled over to grab the remote for the telly.” Buffy realized that the television was indeed on – some soap that she thought she’d seen her mom watch was on with the volume down low. So Spike was a soap opera fan. Some guys just never ceased to surprise you.

She sat up partially, leaning back against the pillows. “Do we have any blood in the room?”

Spike nodded. “It’s cold. I would’ve warmed it up, but I wasn’t too sure the puny room service bloke could carry up a microwave.” Buffy smiled and let Spike bring her a plastic hotel-cup of blood.

After she’d finished her meal, Spike stood up and pulled on the duster. “Since you’re awake now an’ all, I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna go out an’ look for a shop where I can buy myself a few changes of clothes. Not that I wouldn’t appreciate your fashion expertise, pet, but two seconds out of doors an’ you’d be hardly distinguishable from a pile of fine sand.”

“I’m still hung up on the part where you want a change of clothes. I thought you’d be used to wearing the same thing every day by now.”

The vampire shot her one last smirk and went out the door.

Spike was in a bizarrely good mood. He continually had to check himself, having the inclination to do some poncy thing like hum, or walk down the halls grinning. He could still almost feel Buffy cuddling up against him. His good mood was so extreme that it seemed to cripple his Slayer senses; he didn’t notice the vampire until she was only a few feet away.

“Spike...” he heard her say.

Spike gripped a stake in his hand. “There you are. Been lookin’ for you, luv.”

“Does Spike grow tired of the little Slayer?” she murmured into his ear, snaking her hands around his waist and downwards into his waistband. She smelled like sugary sweets.

“Ah-absolutely,” he gasped as her hand pinched and stroked.

“Then you can be rid of 'er. You can be my Spike once more, and we’ll kill 'er together.” Her voice raced with excitement.

Spike chose his words carefully. “Yes, we could do that, Dru, but couldn’t we just send her back to Sunnyhell? I mean, she’s hardly an obstacle now that you’re well –”

Dru contemplated Spike for several seconds, and then shrieked and threw him into a wall. “Get off me!” He fell and rolled a bit, landing in the late afternoon sun. Drusilla glared at him from the shade of the alley. “The awful Slayer’s all in the way, isn’t she, Spike? Don’t fret, puppy, I can kill 'er on my own!”

Spike watched her disappear into the shadows. He remained a few more seconds on the ground, trying to catch his breath and to take in what had just happened. Then he stood up, and massaging his shoulder, he made his way back to the hotel, still quite confused.

* * * * * *

She prowled through the aisles, with a silent and lethal grace. It might have taken a while to adapt to reanimated life, but she had grown into a skillful killer, hunting instincts honed. Even as she zeroed in on a target, all her senses were alert to the outside world. As she tracked down the last remaining size 2 camisole, Amber’s vampire senses picked up something interesting. She was unsure what she’d first noticed – whether it had been his words, or simply the manner of his speech. Because she definitely was not hearing Spike’s voice.

“...Couldn’t we just send her back to Sunnyhell? I mean, she’s hardly an obstacle now that you’re well –”

Amber’s brain clicked to all the possible scenarios. Dru had gotten out. Dru had been let out – no, Spike had hired someone to let Dru out, and his minion was imitating him as some form of identification. Or someone was impersonating Spike, for some other reason...

Amber heard the responding cry of distress. “The awful Slayer is all in the way, isn’t she, Spike? Don’t fret, puppy, I can kill her on my own!”

Or... Drusilla seemed fairly certain that she spoke to the genuine Spike. So Spike was in somebody else’s body. Amber darted under the hanging clothing items and peeked out the window. A petite blonde human stared into the shadowy alleyway, and then walked off down the sidewalk, massaging a shoulder. The way she moved, Amber was even more sure that the blonde girl was Spike. Who had Spike turned into? Was the original owner of this body wandering around, maybe in Spike’s body?

And of course, there was the issue of the Slayer. According to the insane garble that Drusilla had produced, the Slayer was very much alive and well, and possibly somewhere nearby. What did Drusilla know about the Slayer, and what did she know about Spike’s predicament?

And, for that matter, how had Drusilla escaped so that she could roam the streets of LA?

* * * * * *

“I’m still stuck on this one. You ran into your psycho girlfriend while it was still daytime?”

“Slayer, you’re missin’ the point. Dru knew it was me. In this body.”

Buffy persisted. “Yeah, I got that. Weird. But why would she be out at such a flammable time of day? Most vamps kinda hang out in one place until the sun sets. I know she’s a loony, but even Drusilla’s got to have a reason for risking the chance of getting fried.”

Spike shook his head, chuckling. The Slayer really was a bright one; there were worse people to have thwarted all your evil plans. “You think she’s in trouble? Runnin’ from somebody?”

“Possibly, although I’m still not sure why you think I’d care. Anyway, we should try to keep an eye out for anyone who seems like a force to be reckoned with. Maybe they’re also involved with the vamp I ran into last night. And we should probably get to work on finding out exactly what was done to us. Dru seems to know, so maybe we can get something out of her.”

Spike nodded unenthusiastically. He wasn’t sure how soon he wanted to get his own body back. Entertaining aspects of operating the Slayer’s body aside, switching back would give the two of them no real reason to be around each other. And even more so than when he’d first mentioned it, the former vamp suspected something real existed between himself and Buffy.

Spike was also aware of other consequences of switching back. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to fit both Buffy and Drusilla into his afterlife, and that he would have to make a choice between them. Spike knew that the choice was obvious, and the fact that he even regarded it as a choice troubled him.

Hungry lips tore at his, drowning him with intensity. Each motion of hers, each stroke of a hand on bare skin, had some indefinable significance... Need explored his mouth with its tongue, and the strength of the passion, rooted in ignoring the past, reeled him in and making each millisecond unforgettable to him, even if him only...

There was just something about Buffy that he couldn’t push out of his mind, and the thought of never seeing her again caused him a weighted, sinking feeling he instinctively wished to avoid. Just like he wanted to avoid the cause of that feeling, or the many enticing memories of his century with Drusilla.

At some point his afterlife had become extremely complicated.

“And now that Spikey is done with his inner monologue, he can listen? Cos Buffy’s not done talking.” She wasn’t done talking, but she was at a bit of a loss for what she was going to say.

“So, Spike. Where do we stand? You know, you and me. In the us sense.” Spike confused her to no end; his emotions seemed to run hot and cold in the same sentence.

Pushing the tangle of emotions away, he stared insolently at Buffy. “Just where we stood last time, Slayer. Will you admit there’s something between us?”

It seemed Buffy was ready to admit something, because she approached Spike coyly. “Would it mean I’d get to keep kissing you?” she asked, her expression a pout of innocence and confusion. Innocent she was not, but the confusion was rooted in thousands of buds of thought, vaguely wondering why Spike cared so much, why she needed so desperately to be allowed to kiss him, why admitting a relationship of some sort didn’t seem as high a hurdle as it probably should.

“Don’t see why not,” Spike replied, feigning apathy. He grabbed Buffy in his arms and devoured his lips, feeling strangely relieved. Buffy grinned into his lips; she didn’t know why she did, but she couldn’t help herself.

* * * * * *

Amber knew her chances of catching Drusilla again were next to nonexistent, considering the head start the other vamp had, so the teen decided to go ahead and buy her shirt. She could order her minions to search for Dru. Or she could find another psychic who could be just as useful, if not more, than Drusilla. The first priority, obviously, was figuring out what had happened to change Spike. Maybe the crazy vamp was neither showing nor telling, but there was nothing saying she was the only person who knew anything.

Amber vamped out at the employee who barred her path and exited via the storage room’s sewer access. Vamp shopping really beat the hell out of human shopping, when one factored in the endless store hours and the not-paying that one did. Amber was working herself up into an enthusiastic speech-delivering mood when she felt a small but very cold and instinctively terrifying breeze blow throughout her insides and she realized she’d walked right into a woman wielding a handheld cross. “What’s your deal? I got things to do,” she informed the obstacle while searching for the path of least resistance – hardly an escape – in her surroundings. Unfortunately, the cross-having lady had cornered her in a pocket of shade, and blocked the only path that didn’t include UV rays.

Amelia smiled, but behind her horn-rimmed glasses her eyes stared coolly. “I’m sure they can wait. I happen to have a few words to exchange with you, and I have a feeling some of them might interest you. Especially the words that concern a certain vampire’s escape.”

Amber frowned. “You freed Drusilla.”

“I assume you wanted something out of her? No worries – you will undoubtedly find her again...I was just curious as to where she would run off.” Amelia smiled a small, contained smile.

The vamp sniggered. She knew full well that all she would get out of Dru would be nonsense and maybe a few fragments of sanity, but Drusilla could be dangerous. Such a loony could do anything to vent her anger, plus, the Slayer seemed to be in LA, and Amber knew a Slayer spelled all kinds of trouble. If Dru spread the news, the Revolver’s rival gangs could easily point the demon killing machine in Amber’s direction. Drusilla was most likely not a useful ally, but she was definitely a formidable foe.

Not to mention, thought the vamp with disappointment, Now I won’t get to torture her.

“And it happened that where she ran was particularly interesting...It seems that two newcomers to this town are personally acquainted with Drusilla.”

“Yeah, Spike and –“ Amelia nodded intelligently, clearly listening to the specifics. Angry at having stupidly aided the annoying woman with a cross and ugly glasses, Amber burst out, “Fuck, woman! Why the hell would I want to help you?”

Amelia smiled. “Needing motivation? To put it simply, losing Drusilla is hardly the worst thing that could happen to you. Does...what was it, now...‘Chosen One’ mean anything to you?” She was enormously glad that the demon she’d made a deal with had pointed her in the right direction several times, not to mention given her valuable information about demon life.

“You’re fucking threatening me!”

Amelia clucked her tongue twice. “Possibly. I’m just ensuring that I have your attention.”

Amber crossed her arms. “Bitch,” she growled.

Amelia began with the air of a presenter who has carefully prepared and rehearsed her speech. “Apparently you’ve attained a reputation as a formidable gang leader. People talk of your intelligence, and your ingenuity when it comes to battle.” Amber snorted. “I myself have little prowess when it comes to combat strategies, and I have less than a tenth of your physical strength. I could use someone like you, an intelligent girl who knows the ins and outs of...shall we say, the demon world. However, I am faced with a situation. I am barred obtaining something I very much want by a psychic disturbance in this area. I lack the power to do anything about it, and I have a feeling you can help me.”

“Probably can,” Amber drawled, “But I’m not thinking it’s especially likely that I will.”

“Oh, I think you will. You will not be without rewards – there will be, of course, a monetary compensation for your trouble, and...A pair of powerful individuals is involved in this psychic disturbance: a relatively famous Slayer-slaying vampire, and the Vampire Slayer herself. Once you have helped me eliminate their interference with my ambitions, I leave both of them entirely to you, to do with as you please. I hear that Slayer’s blood can work marvels for the strength of a vampire, and also fetch an amazing price on the black market.”

Amber pondered the situation. This deal did sound like it would demand some difficult work, but the gain might just be worth it. Vampire, Slayer of Slayers – that had to mean Spike. And to have the Vampire Slayer in her hands...Amber still wasn’t sure what the small blonde girl had to do with anything, but she had a score to settle with the Slayer, and once that was through Amelia’s suggestion sounded like something worth trying.

“Hey, lady. I think you’ve got a deal."
9: UNDERSTATED

Buffy prowled the street like a hunter. Around her, she detected both humans and other vampires. Every now and then a particularly edible human walked past her on the populated LA sidewalk, and since she hadn't eaten anything for several hours Buffy definitely considered taking a bite.

Only every time she considered it too hard, she imagined the scream and the struggling. She remembered the faces of terror on every vamp victim she'd ever saved, and she felt wretched for contemplating feeding.

She was a vampire with a soul, and she was feeling it.

An elderly black man tripped over his shoelace and dropped his tall stack of cardboard boxes. “Oh, darn it,” Buffy heard him mutter to himself. She quickly wove through the crowds and stacked several boxes in her arms.

“Here, let me help you.”

The man squinted through his glasses. “You're a good kid,” he commented. “Most of the young 'ins today wouldn't lift a finguh...” He looked over the top of the glasses and frowned. “Though the young 'ins mighta been differnt in your day, if I’m not...mistaken.”

Buffy frowned. “What are you saying?”

“I’ve seen many a thing ovuh the years; running inta vampire’s hardly goin’ tuh s’prise me. The name’s Brown.”

“I’m Spike.” Buffy shook her head. “Let’s just get these boxes somewhere.” The man gestured toward the closest shop, which had a green awning which read, in peeling white paint, “BROWN’S.” Taped to the window was a sign that said, “Brown’s books and supplies. Store hours: 7 AM – 9 PM.” Buffy entered Brown’s with the stack of boxes, and instantly smelled the mixed aroma of scented candles and herbs. The room was filled with with animal parts in jars, strange, ancient weapons, and various stones and gems and other trinkets. Lining the walls, reaching from floor to ceiling, were so many books that Giles would have been ecstatic.

“This...this is a magic shop!” Buffy exclaimed. The old man's eyes twinkled.

He led Buffy through several aisles to the back of the shop. “Hungry?” he asked, grabbing a jar of a red substance from the refrigerator.

“Thanks. Why are you helping me?” Buffy unscrewed the lid and sipped the liquid. “How do you know I'm not going to kill you?”

“Because I'm not evil.” Buffy felt that this explanation was lacking a whole lot of logic. Vampire equals killer, usually of innocent people, she believed. “Your soul would scream for years.”

Whoa, back up. “You know I have a soul?”

The old man laughed amiably. “Might as well go intuh the family histry.” He removed his glasses, and stopped squinting. It seemed that the lenses decreased his range of vision instead of increasing it. “I'm a halfie. Ma was human, but my Pa wasn't. He was a demon. I guess I picked up on some of his skills. I can look intuh those pretty eyes of yours, and see de soul...” He frowned, staring even more intently. “This ain't your natural body?”

Buffy shook her head. “No, it's...someone else's. And he's got mine. So, I’m actually Buffy Summers.”

The old man stared blankly for a moment, and Buffy got the impression that he was looking past everything in the room and seeing something else entirely. Cryptically, the old man muttered, “Dat's one lucky guy.” Buffy raised a skeptical eyebrow, ready to inform the man of Spike’s lucky history of getting beat up, but the man continued without noticing. “So I 'spose you two'd be looking for a way to reverse the charm.”

“You know how to help us?”

He shook his head. “I haven't the slightest,” he admitted apologetically. “What I have got, are a bunch of old books and scrolls, and the remains of what used to be some pretty good smarts. If you and your friend would like to try to find the answer in any of my books, even my personal collection, which I keep upstairs in my living quarters, you're welcome to -“ he looked at her with twinkling eyes - “come on in, and I'll help you if I can.”

Buffy smiled. “We're really grateful...Or I am. He'll probably just be snarky.”

The man chuckled, and the noise resembled a toad gasping for air. He was strange and definitely not charismatic, but he seemed to want to help. “Here's my card. It has the shop's address and phone number.”

“Thanks.” Buffy looked at the Celtic-styled printing. ANTON BROWN, MAGIC SHOP. BOOKS, HERBS, ARTIFACTS, AND CANDLES. As she returned to the hotel, she decided she liked Mr. Brown. She just hoped she could bribe Spike into somehow being civil.

Speaking of Spike... “Whoa, Spike. What's -“ The second she entered their room he pounced her, pressing her into the wall with his kisses. Then he pulled back and looked at her. She smiled in confusion. “Why did you...”

“Just felt like it, is all.” Buffy laughed and kissed him again. Kiss after kiss, their tongues plundering each other's mouths, excitement building in each of them. Buffy shoved her hips against Spike's, her hardness all too apparent.

Spike ground against her and then grabbed her hips forcefully, guiding her to the bed. “Hey, Slayer...I think I got myself an idea.”

She nipped at his neck with blunt, human teeth. “I think I'm liking it.” He pushed her down on her back, kneeling over her and running his hands over her muscular, male chest. “What do I need to do?” she asked nervously. Angel hadn't done anything remotely similar to what Spike was doing now...

“Just lay back and let me work my magic,” he drawled. The words sent tingles through Buffy's body, and she imagined him saying the same thing in his own face, wearing that sexy smirk...

Magic.

Suddenly she remembered what she'd been planning on telling the former vampire. “Magic shop! I found this guy who has a magic shop, and books, and said he'll help us!”

Spike chuckled, and Buffy realized how much of a mood-spoiler she'd just blurted out. “You have got the worst possible timing I've ever seen, pet,” he told her, grinning.

“Yeah.” Buffy was again reminded of how inexperienced she was in this field. He's probably expecting me to have at least some clue at what I'm doing...

He was messing with the fly of her jeans. There was a soft pop and the sound of a zipper being unzipped. Suddenly things seemed a lot more spacious in the downward direction...And suddenly he grabbed her, squeezing gently. Just the idea of his hands on her cock made the rest of the world seem all that much distant.

The thought that he was dangerous never crossed her mind. Pumping, up and down, every now and then running his fingers softly down the length...She felt like she was ready to burst, ready to thrash and flail and plunge into something...And then he licked the bulbous tip. Buffy watched in complete paralysis as her own glossy lips closed around the head of the cock, sucking...

It was weird, seeing herself do this. Seeing herself in general was weird – her nose was a funnier shape than she’d thought, her abdomen a little bit rounder than she’d like, and she could see that something wasn’t quite right about her arms. Maybe they were a little fat, or maybe just a little too muscular to be delicate and feminine...

Suddenly his tongue distracted her again, swirling around the tip, and then her cock disappeared into the heat of his mouth, in and out...

“Spike, what are you doing?”

“Blow job, pet. You must have heard of these - maybe even done a few of 'em in your time.”

Of course Buffy had heard of blow jobs, but why was he...And how quite had it happened, without her noticing, and it felt good but she and Angel had never...God, the pressure, the in and out...She felt completely out of her league. “Spike, wait, what are we doing? -And I don't mean blow job,” she pre-empted his ready response, “I mean...I haven't thought about this, not really, about what I'd...I don't know...”

He groaned. She had to think of this now? “Oh, come on, Buffy. It's just sex. Not even -“

“Right, sex,” she went on, steadily approaching hysteria, “Which I've only ever had once. With Angel, and then he ditched me while I was sleeping, and went and turned evil!”

Spike changed his position from kneeling over her to sitting beside her. “Luv, I didn't leave this morning did I? An' I'm already evil, so turning bad won't be a problem.”

Buffy made a little sound of anger, obviously offended. Sitting up, she zipped up her jeans. “That has to be the lamest sales pitch I have ever heard! Are you trying to sell me on how I should fuck you because you don't have a soul to loose?!”

“Well, you've hit on a good point there, but - Buffy, no, it's not like that -“

“Yeah? What is it like, then? You love me? You're in love with the hot, sexy Slayer, is that it?”

Buffy's question pointed in directions Spike firmly did not want to go. There was nothing, no feeling, between them; had she forgotten? “Bloody HELL, no!” was his exclamation as he took a few steps back.

He saw the anger surface in her face, saw her cheekbones suck in. Fuck, why was everything he said or did wrong in this woman's eyes? “Drusilla was never this much trouble!”

The bomb had dropped. Buffy watched Spike, almost blankly.

She realizes she's in their hotel room.
Her room with Spike.

Oh, God, last night. I threw myself and him, and then...

”You're rebounding...”
His arms around her...
”Shh, Buffy, it'll be alright. Not yet, but it'll be alright.”

He really was a gentleman last night...
The whole time, really...

Hot lips, against hers...
Not even his at all, but it hardly mattered...No matter how you looked at it, it was the two of them...

I woke up, and he was there...I didn't think he would be...

The arm around her, the body beside her...Hardly the same as Angel's empty sheets...She was something, in his eyes, she had to be...

Why else would he spend his time with me, I thought...But Drusilla...

“Oh, come on, Buffy. It's just sex...”

Never this much trouble... Infinitely better, in his eyes...

She watched him through blue eyes that were not, in any way, hers. Her face was so much blanker when she was the one pondering behind it, because he could hardly hide the fact that he was thinking about something complex...

Dru is easier to handle, but she isn't the thrill Buffy is. Working things out with Dru is easy - hell, we don't work things out, just scream and torture and shag.

Working together with Buffy isn't fun and games, but somehow...When we do solve something -

“I'm taking a walk.” The door closed, more loudly than necessary.

“Slayer! Get back in here -“ Spike growled, and threw the television remote into the wall. Small plastic shards fell and hid themselves in the shag of the carpet. Spike figured he would have to wipe them up, or someone, like the Slayer, could step on the hidden pieces without knowing they were there.

It was becoming more and more clear that he had a choice to make. Drusilla and Buffy were immensely different, and implied a drastic change in lifestyle...His equivocation threatened him, and he knew he'd have to choose soon.

Actually he'd already decided; the choice was obvious. Drusilla was his soul mate and he loved her. They'd been together for more than a century. There shouldn't even have been a choice.

But somehow there was. He had no idea what had just happened between himself and the Slayer, and now she'd left...

It reminded him of their first fight, of how that golden hair and that beautiful, tight body didn't seem to mix with words like “stake,” and “Slayer,” of how her smile, even on his face, made every answer to every question wrong but somehow worth the risk anyway.

He slumped backwards and banged the back of his head against the wall. “Ow - bloody hell!” He leaned back more carefully and waited, clutching his throbbing head.

* * * * *

It wasn't until the following evening that Buffy became polysyllabic again. Polysyllabic, not talkative. But Spike refused to apologize, so their communication made little progress. He wanted to give up and return to the love of his unlife, his Dark Princess, but if nothing else, Buffy was necessary in getting his own body back.

Finally, as they were heading out for patrol (“they” being due to the fact that Spike had followed her, despite not having asked and not having been welcome), Buffy realized she couldn't handle the tension any longer.

“Do you wish you were back with her?”

He blinked. “With who?”

“Drusilla. Do you miss her?”

“Miss Dru? 'Course I do,” he said, assuring all who heard. Wish to be with her? Sometimes. Surprisingly less than all the time.

Buffy watched the pavement beneath her feet. “Was she good at sex?”

“Yeah, she was quite the -“ Spike nodded slowly with sudden understanding. “So that's what's bothering you. Pet...the only thing that's easier about her is how she's less...righteous, I suppose. Doesn't make a fuss 'bout doing what's right an’ proper.”

Buffy shoved a stake into a vampire with all the force she owned. She glared at it with determination and purpose. Spike enjoyed these things in the way she fought...and talked...and pretty much everything else about her. It had been terrible to see her without her usual vibrancy of life, after Angelus...That had been part of why he'd helped her, Spike realized.

But only part. Part of it was that, and part of it was his attraction to her...And part of it wasn't either thing. After a moment of theorizing, Spike safely decided he didn't understand his choice and he'd leave it at that.

“Yeah,” Buffy was saying. “That's because she doesn't have a soul. You don't make choices if you don't have a soul, you just follow your instincts. Kind of like animals.”

Animals, she said? That was bull - he loved Dru, and love was a very human emotion...And he was positive he made choices. Hadn't he decided to save her ass? He stared at Buffy incredulously; in shock about the factually casual way she presented her thoughts. As if it were always true, as if she just accepted it since no one could do anything about it.

“That's a pretty high horse you're on, vampire. Hope you don't fall off,” he retorted.

Buffy snorted. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don't have a soul either.”

“You're just loving this, aren't you? The chance to laugh snidely at me?” She glared murderously. “Well, you're wrong, I do have a soul! Where would it go, if not with me? You didn't get it, obviously.”

Spike kicked a garbage bin into the street for emphasis. “Soddin' - What was I THINKING, helping you out?

“You know? That's it. I don't need to take this from you. If you don't want to work with me, then I'll reverse this spell myself, and take care -“

“Slayer,” he said with brittle calmness, “this is notabout me working with you. This is about you, just you. If you can't learn to treat me like a real person, with feelings, if you can't - “ He closed his eyes in frustration glanced wistfully into the distance.

His words seemed to echo in the sudden silence of the side street.

“Then no kind of partnership between us is going to work.”
10: DEGENERATE

“If you can't learn to treat me like a real person, with feelings, if you can't...

“Then no kind of partnership between us is going to work.”

She'd felt like protesting that Spike the Soulless didn't have feelings, but she knew it wasn't true. He had feelings, and she'd obviously just hurt them.

It was disconcerting how she could do that without realizing.

She watched his back as it moved steadily down the sidewalk. Why do I care so much? she asked herself. It's just Spike.

But it had been just Spike who had helped her with Angel, just Spike who had driven her to LA and stayed with her, kept her caring about living. Just Spike, who was behaving so out of character, who was turning out to be so much more of a person that she'd initially thought.

It wasn't that she liked him or cared anything about his feelings in any other instance. It was morality, the idea that her treatment of him earlier had been wrong. He'd deserved more, and Buffy felt self-disgust gnawing at her, threatening her if she failed to apologize.

* * * * *

“Tonight,” the vampire told a room of fellow minions. “The plan goes into motion tonight.”

* * * * *

A cell phone rang, and black fingernails unclipped it from the leather waistband of a plaid skirt. “Tonight, Amber,” the real estate agent's sharp voice pronounced. “You said I'd get results tonight.”

“No, I said there would be results tonight. Didn't mention you getting 'em.”

“I need the vampire and the Slayer. I want results, soon.”

There was a pause while the rebel resisted complying. “Sorry, didn't year 'ya. Bad reception.” Amelia could imagine the vamp smirking.

“You better get your results tonight. Because I want mine tomorrow morning.”

* * * * *

After an hour of waiting, Buffy discovered that life was quieter without Spike. It was more peaceful, definitely, but in a suffocatingly quiet way. Time moved more slowly - uncountable seconds stretched onwards.

It was boring.

Buffy tried to imagine how she'd phrase an apology, but she knew apologizing was not her forte. Even when she acknowledged that she was wrong, she couldn't bring herself to admit it face to face. He's so...crude, and...Spike-like...

“Hey.” The voice came from behind her, and its owner didn't smell human to Buffy's vampire nose. “Spike! Long time no see, huh?”

Buffy agreed with a noncommittal shrug. “Uh, does - Do I...know you?” she inquired cautiously.

The vamp grinned sinisterly. “Spike does. And believe me, you're gonna...Buffy.” Pleasure danced in Amber's excited eyes as she pulled the trigger of the stun gun. “I suspect you'll know me pretty well after the next few...”

The body slumped over. Amber shrugged mid-sentence and motioned for a minion to pick up the unconscious vampire in front of her. “Whatever. Let's just get her to the house before she wakes up.”

The minion blinked. “This one looks male to me, Mistress.” At her glare, he stuttered, “Just sayin'...”

“That Real Estate Slutswoman said to get her the vampire named Spike. I know that Spike's in some chic's body, cos I've seen it. I'm guessing that she's in his. And I figure, if Spike and the Slayer are working together, this girl must be part of the party, too, which means the Vampire Slayer will come looking for her. I figure that Spike and this Buffy girl must have some kind of deal since they've been sticking together, so if we've got the the girl....” Amber left the obvious conclusion dangling.

The minion smirked and nodded slowly, attempting to feign comprehension.

Amber didn't care about her minion's obvious lack of brains. He was mainly muscle, anyway. She was much more concerned with the questions she might be able to answer very soon. If she had the girl, then soon she could expect to have Spike and the Slayer.

Why had Spike and Buffy switched, and what about the switch made it to Amelia? And why was Spike so different from the Spike she'd known?

There had to be reasons, and it was likely they were all lined up and ready to be discovered. Amber noticed a young woman crossing the street alone, but decided to let her go another day without dying. The vamp was feeling generous - her week had just gotten immensely better.

* * * * *

At first Buffy hadn't known where she'd been.

Then the walls, and the lockers, and the students had made her realize that she'd finally returned to Sunnydale High. She searched the faces of the crowds for her friends, still wondering what she was doing back home...

“Oh my - What are you doing here?” The Slayer looked at Cordelia's expression of revulsion and fear.

“You're back?”

“Xander,” Buffy replied, bewildered, “Of course I'm -“ Xander shook his head disbelievingly and melted into the chaos -

Principal Snyder walked by dressed like a Burger King whopper, and shook his finger at her. “Funny, I thought I kicked you out. Oh, to think I'll get to do it again...I think I'm tingly!”

The background noise grew, doubling and complicating and replicating...She thought she heard someone hiss frantically, “Someone get Buffy!”

But guys, she tried to say, I'm right here - but her voice made no sound no matter how loudly she screamed. She became dimly aware that she wasn't herself, but taller, deader, blonder, and male...

She was standing in front of herself, lethal and angry. “I told you never to come back, Spike. No one wants you.

“You love me, is that it?” the Buffy was shouting. Somehow the scenery had changed, the voices died away, but the hazel eyes were still as dangerous as ever and Buffy couldn't look away. “You're in love with the Vampire slayer? That's gross, and obscene, and I said to leave Sunnydale, and never come back. Never...”

Buffy awoke groggily. A pain tickled her chest...”Never come back...” said hazel eyes... She realized blood was dripping down her chest from an artistically jagged cut. “Thought that might wake you up,” drawled the gleeful, purple-haired goddess of nightmares.

* * * * *

Spike stalked angrily through the grave markers, not allowing himself to feel embarrassment about his escape.

His escape from her. She was insanity, she was repose, she was torment. She was so unbelievably frustrating, with her insecurities and her prejudices. Spike sat down on a headstone and pulled black nail polish out of his pocket. Painting his nails had often had a calming effect on him.

He wondered what he expected from her. He knew there was something, because he was always ending up disappointed.

It was so much easier to be evil. He considered returning to Dru, where foreplay didn't make his lover cry...

And somehow just considering shagging someone else felt like cheating on Buffy. Spike didn't know when it had happened, but at some point the Slayer had crossed from being a sexy enemy to being...something else.

Some time in the past 72 hours they'd spent side by side, he'd started caring, more than usual. He cared more than any normal vampire could care about the Slayer. What was she to him? Were they friends?

Could emotions shift so quickly? Spike thought of Buffy and Angel, and the comparison engendered a new, terrible realization. He tried to think of anything that could disprove the notion, but the longer he thought about it the more true it seemed.

What if he was in love with the Vampire Slayer?

It was everything impossible. A vampire and a Slayer were mortal enemies, destined to constantly battle for all of time...This was the sexy, deadly, lovely Slayer, one whom he'd failed to kill time and time again -

His theory seemed inescapably, terrifyingly impossible to disprove. All evidence pointed towards his devotion. He'd refused Drusilla, for Buffy.

But Dru...he loved his Dark Princess more than anything. Drusilla was his love of a century, his Sire, his history, his everything...

No, he concluded with relief, making his statement stubbornly simple. I don't love the Slayer as much as I love Dru. I only love her a little bit, which is fine. After several minutes of explaining his emotions to himself, Spike was convinced that while he was in love with Buffy, sort of, it was really a lot more like a crush. A crush, he could handle.

His spirits were light due to erasing the confusion from his mind. Slayer'll come round, he told himself as he paid the rent for the night. He would have bet money on her showing up in an hour or so, ready to reach an understanding. The understanding, he thought with a smirk and a wave of arousal, would most likely give the maid some considerable work to do in the morning, making the bed. Slayer’ll come round, and then we’ll have some fun.

* * * * *

Buffy shifted away from Amber's small, child-like hands, and winced at the pain the motion brought her chest. “Bitch,” she growled.

Amber clapped her hand in front of her mouth. “Oh, what language!” she exclaimed with apparent horror.

“So what's the lame plan this time?” Buffy ground out.

“I want Spike. I don't know his new look too well, so you're gonna help me out. You're gonna bring him to me.”11: AMBIVALENT

The room felt empty.

Spike scanned the space and his eyes fell upon a short vampire with a mousy look to him. “You won’t find the Slayer in time, “ the vamp drawled smugly, and proceeded to scratch behind his ear.

“She’s not here?”

“Obviously not,” he drew out slowly, making Spike want to dust him right then and there. “You know, you really should have considered renting an apartment. A room like this...anyone can come in and take your...stuff.”

Spike glared, hazel eyes flashing. “How do you feel ‘bout gettin’ smashed into a bloody pulp?”

The vampire’s demeanor changed suddenly and drastically. “Not too keen on it,” was the hurried reply.

“Then you’ll tell me where the Slayer is,” Spike hissed forcefully. The vamp’s mouth quivered.

Spike slammed his opponent against the wall and held him a few inches above the carpet.

“Where is she?”

“U-underground, under the House...In Revolver territory...” he hacked several theatrical coughs. “Would you mind letting me - Amber’s got her,” the man squeaked.

Spike squeezed harder, and procured a stake from the pocket of Buffy’s coat. “How can I find this Amber bird?”

“You-your girlfriend knows the place! Drusilla!”

Spike shoved the stake into the vampire’s chest and rushed out the door.

* * * * *
“So, Preppy.” A glare, and then, “Oh, come on, Buffy?! What were your parents thinking? Anyway, y’mind telling me how you and Spike got your bodies all mixed up?”

Buffy moved her knight to a different chess square and took out one of the naked pawns. “We’ve been over this, and yes, I do mind. But for the record, I don’t know, and don’t care.”

“Checkmate.” Amber’s nude queen had found its way near Buffy’s cornered, inaccurately proportioned king. (Now that Buffy had her new body, she felt herself to be a very authorized judge. She may not have had vast experience, but by comparison she could tell that the king made Spike Jr. look a tad undersized, and she could tell he was anything but small.)

“Fuck off.” At first glance, Amber really wasn’t all that bad. Of course, at second glance, one noticed the kidnapping, the slicing of the chest, and the general evil vampire-ness... Either that or Buffy had lost her marbles so completely that she would never find them ever again.

Amber leaned back in her chair, playing with her purple hair. “What happened right before you switched? Did you do anything?”

A frustrated Buffy shifted around in her chair, unable to find and position that was comfortable. “No, not really...We just went and got food, and then on the way back to the car...We were there, the sky flashed - we switched. All at once, like that. Nothing happened really.”

“Hmm. Weird,” Amber said just as the phone rang. She listened for less than a minute before staring at it angrily. “Bitch,” she muttered as she tossed the phone onto an armchair. “C’mon, Preppy. We’re moving. And I’m tying you up.”

Buffy looked around the room, but there were minions anywhere. Resisting would have little or no effect, she realized, and allowed the teenager to bind her arms.

“Spike’s kind of a hottie, isn’t he. Ever thought about...?”

Buffy would have blushed. “I, um...Well sometimes, when we’re kissing, I get all – I mean, his...”

“You kiss him?” Amber’s hands froze in the middle of tying a knot.

Buffy shrugged. “Yeah, I guess it’s probably part of being stuck – “

“Are you...together?” She made it sound like a thoroughly repulsive prospect.

Buffy frowned. “Yeugh! Of course we’re not...Unless you meant sleeping together – not that we’re doing that either, but...I just didn’t...realize that you might...” she rambled, flustered.

Amber looked at the single she’d tied, staring at it venomously. Then she furiously added a few more knots, securing it in place, and pushed Buffy roughly out the door.

* * * * *

There were 106 candy shops in Los Angeles, and very possibly several hundred more stores that sold sweets in addition to their primary product line. Twelve of them were in the same general area as the hotel.

Spike ran a hand through his blonde hair tensely, and then suddenly slammed his fist into the side of a building. He didn’t even know if a candy shop was the right place to look, and every second he spent looking, or worrying, or even standing still considering his next action, was a second wasted.

Drusilla had smelled like candy. That was the only clue he had, the one fact he was gambling with, because it was his best shot at finding her.

A group of children giggled as they walked down the street. Spike wanted to wring their necks, hurl them into the wall, and then maybe sink his fangs into their soft, young skin, and for a second he wondered why he wasn’t doing so.

It was all the Slayer’s fault, everything he was feeling right now. If she hadn’t gone and switched bodies with him, he would be off shagging Drusilla somewhere, instead of standing in an alley, feeling so frustrated and helpless as he actually did. Somehow Buffy had made him care for her, and he wanted to kill her for it.

The kids all entered a shop of some sort, giggling as irritatingly as ever. The smell of sugar and of various artificial flavors wafted out through the door and even Spike’s human nose detected them.

Candy shop. He looked more carefully at the store front, and in addition to large, caramelized letters SWEET SHOPPE, was the pink writing painted on the window. “CHILDREN’S DISCOUNT.” It made sense that Drusilla might adopt this store as her temporary residence, as she liked the taste of children, and since she even had a soft spot, Spike remembered, for human candy. He left the alley and followed the children into the Sweet Shoppe.

Upon entering the store (which, Spike noticed with twisted amusement, bore a “We’re open, come on in!” sign on its door), Spike noticed a tingly sensation that spread through his body and made him want to be more cautious of his surroundings. There were no employees in the Sweet Shoppe, or at least no living ones. Slumped over the counter lay the corpse of the sales clerk, and several smaller bodies littered the floor, bite marks in their necks.

A child screamed and ran for the door. Two more followed, but the third was swept up into a woman’s arms, the girl’s cry of terror cut short. She looked around wildly, and then settled her panicking gaze on Spike.

“Evenin’, Dru. Trust you had a bite to eat since we last talked,” Spike drawled.

“Me an’ the fat man an’ Miss Edith, we 'ad ourselves a nice party,” Drusilla said excitedly. “You should 'ave been there.” She looked at him sadly, her last comment projecting disappointment.

Spike grit his teeth, his forbearance running thin. “I’m sure, pet. Now let’s make up for lost time, and go to this bloody House.”

Drusilla blinked. “Why are you all cross with me?” she asked languidly.

“Dru? Remember when you were captured? Remember the bird who tied you up? I want to get to her place. Let’s go, now.”

Drusilla took several steps to follow him out the door, and then looked at the child in her arms. “Can I bring the baby?”

“Leave the girl!” Spike shouted angrily, and Drusilla set the child down gently and hurried after the Slayer.

Spike scrutinized the picture-perfect house in front of them. “And you’re positive this is the right house?” he asked the vampire, watching Lilia and her mother wash dishes in the kitchen.

“Pretty on the outside,” Drusilla explained, “But inside the depths, it’s deliciously 'orrid.” She made a gleeful face at the basement access door.

Understanding blossomed in Spike, who replied “Sure it is, Dru,” and headed towards the door. The two women walked silently down the steps and entered a large room, furnished with sofas, pillows, a stereo, a television set, and a large assortment of chains and knives and torture instruments.

“Slayer?” He wandered up the steps that led into the house, frowning. “Bugger, what’s her name...Amber? Anyone here?”

“'E comes a calling, but someone’s called first, and no one’s 'ome anymore,” Dru sang, dancing to herself. Upstairs she could hear Spike’s voice, calling out the Slayer’s name.

* * * * *

“And you’re sure?”

“Absolutely, Miss Reinhardt. The visions I receive, while in a state of trance, are never incorrect. 100% guarantee.”

“So you say. Now, here’s a situation for you: my informant will arrive shortly with someone she has found, someone who fits the descriptions you gave me last week, answering my request for identification of the two individuals I myself sensed. My informant seems to think it possible that this vampire could be emitting a large amount of energy. I do hope that you have as much confidence as I do in the fact that the man she has found using your descriptions is the correct creature.”

The mage nodded, smiling as confidently as he could manage. He wished Amelia had never found him, because every conversation they had made his position more dangerous. The more lies he told, the more were necessary – it was extremely lucky that he remembered the subjects of the spell he’d worked for Drusilla quite well, because in fact he never had any visions at all and would have been hard pressed to produce the correct solution to Amelia’s problem.

“I desperately hope that, between the two of us, we will be able to deduce what about the two people you detected, the Slayer and the vampire, causes so much energy to be released that it interferes with other spells being performed.”

The mage readily and obsequiously made his agreement known. “And of course, Miss Reinhardt, although I have no concrete idea as to what causes them to release such energy, I have one possible theory.” He paused, selecting his words carefully. “I have heard that body swap spells can, occasionally, produce large amounts of by-product energy...” He hoped he could safely pave the grounds ahead of them.

“Body swap?” repeated Amelia, testing out the idea and not seeming overly enthusiastic about it.

The doorbell rang, and it echoed in the large, empty house. Amelia carefully pushed herself out of her chair and briskly approached the door. “How nice to see you, eight minutes later than expected,” she said stiffly.

Amber growled and waited for an invite.

“What are you waiting for? I can’t tolerate time-wasters.” She smiled briefly and coldly and crossed tot he other end of the room. Amber pushed Buffy through the doorway, then followed herself.

“The owners are dead,” said Buffy with disgust to Amber, knowing full well that they should have both needed to be invited. “Did you kill them?”

Amber grinned; Buffy scrunched up her face and said “Ugh!” with a pronounced feeling.

“Amber,” reprimanded Amelia, “Now is not the time to be flirting with your captive. If you don’t mind, would you focus on your job and haul his ass over here?”

Amber grumbled that she would mind, but she dragged Buffy into the next room regardless.

“It seems that your captive must be the subject of some sort of spell, to command the power he does.” Amelia paused for effect, but Amber jumped at the opportunity to speak.

“Could be. But seriously, let’s get a move on. I got things to do”

Amelia informed the vampire that her silence would be much appreciated, and although Amber made speedy use of her middle finger in announcing her opinion, the vampire’s lips remained pressed together angrily. “Amber, place your captive in the center of the pentagram on the floor,” instructed Amelia.

Wrists tied behind her back, Buffy was shoved to the ground.

Amelia removed her business-suit jacket and carefully laid it across the arm of a chair. Amelia closed her eyes, and Buffy immediately felt like someone very, very strong was pressing down on her shoulders and holding down her legs, inhibiting any movement. Suddenly she noticed something cold and thin snaking its way up one arm. Her mind was instantly filled with images of everything terrible that fit the description, until she actually saw the cedar-colored tendril. There were many of them, working together to bind her in place, and each of them looked like a piece of the hardwood floor that had been pinched and twisted until it rose out of the ground like a serpentine vine with wood-grain.

Amelia gestured with her hands, and suddenly Buffy was engulfed in a sinister violet light, and her peroxide-bleached hair glowed fluorescent purple, leaping out unnaturally from its shadowy surroundings.

The real estate agent began a prideful oration. “A demon informed me his crossing into this dimension was hindered by an inordinately large source of psychic energy, within the city. With my own Vision I realized that the greatest source of power emanated from two individuals, you and your acquaintance. No vampire, no matter how powerful or how old - ” she gazed smugly at Buffy, “Can naturally possess this much power, let alone a little teenage girl like the Slayer.”

“Hey!” interrupted an indignant Buffy, but the psychic ignored her interjection.

What has the Slayer got to do with this? wondered Amber. I don’t get why Amelia’s interested in the Slayer, anyway. She seems to be interested in the power that comes from the swap, which involves Spike and Buffy. How does the Slayer fit into this?

“There must be some magical aid, some spell or something similar, causing this effect. And as Amber assures me that attempting to goad you to speak will be an entire waste of my time, I’ve resigned myself to doing this in a more difficult, more entertaining way.

“Reverse all enchantments!,” Amelia pronounced, eyeing the restrained subject of the spell with somewhat repressed glee.

The air around Buffy thrummed with energy as Amelia’s psychic powers set to work. Buffy felt her skin stretch as the air currents pushed and pulled on it, and she began to panic as she realized she was roped to the bottom of a whirlpool of vicious winds, completely helpless.
Suddenly the winds ceased to press inwards on Buffy, but rather exploded outwards, sending a large ripple through the air of the room. A shockwave snapped in Amelia’s ears just as she was catapulted backwards into an antique table. Amber cackled, but instantly began coughing instead as soon as Amelia’s gaze turned on her.

Amelia’s face had the expression of a religious zealot who has been brutally disillusioned. “What does this mean?” she asked anyone who was willing to answer.

“Means ya fucked up?” suggested Amber to brightly.

The mage spoke. “It means – I believe it means that the spell focuses on others than just this one person. Perhaps, the girl you detected, the one I identified to be the Slayer, is needed, in addition to the vampire?”

“How is it that you have all the answers?” Amelia inquired rhetorically and turned back to Buffy. Occupied with raising her arms to work her magic, she was unaware of the mage’s uncomfortable shrug or his surreptitious exiting of the house. “Reveal!” she shouted, the her frustration somewhat deteriorating her composure.

The air swirled around Buffy once more, and although it was rough and tore at her bloodless cheeks, she felt increasingly less strained and tense, as if she were climbing down from a very tall, precarious place, each second lessening the distance she could fall.

* * * * *

Spike ran out of Amber’s house and into the street, looking left and right and realizing he had no clue which direction would take him to Buffy. All he had to go off of was what the small girl had told him: Amber had left with the white-haired vampire, and taken him somewhere, with his hands tied. “Fuck!”

In his anger he kicked the door of a nearby car, denting the shiny blue metal and setting off the car alarm. “BLOODY FUCKING HELL!”

A light turned on in the house across the street, shortly followed by the house’s porch light. A middle-aged woman with curlers in her hair opened the door and pointed Spike out to her husband, who seemed to be dialing something on the phone.

The cops would get him, and he’d get Buffy in the police records. It would take even longer to find her and rescue her, and it might be too late, and it would be his fault. Suddenly the atmosphere tried to suffocate him, pressing inwards and twisting and turning him upside down, and the husband and wife across the street stared in shock as the blonde woman who’d tried to jack their car disappeared into thin, albeit swirling, air.

* * * * *

With a thud and a long string of expletives, the Slayer landed on the floor beside the blonde vampire.

Energy sparked between them and the force-field around Buffy shattered under the penetration of Spike and Buffy sparks. “Spike...” Buffy said, sitting up and reaching towards him.

A curious frown on her face, Amelia pushed her hands in opposite directions, causing the pair of blondes to slide away from each other and crash into walls at opposite ends of the room. Amber winced at the obviously painful collision.

“Fascinating...” murmured Amelia. “Their auras are crossed...” She watched as energy arced between the two, across the several hundred feet of the large room. “Mage,” she called out, “It now seems entirely possible that your suggestion of a body swap could prove to be...” she silenced as she became aware that the mage was no longer in the room. Clapping her hands, she caused the walls to grow tendrils, which reached out to bind the two captives’ limbs. Sighing, Amelia’s fashionable heels clicked out of the room in search for the mage. Amber’s eyes were trained on her boss as the woman exited.

“Buffy! You alright, Buffy?” Spike shouted across the room, thrashing against his bonds.

Buffy nodded, and slouched against the wall, resigned to her fate as a captive of an evil, obsessive-compulsive real estate saleswoman.

Spike watched her sink back into the tendrils. “Buffy, don’t – ” he began, but a small hand clamped over his mouth.

“Shut up, you cross-dressing moron,” hissed a female voice. An offended Spike mumbled against the hand, but its owner took no notice. “These rope things are just made out of plaster and wallpaper, only they stretch to your body, so the captive can’t break loose.” Spike heard snapping and crackling and the sound of falling plaster dust, and Amber’s voice returned in his ear. “Now get lost before that bitch gets back, or you’ll have blown your chance at escape.” Spike’s gaze drifted over to Buffy, and Amber groaned. “Forget the fucking girl!” she growled.

Spike frowned, and then turned to the female vampire. “Love to, only without her I can never get my own body back...which would be a pity.” He brought his face, with a sexy smirk, closer to Amber’s, completely forgetting for a moment that he was in Buffy’s body.

Amber, however, took a tense and unnecessary inhalation, as she stepped the smallest bit backwards, and then shook her head to clear it.

“Now, be a good girl and go keep watch, would you?” Amber nodded quickly and hurried away. Spike rushed over to Buffy and snapped the plaster tendrils, helping her stand. As soon as she held her own weight, Buffy’s knees buckled, so Spike pulled one of her arms over his shoulders and let her lean on them as they hobbled towards the door.

Amber counted to thirty after Buffy and Spike slowly crossed the threshold of the front door, and then shouted, “Amelia! The captives, they’re escaping, come quickly!” Amelia’s heels clicked furiously across the room and onto the front walkway, but Spike managed to hotwire a car, and drove off before she could catch up.

Spike broke every speed limit he’d ever heard of until he entered urban L.A. He pulled over into an empty space, parking haphazardly, and he and a very exhausted Buffy scrambled out of the car.

“How much money have you got, Slayer?”

“Two dollars, why?”

“I’ve got three cents, so looks like taxis are out of the question. And looks like you’re hardly up to walking. We’re taking the bloody bus.”

* * * * *

Dead tired, and in some cases simply dead, Buffy and Spike collapsed on their bed. Buffy yawned loudly, and Spike smirked and stuck his finger in her mouth. “I’m tired,” she defended herself, grinning. “All that weird magic-y stuff took something out of me...Like maybe motor control of my legs.”

“Then sleep.”

“We need to talk,” she replied.

Spike stared at her, clearly about to counter with some smart-ass response, but then he changed his mind. “Bugger, we’ll talk in the morning. Just get some sleep.”

She let herself fall backwards onto the pillow. Spike pulled the covers over her body and lay down next to her. Smiling lethargically, Buffy cuddled up close to Spike and within one minute was asleep.

“That bird...She acted quite strange, don’t you think, Slayer?”

“I don’t think about birds,” Buffy mumbled sleepily.

“I wonder what her story is. She seems familiar, but I don’t think we’ve ever met. I just can’t figure out what she wants, or even whose side she’s on.”

“Whose side is anybody on, Spike? Definitely not on you,” she said decisively, into his shoulder.

As little as he understood what Buffy had meant her point to be, he definitely felt she had one. Whose side was anybody on? He and the Slayer had been mortal enemies, but now they were clearly on the same side.

Buffy, as the Chosen One, was on the side of good. But was Spike? He was supposed to be an evil vampire. He still wanted to kill, and cared nothing for morality or laws.

Whose side was he on, anyway? Dru or Buffy’s? He didn’t want to decide, he much preferred ambivalence.

Satisfied with his decision to be officially undecided, Spike joined Buffy in sleep, and dreamt of Buffy, of Slayers, and of a small, copper-haired girl who had sunk so deeply in his memory he’d all but forgotten her. 12: INTERLUDE


A girl sauntered into the classroom just as the bell rang. Sociably she smiled or waved at other students as she took her seat.

“Barely on time, Miss Preist, as usual,” commented the teacher snydely. “I assume Faith is right behind you?”

“Oh, yeah. We decided she’d get here two minutes after me, to make me look better.” The entire class burst into laughter, the girl included, gray-blue eyes sparkling with mischievous fun.

The teacher’s mouth grew very small as she pressed her lips together. “Let’s give your friend three minutes to sit her behind down at her desk before I send a note to the attendance office.” When the teacher turned her back, the girl imitated the teacher with a simpering face, and several students tried to mask their laughter. Three minutes later, the class began, and the girl switched from drawing on her desk to drawing on her notepad, interspersing the pictures with occasional notes on the Bill of Rights. The desk beside her remained empty the entire period.

As the girl left the classroom, she walked right into another student. “Yo, Faith!” Miss Preist exclaimed, “Where were ya durin’ history?”

The larger girl draped her arm over her companion’s shoulders as the two of them navigated the hallway. “Places. Better places than Wagner’s class.”

“I can believe it! But still...Cutter!” She gently kicked Faith’s shin. “Ditcher! Loser!”

At the last word, Faith’s eyes lit up. “Talk about losers, lemme tell ya about this lady just now. Ya won’t believe it, P, it’s outrageous.”

“Arright, spill.”

For an instant, Faith’s grin vanished as she looked at the number of students swarming around them. “C’mon, let’s chat in the bathroom.”

The girl hopped up and sat on the sink counter, only to seconds later make a face. “Great, now my ass is wet.”

“Deal with it, P. Lemme tell ya the story. So this weird English gal comes up to me and she’s like, ‘Ahh yeu Miss Faith?’ An’ I’m like, sure, lady, who the hell are you? And she says, ‘I am Elizabeth Bahlkin, yoh Watchah.’ An’ she tells me I’m gonna be this superchic called the Slayer, an’ it’s like my sacred duty or something to kick the asses of vampires, 'n stuff.”

“Cool!” interjected P. “That’s just like in the movies. Only weirder.”

“Nah, it’s even better. I’m s’posed to have like superpowers or somethin’, cos vampires are superstrong -”

“Not that it’s not awesome an’ all, Faith – cos it is – but I hope this sacred duty of yours isn’t gonna stop us from hangin’ tonight. I mean, yeah, maybe we could work in some vampire hunting," P laughed, "But I...pretty much had partying in mind. But no reason we can’t do both.” P smiled happily at her friend, who was finally getting a much-deserved lucky break. “Not that it’ll be much of a problem. I doubt vampires wanna party. They’re just kinda weird, blood-suckin' monster guys, right?”

“’Zactly.”

In jumping down from the counter, P slipped in a puddle of water and fell to the floor. “Fuck!” she exclaimed, and grabbed her ankle.

“Y’alright, P?” Faith asked with a frown.

The smaller girl stood up cautiously, and then decided her ankle was fine. “I’m five by five,” she told the Slayer with a conspiratory grin, running a hand through her copper-colored hair, messing it up skillfully. 13: GAMES

“So this is Spike,” said Mr. Brown, a smile stretched across is leathery face. “Mornin’.” He beckoned the pair to the foot of a staircase and began the ascent.

“Better be worth it, Slayer,” he hissed in her ear. “I’d sooner sit with your Watcher an’ let him prattle on ‘bout his musty books.”

“What is with you today?” she demanded sharply. “Last night you were all cuddly– ” he visibly bristled at the adjective – “And now you’re sulky and broody.”

“M not brooding! It’s nothing, I just had some dreams last night, is all.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s no big, just...You know.” She smiled grimly and followed Mr. Brown up the stairs.

“Tea?” asked the old man brightly. “Coffee? Or wouldya like some blood, Buffy?”

Buffy smiled. “I’ll have coffee, actually.”

“Blood – just kidding, Slayer. I don’t need anything.”

Mr. Brown nodded and started out the door. “Oh, I almost forget. The both o’ yuh can take a look at the stuff what’s on dat table, while yuh wait.” With that, he closed the door, through which pots could be heard clanking together.

“So,” said Spike. “Let’s see what we’ve got. Toad spell, turn your nosy neighbor into a toad. Ooh, look, it works for other animals – you can turn ‘im into a rat, or a giraffe, or a cuckoo.”

“I see somebody already hit Dru with that one. You know, cuckoo...”

“Very funny, Slayer. We could turn Rupert into a giraffe, see how he’d fit into that tweed then.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, and then scooted closer to look over Spike’s shoulder. “What else have they got?” Flipping the stiff pages, Buffy quickly read over several spells that seemed entirely unrelated. Then suddenly, Spike’s hand shot and landed on a cream-colored page. “Love spell?” asked Buffy skeptically. “Spike, no one’s under a love spell; no one’s in love.”

It took him a second or two to respond, and when he did, he said hurriedly, “Well, no, of course not. Only I’ve always wondered, if maybe a love spell would make Dru...never mind.” Spike pulled his hand away, his thoughts now turned to Drusilla and the way she’d been around Angelus. Buffy shrugged and continued looking.

As Buffy was tiring of the silence in the room, the door opened, and Mr. Brown entered, bearing coffee and a teapot. He handed Buffy her coffee and asked, “Y’ sure yuh won’t be wantin’ any tea, Spike? There’s plenny.”

“Actually, I...I wouldn’t mind some,” replied the ex-vamp, in a manner that very much reminded Buffy of Giles.

After everyone was comfortable and situated within close reach of his or her drink, Mr. Brown began. “As I told Buffy, I haven’t the least idea of what’s happened to y’ both, so I figger, a little testin’s a good place to start. Nothin’ big, just a few things that’ll be more like games dan anything else.”

Spike grumbled something unenthusiastic, and while Buffy was peppy and friendly, he spent the entire rest of the day being either sullen or sardonic.

Six hours later, the three people reconvened around the coffee table, with a new round of beverages.

Mr. Brown began. “Well, we know that one of you can’t sense the other’s location; neither do you have the same tastes, which means the spell can’t be all that complicated. What you can do is read each other’s minds.”

Buffy’s eyes widened. He can read my mind? He knows exactly what I’m thinking, whenever he feels like listening? Does that mean he knows I think he’s sexy? That I spend valuable minutes every day thinking about his sexiness, or what it would be like to have sex with him – not, of course, that I’ve everthought about that – just, theoretically...

Mr. Brown continued. “It seems this is an ability that could use some developin’...Y’ can predict each othuh’s actions, but not share actual ideas or information.

“Thank the bloody Lord,” muttered Spike, tearing his eyes away from his own, feminine crotch.

“Why don’t the both o’ yuh go home, have sommin tuh eat, an’ I’ll look for likely spells.”

Buffy hopped up, starving. “Thank you, Mr. Brown. You have no idea how grateful we are – Spike’s more grateful than he looks, I swear.” She practically bounced out of the room and down the stairs.

Spike searched the coffee table for the book they’d looked at earlier, but when Buffy shouted, “Spike, you coming?” he swore and followed her. Have to look at that bloody love spell another time, he thought as he followed the vampire into the late afternoon shadows.

* * * * *

“Yo, sistah.” A vampire playfully slapped Amber on the ass and sat on the makeup counter.

“Move it, Val.” Amber resumed applying her thick black eyeliner. “You’re blockin’ my view.”

Val laughed. “Man, you just can’t let go of that human stuff, can you? I mean, it’s not like you can actually see yourself in the mirror anyway. Don’t get me wrong – you are one hell of a vamp, Amber, and all of this damn city knows it – but any vamp can tell you’re new.”

Amber shrugged and stared back into the empty mirror. “Sometimes I just think...If I look hard enough, then maybe...”

“Yeah, I know the feeling. Trust me, you’ll get over it in a year or two. I mean, cut yourself some slack. It’s only been like, what, three months?”

Amber nodded. “Four on Saturday.”

Val screeched. “Saturday? Dude, we’re gonna party, right?”

Tossing the liner pencil on the counter, Amber grinned sinisterly. “All we have to do is get Slutswoman off my back and it’s fiesta time. She’s pretty pissed about the way her plan fucked up last night, but I figure she can deal. Why don’t you round up all the sisters, and tell ‘em we’re gonna play some party games on Saturday. Maybe the minions can set up.”

“I’m on it, girlfriend.” Val saluted playfully and left the room.

Amber watched the brunette leave, and then flopped down on her beanbag chair. She felt much better now that she was planning her party. After what she had done at Amelia’s, the teen needed something to get the nasty taste of being good out of her mouth.

* * * * *

The next days, Buffy and Spike returned to Brown’s, but the old man had no definitive answer. It seemed everything and nothing was possible – while Buffy and Spike’s situation resembled just about all appearance changing spells, it seemed to resist all reversal spells or any incantations that tried to reveal its exact nature. Mr. Brown claimed that there could be two reasons for this, neither of which particularly narrowed their search: either the caster of the spell has been much more powerful than Mr. Brown, or the spell had been anchored to some object. Either way, it looked like the pair of blondes was going to stay switched for a while to come. Mr. Brown suggested that they spend their weekend trying not to worry about the swap; he would research that evening and on Sunday so by Monday they might have a lead.

Buffy stood in the shower, watching the streams of water run down her masculine chest. Although the whole sharing-a-room-with-Spike thing could have been worse, Buffy appreciated the time away from him. He was rude and moody with moods she couldn’t fathom, always ready with some sarcastic comment, and although she often had fun exchanging repartee, she wished he could be more like Angel. And of course, the worst thing about Spike was that he was evil. Sure, he wasn’t Angelus evil, he was more “I like the world, I like Happy meals on legs,” evil. He wasn’t a scheming apocalypse starter, Buffy realized that.

Spike was a killer.

Fighting was what he did best, what he enjoyed most. She could see it, when he rammed a stake through some vampire’s chest and set his eyes ablaze with excitement. She could see it, when they walked down the street and he gazed the passerby, wishing that he could kill. It was funny, since she was the Slayer, and to slay meant to kill. But Buffy wasn’t a killer like Spike, because she hated her job. And she hated seeing her own hazel eyes burn with lust for the kill, because when Spike was in there, the Slayer was a killer. And Buffy knew that it was a good look for her, and she hated it, just as she hated Spike for being sexy and making her want him.

She stepped out of the shower, toweling her hair dry, and suddenly an undressed Spike was there, running his female hands over her naked chest and kissing her neck. She locked his lips in a hard, demanding kiss that left him panting.

“Waitin’ for my turn, got me thinking...Ever taken a shower with a man, pet?” he asked as soon as he found his voice.

“Well technically, you’re a woman...But whoa. Spike. We haven’t even had sex on the bed, and you’re saying we screw in the shower?”

Spike laughed. This woman really is something, he thought with amusement. “Luv, I wasn’t suggesting, although if you’re offering...I can hardly say no.”

“Well, uh...I-I...” the flustered Buffy looked away from his eyes and instead looked at his body, noticing again the not-quite-flat stomach and the thighs whose shape she hated. She realized her modesty made her embarrassed not for herself, but for her body, which coincidentally Spike was occupying. “Uh...”

“No worries, pet. I know ways we can both enjoy ourselves without even touching.” He smirked as he reached for the faucet to turn the shower on once more. “Each other, that is...”

“Spike...”

He stepped into the shower. “C’mon, darlin’, you’re wasting water.” Feeling like she could die from shame, Buffy joined him in the shower. Spike stood directly below the nozzle, not even in the stream of water, but somehow getting wet from the spray. He positioned Buffy on the opposite end of the tub, the water pounding against her chest.

“You can do something, pet. Don’t have to stand still.”

“Spike, I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“Poppycock. Tell me what you’re doing, like this.” He moved one hand downwards, slowly, keeping eye contact with her the entire time. “I am sliding my hand down my stomach, towards my quim. Your turn.”

Buffy whimpered. “I’m...I’m touching my...Spike, this is ridiculous. I don’t have a dick. It’s your dick.”

“Fine, call it mine, if you like. Just get to it.”

“I’m running my finger down...your dick.”

“Good, Slayer. Now, I’m swirling my fingers ‘round your little pink nipple...” Buffy watched him fondle and gently pinch his nipple, realizing she couldn’t think of a single more embarrassing thing to be doing.

“I’m pumping my hand up and down, and I’m using my other hand to...to squeeze your balls.”

Smiling at the scene in front of him, Spike inserted his finger into his pussy, using his thumb to stimulate his clit. “I’m wiggling my finger inside your quim, and with my thumb I’m rubbing your clit.”

God, does this man have no shame? Buffy’s fingers brushed across the velvety skin beneath her balls by accident, and she gasped. Continuing to pump, she did it again. “I’m, I don’t know what to call what I’m doing, but it feels...uhh.”

“Good?” offered Spike. “I’m adding another finger now...And pumping, in and out...” He groaned, and the hand on his breast moved to attack his clit. It felt good, better than good, and he found his hips thrusting forward, trying to reach towards higher levels of arousal.

“Spike? I’m really, really horny now...” He grunted in reply. “I want to kiss you.”

“Do I look like I’m stopping you?” He looked at her through the curtain of water and steam.

Taking two steps, Buffy crossed the distance, grabbing his hips and pulling him flush up against her. Their mouths crushed against each other, tongues plundering soft cheeks. Buffy ground her crotch against Spikes, the water and his dripping pussy making wet skin slide smoothly against wet skin.

“God...” Buffy moaned.

“Need you,” rasped Spike against her lips.

Realizing that knowing what to do really wasn’t an issue, Buffy positioned herself at his entrance. “Want you,” she replied, sounding desperate and aroused even to herself, but not particularly caring.

Buffy pushed into his wet folds, gasping at the squeezing she felt, which seemed to press her brain up against the back of her eyeballs.

“How’s it feel?” he asked as he stretched to her size. “Tight?”

Buffy nodded. “And weird, being on the...” She pulled out and thrust in again. “Other side of...” she thrust again, establishing a slow but forceful rhythm. “Things.”

“I second that.” Spike felt himself clenching around her, and he jumped up to wrap his legs around her waist, shoving her cock all the way inside of him. “Christ, Buffy...”

Buffy felt him tightening around her cock, and the sensation made her tremble. She pushed Spike up against the wet tiles of the shower wall and began ramming into him faster and harder than she had before. With every thrust Spike exhaled and sometimes made a small noise of desire and need, and his response made her accelerate the pace even more. Suddenly Buffy felt like the desire that had been building had reached its max, like she were about to explode. “Spike!” she screamed, “Uhhh....God, fuck, uhhhhh...” Buffy realized, as she felt herself do what she assumed was ejaculate, that she had just come. She thrust a few more times before she felt absolutely spent, barely able to continue to hold Spike in her arms.

Spike. “Oh my God, Spike, I’m sorry...I’m just not all that good, and...”

“Shh...” murmured Spike comfortingly, dropping to stand in front of her, and press a gentle kiss to her lips. He accepted that there were some times when his budding love for the Slayer, even if it was love spell love and not the real thing, could not be contained by conscious thought, and so he let himself comfort her to his heart’s content. “’S alright, pet. You’re alright. It’s your first time like this, and it’s hard work gettin’ a woman to come. Took me few years practice to make it happen every time.”
Buffy calmed from her panic and looked into his eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

* * * * *

A middle-aged man frowned, looking over his menu and around the restaurant. The patrons were peacefully eating and wiping their mouths with lace-edged napkins, but he could tell something wasn’t right. In the distance he heard crashes and shouts, and car tires screaming as they left skid marks on pavement.

Suddenly a waiter scrambled out of the kitchen, his cream-colored shirt spattered with blood. “Everybody, run! Get out while you can! Hurry, before it’s too late!”

A baby started to cry, and a young teen couple began screaming. Various families started swearing at one another, scrambling around overturned tables and chairs for the windows.

The middle-aged man heard the waiter’s scream of terror end in a wet gurgle. He turned around and saw a tall and equally wide man with a ridged forehead pull his fangs out of a bloody mess on the waiter’s neck. The middle-aged man watched as the vampire carelessly tossed the limp body to the floor.

In a deep voice, the vampire cackled. “It’s already too late.”14: KILLER

A baby started to cry, and a young teen couple began screaming. Various families started swearing at one another, scrambling around overturned tables and chairs for the windows.

The middle-aged man heard the waiter’s scream of terror end in a wet gurgle. He turned around and saw a tall and equally wide man with a ridged forehead pull his fangs out of a bloody mess on the waiter’s neck. The middle-aged man watched as the vampire carelessly tossed the limp body to the floor.

In a deep voice, the vampire cackled. “It’s already too late.”

The middle-aged man assumed that the vampire’s threat meant he was planning to kill all the patrons right then and there, but apparently the large creature had different plans. He watched with satisfaction while the restaurant emptied out, the teen couple smashing the window with their chairs and spraying glass all over the sidewalk. The middle-aged man picked up a broken chair leg and, cornering the vampire as it drank from a young toddler, rammed the piece of wood through the monster’s heart. Then he turned and hurried through the window.

Outside, the streets resembled a scene from some horror movie. Terrified mothers screamed at the top of their lungs, looking for their children, while young men clustered to form fighting squads. Children scampered two and fro, adding to the chaos. Every street lamp had been broken, and most businesses and restaurants were dark as well. The noise was deafening, and the smell putrid with the scents of blood, garbage, and gasoline.

The middle-aged man tripped over an obstacle in front of him. It was soft and irregularly shaped, and also sticky and wet. The man noticed that the ground he’d dropped to was also sticky. Curious as to what had tripped him, the man leaned closer and realized that the lump seemed to have hair, matted together and stuck to what looked like a face. As he realized the truth, a car drove by, illuminating a mangled body. In the blue-white glow of its headlights, he noticed that the stickiness all over the corpse and himself was the red color of blood. Despite years of training in the bloody and gruesome, the man could not hold back a scream.

* * * * *

“Patrol?”

The vampire nodded, reaching for the leather duster. Spike, however, beat her to it and pulled the too-large garment over his shoulders.

Buffy stared. Oh my God. I can’t believe I just had sex with Spike. She also couldn’t believe he hadn’t found away to run off, to make some allusion to her lack of sexual prowess and split. When she remembered exactly why he had stuck around, in fact why the two of them had been stuck together in the first place, Buffy realized something else. Oh my fucking God. I can’t believe I just had sex with Spike while he was in my body! She knew she hadn’t really meant to, but she knew no moron, not even herself, would believe their lovemaking had been an accident. How exactly had she accidentally shoved her dick into...Nope, it was a fully unaccidental moment, and maybe while she hadn’t technically planned it, some part of her must have known it was coming. Not that I’m regretful, or anything. Far from it. In fact...

“Coming, Slayer?” He smiled, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Which, it occurred to Buffy, was possible in light of Mr. Brown’s discovery. God, he’s so annoying.

Buffy and Spike had just reached the hotel lobby when the outside chaos reached their ears. “What’s that?” asked Buffy apprehensively.

Spike shrugged. “Sounds like a good ol’ massacre...Y’know, those things are downright fun, you should try one sometime,” he told her, completely serious.

“You’re disgusting,” said Buffy with feeling, and she raced for the door.

* * * * *

A small boy paused at the mouth of a dark and narrow street, looking all directions, trying to remember which way he was supposed to go. Straight ahead didn’t look right, but straight behind he knew was wrong, because he’d just been there. Frowning, he stood still...and realized he heard footsteps. Thud...thud...he heard a splash as a pair of heavy boots stepped in a puddle. Someone was getting closer, and he knew all about strangers and how he wasn’t allowed to talk to them, so he made up his mind quickly and ran straight ahead.

The boots started walking faster, changing from a slow drumbeat to a faster rhythm that made his heart beat faster. With absolutely no idea where he was going, the child crossed the street, darting in front of speeding cars. His heart pounding against his ribcage and his feet pounding the sidewalk, he ran past an alley and straight into a group of three girls, all much taller and older than him. They stared down at him with distorted faces and eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. Screaming, the boy stopped dead in his tracks and turned around to see his original pursuer quickly shortening the distance between them in her heavy black boots. Panting, the boy turned down the alley, brushing his light-brown bangs out of his eyes. He ran as fast has his six-year-old legs could carry him, looking behind every few seconds to see when any of the girls entered the alley.

Suddenly something hard and cold collided with his face, and the boy fell backwards onto his back. Standing up quickly, he stared at the chicken wire fence that closed off any chance of escape. Maybe, he could climb it. Maybe...

The boots entered the alley, back at their lazy drumbeat. Thud...thud... Not even thinking real thoughts, the boy ran towards the fence and threw himself down on his stomach, wriggling like a snake trapped under the heavy black boots of his pursuer. White-hot pain seared down his back as metal tore through his skin, but as suddenly as he felt it the feeling disappeared, and he was running towards freedom...

He heard the fence clatter behind him, but he kept on running. Suddenly one of the girls landed in front of him, so suddenly that he ran right into her chest. She pinned his arms to his sides and looked into his face with a smile. Her face was normal and pretty, but her gray-blue eyes were cold and feral and so much worse than the gold eyes. The boy screamed in terror.

“Fuck! That was nice, Amber.”

His captor grinned, and in front of his very eyes he saw her teeth elongate into fangs, and her cold blue eyes warm to a deadly gold as the bones in her face shifted to form ridges on her forehead. With a growl, Amber tore into the boy’s soft neck. She drank until he went limp. “Think you can do the same thing, Naomi?”

Naomi never got a chance to answer; she screamed and exploded into dust. “I doubt it,” said Buffy grimly, seething with hatred.

“You really are a party pooper, ya know that Buffy? We were gonna jump her in and all that shit, and ya just had to go and dust her?”

Thu-thum...thu-thum...Buffy’s vampire ears picked out a weak heartbeat through the din and Amber’s ranting. The kid’s still alive, realized Buffy, as she took several surreptitious steps toward the body.

“Y’ noticed that too, did ya?” asked Amber. “I was hoping I could find someone he knows...Ya know, his mommy, or big sis, or his best friend...They could have a...dying party.” She laughed, and Buffy was struck by how much younger than herself this vampire seemed. She guessed Amber must have been turned when she was about fifteen or sixteen.

Although when it came to evil, murdering, child-tormenting monsters, Buffy could kill fifteen-year-old ones just as well as she could if they were forty. Buffy leaped on Amber, punching her and kicking her into a brick wall. As she drew closer, stake in hand, Amber darted between Buffy’s legs and jumped on top of the roof of the closest building. “You better hurry,” she called down. “The kid could die any minute. Rush him to the hospital, like the good little white hat you are. God, you guys make me want to fucking retch.” With that, Amber disappeared into the night, and Buffy scooped the boy into her arms and ran.

* * * * *

Buffy leaned against the clean white wall of the hospital. Although the gory scene outside was disturbing, Buffy had seen horrific vampire attacks before, and she knew how to handle them. Knew how to push the bad memories to the parts of her mind where she wouldn’t re-experience them. It wasn’t Amber’s form of entertainment that bothered the former Slayer.

It was Amber herself. That delicate, mocking face, her course and contemptuous language, the way she moved...all of it was too familiar, in a creepy, stalker-ish way. Things she remembered that added up to something she’d forgotten.

Buffy looked at the tile floor and thought she remembered again, before whatever it was darted once more out of her grasp.

A hand came to rest on her arm. Buffy turned around to look at Spike. His hair was coming down in wisps from his ponytail, and his clothes and skin were spattered with blood and dirty water. Blood had dried around a small cut on his forehead.

Buffy wasn’t sure whether he had killed vampires or humans, but she knew he’d enjoyed himself fighting. She was dimly aware that there had been times when she’d enjoyed the rush of kicking and punching and the excitement of not knowing what came next. But those days were over, and she killed because she had to.

“Ready to head home, pet?”

Buffy nodded and followed Spike out the door.

* * * * *

“That was one hell of a party, girlfriend.”

Amber cracked her knuckles absent-mindedly. “Guess so.” She grinned, messing up her purple hair.

One of the Sisters punched Amber in the arm. “’Course, you know what comes next.” Their leader stared blankly. “You can’t really unlive until you put your mortal life behind you! Tell us a funny story, Amber, something terrible. Hopefully something gory.”

Val inserted herself into the conversation, as was her habit. “Don’t forget – the best ones are the ones where you cried. Then can all get a good fucking laugh!”

Amber sipped human blood out of a ceramic Starbucks mug. “Alright, I’m tellin’, and you’d better believe it. When I was alive, I was such a wuss. I had this...really good friend, who was givin’ me the silent treatment with the sharin’. Wouldn’t tell me nothin’ that mattered. Anyway, so I was so ticked off I ditched, and started hangin’ out with some really cool guys...Some really cool dead guys. So the next thing I know, the fuckers turned me, but they were such losers I was like a fledgling without a Sire, you know? So get this, this is the good part – I found this master vampire, who’d bagged like a shit load of Slayers, and I begged him to help me. I was one hell of a loser. But then I’m like, holy fuck hold on a sec, I don’t need this crap, so I came here to LA. You guys know the rest. That’s it, in four months I went from loser to...less of a loser.” She laughed and downed the rest of her blood.

“Amber...” said a bleach-blonde named Sicily. “You’re not a loser.”

She laughed. “No, but I’m still kind of a fledgling without a Sire.”

“Still,” said Sicily, “Your story is awesome. I wish something that exciting happened to me. You’re like, villain with a past.”

Amber stared into her mug, wondering where all the blood had gone. Exciting? Amber thought about her Slayer stories, about Spike and Drusilla. People, you have no idea.
15: INTERLUDE

Loud music blasted, like a single heartbeat for the creature formed by the writhing mass of dancing bodies. Someone tapped P’s shoulder.

“Wanna get some fresh air?” Faith jerked her head in the direction of the door.

P grinned as Faith danced her way off the floor, rubbing up against everyone and everything, and followed the brunette out of the club.

“Hey, it’s...quiet now,” said P, laughing, looking into Faith’s eyes.

“Sure. My ears are ringing.” Faith looked at the McDonald’s across the street. “Hungry?”

P wasn’t hungry – she and Faith had ordered club food just forty minutes before. She shrugged and walked across the street. Minutes later, the girls were sitting at a concrete picnic bench, devouring juicy burgers. “How’s the Slayer thing going?” asked the redhead.

“It’s cool. Watcher took me out two nights ago, and I took out three vamps.”

P gracefully wiped mayo off her lips. “You a pro now?”

“Somethin’ like.” Faith and P finished their meal. Faith tossed her wrapper perfectly into the trashcan, but P’s bounced off and landed on the sidewalk. “Damn close,” complimented the Slayer. P shrugged and started to say something, but Faith held up her hand for silence. “There’s a vamp nearby. I’m tingly.”

“Really. Tingly, like – ” P remembered to be quiet.

“I’m gonna slay. You cool to wait here for a few?”

P flipped her hair over her shoulder, looking tough. “I’m cool.” She watched as her friend jumped over the concrete wall and beat up a man, driving a stake into his chest and causing him to dust. Faith returned with a bloody gash on her arm.

Instantly P jumped down from the table and rushed over to the brunette, worry overcoming the tough bad girl persona. “You ok? You’re hurt, he hurt you!”

“Nah,” said Faith, brushing the blood away with her hand. “I’m five by five.” She laughed and walked back towards the club.

P pressed her lips together and remained silent.
16: CLOSER BUT FARTHER AWAY

The middle-aged man read over his glasses, frowning at the scribbled number on the back of his wife’s grocery list. He lifted the phone receiver and punched in the numbers. After only a single ring, a male voice answered, frantic with anticipation. “Yes? This is Rupert Giles.”

“How do you do, Rupert? It’s Adam Shawcross...I have flown to Los Angeles, to visit an old friend, and this city seems overrun with vampres...You – you have no idea...It’s a bloody massacre.” Giles heard the other Watcher suck in a hurried breath. “However, there seems to be...a vigilante group, or the like; I witnessed one in particular –“

Giles cut in. “Blonde?”

“Why, yes,” replied Adam. “And very strong. Dressed in black...In fact, the, erm, thought crossed my mind that he might be –“

“He? The vigilante was male?” asked Giles, with mounting disappointment.

“Why, erm, yes he was. Very decent training, though; he fought like one of our Slayers. Why did you...”

Giles took his time in answering. “Buffy...my Slayer...is missing. We believe she –“

“Oh!” exclaimed Adam.

“ – Ran away.” Giles frowned. “Adam, did you say something?”

“Good Lord, imagine that!” Adam stared at the hotel television, transfixed. The fearful-looking news castor described a mysterious hero who had been seen by numerous witnesses the previous night. A home video clip was displayed, showing the vigilante in action. “Erm, Rupert,” asked Adam, “Miss Summers is blonde, is she not?”

“She is.”

Adam watched the blonde hair flip around as the fighter delivered a roundhouse kick to a vampire’s chest. “And rather petite?”

“Indeed.”

“Hazel eyes...Very youthful and American dress sense?”

Giles stood up in excitement, causing several folios to fall to the floor. He grinned at Xander, so extatic he could barely form words. “Adam, I- I can’t belive – I will be there, in Los Angeles, in a few hours.”

“I will wait for you, and in the meantime I will work to pinpoint your Slayer’s location, and see that she remains in Los Angeles.”

There was a silence as Giles struggled to process the new developments. After several bewildered looks from Xander, Willow, Cordelia, and Oz, he spoke. “Thank you, Adam.”

* * * * *
Buffy couldn’t sleep. Beside her, Spike rested peacefully for the few hours sunrise. It was still weird, to see herself from the outside. She couldn’t get over how weird it was to have just screwed herself - in the literal, physical sense – and from the outside. So instead, what she kept telling herself was that she’d screwed Spike. The problem was, she couldn’t get over that either. It was strange to have fraternized with the enemy in such an intimate way. Not that Spike and I are intimate in any way, Buffy assured herself.

The problem was, she liked the whole deal, the sleeping-with-the-dangerous-bad-boy-evil-killer deal. Sure, the blonde vamp wasn’t Angel, but as Buffy wasn’t looking to fall in love for another few millennia, that was fine. She was ready to move on.

Spike made a “Mmph!” sound and rolled away from Buffy. Grin spreading across her face, Buffy grabbed his shoulder and descended on his mouth. Kissing her own face was a strange sensation, but so much about the past week had been strange that Buffy had begun to adjust.

Spike mumbled into her mouth. When she freed his lips, he repeated himself. “What the bloody hell, Slayer! Are you trying to smother me in my sleep?”

Biting back laugher, Buffy shoved him off the bed. “Maybe I should!” she shouted “God, you’re annoying!” She watched as he stood up from the floor in his full, nude glory, and tried to imagine what Spike would be thinking if he were back in his body, and she in hers.

Suddenly she sprang off the bed and catapulted into Spike, tackling him to the ground once more. He groaned as his head contacted the floor. Buffy captured his lips once more. As the kiss deepened, she rubbed up against his body, trying to create as much contact between his skin and her naked chest as possible. Spike’s hands snaked down her sides to the waistband of the jeans she stubbornly insisted upon sleeping in, fingers poised to pop the button. Buffy groaned and kissed his neck.

“Ready for the repeat performance, luv?”

She could not contain a ragged sigh. “Let’s try the non-Sea World edition this time, ok?” Spike laughed loudly and rolled the pair of them over. Buffy watched him in anticipation as he kneeled over her knees, unzipping the jeans and pulling them off, trailing feminine, delicate fingertips down her thighs. She wondered if the whole have-sex-with-yourself-without-jerking-off thing was as embarrassing for him as it was for her, but if Spike was self-conscious or ashamed of the strangeness, he didn’t let it be easily known. His expression betrayed no feelings but lust, and if Buffy hadn’t already somehow made the decision to trust the ex-vamp, she would be terrified by the look of a predator. Spike wore Buffy’s face like a mask that molded to his primeval power, and Buffy was shocked to realize it was possible for her own face to look so...demonic.

Spike stanched the stream of thoughts with a gentle frown. “Somethin’ up, pet?”

She glanced down at her erection, causing both of them to smile, and then admitted, “I don’t really know what I’m doing... I was probably pretty bad last time...” She ignored the shake of his head and said, “Anyway, you might have to teach me...stuff.”

He watched her for a moment, and then took her hand, bringing it between his legs. “Lesson the first,” he announced. “Foreplay: defined as contact –“

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I know what foreplay means, dumbass.” To demonstrate her point, she began moving her fingers against him, slowly and tantalizingly. As if by accident, she occasionally brushed across his clit. Then after a few passes she centered her attention on it, teasing the bundle of nerves by darting her finger from side to side without ever completely contacting.

“You seem to be doing fine,” Spike pronounced unevenly. “Don’t know what your –“ his breath hitched as she pinched his clit roughly and proceeded to rub more insistently – “Bloody problem is.”

She slipped two fingers inside, wiggling them and feeling his muscles tighten. “I know. I know, it’s just...I’m not sure, I think – I keep thinking I’ll do something, you know, wrong...”

She began pumping her fingers hesitantly, but as Spike shoved himself down onto her fingers repeatedly, the pace quickened. As Buffy felt his core begin to drip around her fingers, she developed an itching, burning desire, something that wanted to wriggle, shove, fight and consume...

“Just do what comes naturally, luv.” He moved her hand aside and sank down onto her hard length. She gasped in pleasure and tried to push in harder, deeper. For a few seconds Spike and Buffy battled, both trying to thrust without pulling out, and then Spike retreated to sink down once more. He repeated the action, and Buffy coordinated her thrusts so that their hips crashed together at the same time. Each stab of her cock sent shocks of pleasure into her body. She couldn’t believe that anything had felt that good, ever, and the thrusting became rough and impatient. She wanted and she wanted more, and she attacked with all of her strength, sure she would hurt Spike but not really caring amidst the heat and sweat. She felt close to a prize, nearly able to reach out and grab it, and so she pounded harder and harder until somehow she won.

Suddenly there was no space for any sensation but extreme bliss... “Fuck, Buffy!” She heard Spike scream, and he collapsed onto her sweaty, naked chest, panting. She reached out to run her fingers over his blonde hair, which was damp with sweat and beautiful.

Every inch of their skin was slick and shiny. Buffy reached out to slide her hand over Spike’s moist shoulder. “Sea World or not, we’re not exactly dry,” she commented with a smile.

Spike laughed into her neck.

* * * * *

Amelia pulled into an impeccable parallel-park in front of a large house that left very little space for its landscaping. The demon’s voice played in her head with the accuracy of a sound clip. What is taking you so long, human? You would think my promise of power would be more than enough incentive...I need the two who block my path destroyed; my rise to this dimension is long overdue! A few centuries past...For now I try to forget, but when the entire world is under my control, I will punish those responsible... Amelia made a slight shake of her head in disapprobation. Demons were so full of themselves.

Her eyes were instantly drawn to the once-cared-for flowerbeds, which swelled over the crests of the landscaped hills. The entire house looked past its prime; a nice and expensive abode, but having faded into the realm of the shabby. Amelia knocked on the door, but it was opened before her fourth knock.

A gap-toothed vampire scowled. “You’re not the Chinese2Go guy,” she whined, and Amelia shuddered at the girl’s combination of fatty and muscular bulk. An equally threatening and more unattractive male sauntered into view, his hand equivocating between his running over his monstrous forehead ridges or his dimpled shaven head. Finally it settled on caressing the vampiric wrinkles with confidant, manly pride.

“This chic’ll do in a pinch, sweetness,” he drawled. As the pair reached toward her, Amelia brought her hands up in front of her face, fingers flexed, and suddenly the vampires jumped back as if burned. Seconds later every inch of their skin burst out with red, oozing blisters. “Did you see that?” The male asked. “Did you see that!”

Suddenly someone dropped down from an indoor balcony, and Amelia recognized the tousled purple hair. Amber’s tattered black ensemble, she was aware, bestowed upon her a sinister flair, and making the most of it, she smoothed the fabric of her skirt with her fingers. Amber shot a withering glare at the female vamp, growling, “Becca, get him the fuck outta here. You know the rule: no dates, no mates, nada? Boyfriends are strictly not allowed in the House.” Becca made obscene use of her middle finger and pulled the male vampire out of the room.

Amber then turned her attention to her employer. “Yo, Real Estate Slutswoman. Fancy meetin’ you here. Can I help ya with somethin’? Like, the way to the door?”

Amelia forced a practiced smile into her lips and snapped her fingers. A flame burst into existence, dancing on an invisible wick which seemed to float above her palm. “Business, Amber. It seems the pair of captives escaped, no? I want you to get them back for me...I believe I mentioned it before, but word on the streets, in the bars and demon clubs, claims that the Vampire Slayer is in town. News stations have posted images of a pair of ‘mysterious heroes,’ who were seen fighting vampires last night. The odd thing is this – look at me, Amber, I really do think you’ll want to hear this – the picture matched our captives.”

Amelia smiled, and Amber watched, her eyebrows raised in disdain.

“It’s funny. When the idea of a body-switched spell was first suggested to me, I evaluated it as implausible. However...I think it likely that we had the Slayer in our hands before you...allowed her escape. The Slayer, in the body of a vampire...What I recommend, Amber, is that find this Slayer again and bring her to me – and this time I want her to stay where I leave her, understand?”

Amber nodded sharply, but without her usual rebellious zest. The small girl watching from behind the window curtain wasn’t positive; but she thought Amber looked scared.

* * * * *

“So the question arises: where we are?”

Xander looked at Oz and shrugged. Willow smiled and suggested that maybe Giles did, just as the Englishman slammed his fist into the dashboard. “Bugger!” he exclaimed. “We’ve been going in the entirely wrong direction. Adam has booked us rooms in the hotel that is about ten minutes away from where we were an hour ago. Bugger!”

Cordelia sighed and leaned into Xander. “Wake me up, okay?” He nodded and kissed her forehead tenderly.

Giles swore several more times and motioned for Oz to turn around.

* * * * *

A rap on the door tore Buffy and Spike away from their semi-nude television watching, causing Buffy to pull a black T-shirt over her head and scamper to the door. A trim waiter handed Buffy a small tray which bore a thin piece of paper. “Thanks?” she told him.

“It’s the daily invoice of your accumulated room bill. Have a nice day.”

“Thanks,” she repeated a bit more assuredly, and closed the door. Spike snatched the invoice and skimmed it.

Suddenly he started. “Bollocks!” He waved the paper in the air in frustration and then sat on the bed.

“What is it?” Buffy asked curiously.

“It’s un-fucking-believable, that’s what. Unless you’ve got a couple grand hidin’ in that bitty purse of yours, we’re right snookered, we are!”

Buffy stalked over. “Spike, translate. What are you – “

“We can’t pay the bleedin’ bill, is what I’m saying.”

Buffy read over his shoulder. “Spike, chill. I have got some money. Between us we can pay this, but...I don’t think we can stay here anymore. We need to find somewhere less...”

Spike nodded. “There’s this place, a few blocks down. It’s shabby, but it’ll do.” Buffy left to gather their things, which were scattered around the room.

* * * * *

“I hate you. I loathe you, with a filthy, disgusting hatred...” Buffy squeezed her eyes shut as she followed Spike down the narrow hallway. The room was only $10 a night, but it seemed all their neighbors were prostitutes and vagrant dope-fiends.

“I hate you, Slayer,” Spike replied cheerfully as he threw open the door to the tiny room. One, rickety bed stood in the center of an otherwise empty room. The curtains were moth-eaten, the carpet had numerous unsightly dark stains, and there was a lone cobweb in a neglected corner. The bathroom was roughly 6 feet by 6 feet, and was filled with a very cheap toilet and sink and a shower stall that was nearly too narrow for a single person.

“I’m so glad I stopped Acathla,” Buffy said as she grimaced at the meager accommodations. “If Hell on earth had made everything turn into this...I don’t know what I’d do with myself.” Spike laughed at her and Buffy glared back.

* * * * *

Adam rushed over to Giles and the two excitedly shook hands. “I have wonderful news,” Adam announced. “I tracked Miss Summers’s credit card, and she made a purchase in this very hotel, so I asked if there was a Miss Summers renting any of the rooms. The receptionist was extraordinarily helpful, and she told me that Miss Summers is staying in room number 215! I have been awaiting your arrival in the highest of spirits.”

The group trekked up to the second floor and located room 215. After calling “Buffy?” and knocking repeatedly without receiving any answer, Giles banged his forehead against the wall. A worried employee paused in navigating the hallways to watch the group. A strange looking bunch, but...She remembered the couple that had checked into room 215, the husband and wife. There had been something strange about them as well, she remembered from the reception counter. But both of them had seemed pretty nice. Deciding to help, she offered, “The people in that room checked out about an hour ago. That blonde girl, is she a friend of yours?”

The Scoobies nodded, returning to their rooms disheartened. They still couldn’t seem to find Buffy...although at least they were close.

One thing bothered Willow, however, as she snuggled up beside Oz. The employee had said, “people,” The people in that room... If Buffy were indeed one of those people, who were the others? It appeared that Buffy, contrary to what everyone had thought, was not hiding somewhere alone.

* * * * *

The woman felt a powerful slap on her cheek. Defiantly, she swiveled to meet the golden eyes of the vampire. Amber grabbed her shoulders. “What have I told you, woman? I said, ‘stay inside the House.’ ‘Under no circumstances are you to leave the House.’ ‘If you go outside the House, you will most likely be killed.’ Do you have a death wish, you idiot?”

“I’m not an idiot,” she hissed.

“Neither am I,” snapped Amber. “Vampires are predators, killers. We prey on the weak and the solitary.” She forcefully shoved the mother through the doorway. “The second you step out that door, you’ve got no protection. Maybe you wanna die, but what about your daughter?”

The woman heard crashes in the background as Revolvers smashed something breakable. Outside in the shadows, minions scurried two and fro.

“Something would happen, cos you left her unprotected. That’s not what you want, is it?” With a fierce growl, Amber disappeared into the darkness, anger fueling her lust for the hunt.

One hunt in particular. One girl, with strength and speed and ferocity...Just the idea of that one meeting caused Amber’s body to thrum with anticipation.

She knew that Amelia was wrong – the girl in Spike’s body was not the Slayer. However, she could not deny the rumors among the demon community. The Slayer was in Los Angeles, particularly in her part of Los Angeles. Spike had mentioned the Slayer, several times, so she had reason to believe they were connected.

She was confident in the achievability of her plan, but at the same time she felt more nervous and alone than ever. She was going to find the Slayer. For better or for worse.17:INTERLUDE

”Faith. What’s up?”

“Nothin’.” Cars splashed through the puddles, their headlights illuminating the curves of her body and the curls of her hair, but casting her face in shadow.

P examined her hands. “Watcher around? I had a question for her.”

Faith was silent for several seconds. When she spoke, the sound was almost lost to the patter of the rain. “Nah. She went to this conference thing in merry old England.”

The Slayer shrugged. “Whatever. I should be gettin’ home...”

“Faith?” Red hair was plastered to her freckly, pale skin. P gently ran her fingers through Faith’s think dark hair. “You can crash at my place, if you want. I know how you – ”

“Nah. It’s fine.”

P stood and watched the dark Slayer blend in with the night. Every headlight whizzed past, leaving P walking in a darker, smaller, and completely different neighborhood.

The street was silent and empty. The only thing P heard was the sound of her Doc Martens squeaking on the wet asphalt. She wiped the rain off her face and squinted into the darkness. “Fuck. Where’s a Slayer when you need one?”

Strong male hands grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. “Slayer, huh. Why don’t I help you find her.”

P screwed up her face as the vamp stroked her neck.

“Only, I think we should make a present for the Slayer, you and me. What do you say, sweetness?”

A car whipped by, and in the flash P saw the vampire’s wrinkly forehead. As the fangs pieced her skin, she screamed.

With a jolt, Buffy realized she was staring at the ceiling of the motel, which was a sorry excuse for white. Dark splotches marred its cream-colored plaster, and Buffy couldn't help thinking they were dried blood, splattered into every corner of the room when some prostitute had been murdered.

"Pet?" asked a male voice, a British male voice, with a skillfully-disguised but still somewhat shaky voice. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah...I had a...dream, about..."

"P?"

"Oh my god, you had it too?"

There was a silence.

"Don't be daft! Big bad, have nighmares? You're off your soddin' rocker, is what you are, Slayer."

"Oh please! Big bad? More like "Big Pain in the Ass."

"Belt up, Slayer."

The room returned to silence. Buffy closed her eyes to block out the splotchy ceiling, but behind her eyelids a powerful vampire sank his teeth into a terrified teenager's neck. 18: TIP OF THE SCALES

“I can’t believe we missed her!” Xander banged his head into the doorway, seconds later drawing back to utter an enraged “Ow!”

“I know,” agreed Oz calmly. “What are the odds.”

Giles stared at the weather channel blankly. The entire Scooby gang had congregated in his room to moan and share their depression, but Giles didn’t want to share. Somehow, he had to be responsible for Buffy’s running away. He should have been more supportive, or more understanding...He chuckled to himself. That’s it! I should have supported her lingering feelings for the ex-boyfriend who murdered Jenny! But still, he felt responsible. Her note had been very brief and distracted, being hardly verbose in its explanation of her need for some time away, and of her feeling of isolation in Sunnydale. “I just feel like there’s no one here to understand me. I’ve lost everything and no one here cares,” she’d written. Well, Giles cared, and he was making sure it was clear to everyone.

Oz watched his redheaded girlfriend’s eyebrows draw into a frown. “What is it, Wil?”

“What people?” she murmured again. She hoped that maybe, by repeating it over and over, something might occur to her...

”I’ve got help,” Buffy assured her.

Willow frowned, wishing she could see her friend face-to-face. “What help?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Oz?” Willow glanced around at the other Scoobies before she was satisfied that they were preoccupied with their own thoughts. “I don’t think Buffy ran away alone.”

“Maybe she’s ok then.” Oz ran his fingers through Willow’s hair.

She smiled. “I hope so. Only, if she had...whoever she ran away with...I don’t get why she left at all, if she’s ok. You know? I mean, if people want to visit someplace else, they...visit. If they run away, then they’ve got to be running from something, you know? So maybe this person makes things better than they’d be otherwise, but...I don’t think she’s really ok. I think...She doesn’t think we care about her, Oz!” The werewolf made a sympathetic expression. “I wish I could find her, and tell her that I do care.”

“How’re you gonna find her?”

Willow looked guiltily at Giles’s inattentive face and turned back to Oz. “I...there’s this spell, a locator spell. It shouldn’t be too hard to do, as long as Giles isn’t doing his protective mother-hen thing.”

“He does have a tendency to cluck,” commented Oz with a straight face. Willow giggled and then lapsed into thought.

“I hate to lie to him, but if I tell Giles I’m gonna drop by my aunt’s house before I go home, I’ll have a chance to look for Buffy. You could stay if you want...”

Oz shook his head. “I’d love to, but the next three nights are – “

“Of course, how could I forget! Wolf nights, you need your cage..Well, I’ll call you, to check up, let you know if the results are the good type or the bad type.”

“Cool.” With a gentle smile, Oz leaned over to gently kiss Willow’s lips.

* * * * *

Buffy tore into Spike’s lips savagely, driven by a feeling of desire she’d begun to accept. She wanted Spike, really wanted, but it wasn’t so bad because...Well, the because seemed to defy logic, but pro-Spike arguments prominently featured points like “he’s been sorta nice so far,” and “he hasn’t killed me yet.” Not the world-class defense of the century, but over the past week it had improved by gaining a couple good points, and Buffy assumed that it would continue to be more convincing with time. The most convincing argument, which won Buffy’s moral battle every time, was the most logical, in an insanely simplistic sense: “Who am I trying to convince anyway?” Her friends were in Sunnydale, and her mother was out of the picture. It was just herself and Spike, and as long as neither of them cared...

Buffy frowned as Spike pushed her away. “Not now, Slayer,” he said. He looked sympathetic when he saw her hurt face, and added, “Jus’ not in the mood.” Spike glowered at the entire room, and then kicked the wall, leaving a small dent in the plaster and causing small shards of ceiling to fall over both of them. “Blasted, fucking motel,” he growled.

“Yeah...not big with the hygiene,” Buffy said with an awkward laugh, gazing at the stained rug instead of at the girl in front of her.

“I hate this place. I forgot how much I...hate this place.” He returned to the bed and sat down on it, causing its springs to whine.

Buffy crawled up behind him and pressed her palms into his back, rubbing up and down in a seductive massage that made Spike close his eyes. “Maybe...I can distract you into forgetting?” Buffy suggested, bringing her mouth close to his ear. Damn, she kind of wanted to bite him; her lithe Slayer body came with a delectable neck. Buffy frowned when she saw the mark Spike had left their on their trip to Los Angeles – she’d remembered the heat of the moment but forgotten the actual bite.

Suddenly Spike stood up and whirled around to face her. “Would you stop actin’ like you’re Dru? You’re not!”

“I – “ stammered Buffy, at a loss for words. She felt like getting up off the bed and running, running anywhere so long as it was away.

“Dru’s my girlfriend. She does all the girlfriend things... You just – “

“Are here for the frequent, easy-access sex?” snapped Buffy angrily. “Well good, cos, you too! If I wanted something more, I’d go find –“ Angel. Who was dead. Not to mention evil. Great plan, Buffy, nice one.

“Pet...” He didn’t know what to say. He needed to work out his own feelings before he could deal with Buffy’s. He couldn’t think straight, because he hated their room, he hated the whole bleedin’ motel. He and Dru had murdered a clerk and stayed in a room in this very same motel, and he couldn’t stop thinking about his Princess. They’d had so much fun, killing together... He missed all the little things he loved about her, all the things he couldn’t explain that meant everything to him. She was just...Dru, and he needed her. Buffy’s presence beside him made him seethe with frustration over how close he was to the Slayer, yet how far from his love. Not that he minded being near Buffy – she was a growing on him, and in addition to liking her body he was enjoying her smile...But she wasn’t Dru. He knew his Princess missed him, and even though he wanted to beat her til she bled and sobbed an apology about being with Angelus, his anger was beginning to fade.

Brief moments of clarity made him fear what he’d done, teaming up with the Slayer and then driving her to fucking Los Angeles. Buffy obviously was using him to ignore her grief over the death of her great pouf, but Spike worried he might be on rebound himself – also because of something that was Angel’s fault.

Fucking bastard! Spike screamed inside his own head. He looked again at the very confused Slayer, staring at him with hurt and bewilderment. It dawned on him that the thing that made insane anger bubble up the most when looking at Buffy was her similarity to Drusilla. Both women were stubborn and difficult to handle. Both had their own intricacies that were horribly aggravating but that Spike missed after only a few minutes of separation from them. And, he realized with a sudden desire to rip something to shreds, they were both Angel’s leftovers.

Spike hated how his love for Dru was always somehow dwarfed by Angel’s past with her. How he could never have that part of her, never be Angel, and never seem to win. Although he was positive he didn’t love Buffy, he knew Angel still won where she was concerned as well, and it made him want to kill.

He realized Buffy had been talking, forcing cheerfulness into her voice. “...Really pegged you down for a brooder, but you’re worse than Angel right now.” Suddenly his fist was slamming into her cheek, and Spike was watching as the girl in his body flew backwards and slammed into the headboard. “Spike...” she whispered, with shock and confusion.

“Just shut your trap ‘bout the bastard? Alright?” He frantically ran his fingers through his blonde hair and began pacing. Buffy nodded meekly and stayed hunched on top of the pillows. “Fuck, Buffy! I don’t know what’s gotten into me... It’s just this room, and that dream...”

She let out a very small amount of air. “It bothers you that we had the same dream.”

The thought hadn’t occurred to him, but Spike didn’t say anything to challenge it. He’d never shared dreams with Dru, except once when they’d fallen asleep right after shagging and had both dreamed about carrying on for longer. But with Buffy, it had been entire...He was beginning to hate their synchronicity and togetherness, beginning to hate her and everything she meant concerning his future and his feelings. He wasn’t evil, he was shacked up with the Slayer, shagging her and getting hooked on it, sharing her dreams and beginning to hate referring to their coupling as shagging because it was more... He spoke abruptly as he turned and walked to the sliding glass doors. ”I’ll be outside.”

* * * * *

“Oz, thanks for letting me do this in your van.”

“No problem. As long as no hippos appear on top of my guitar, I’m cool.”

Willow smiled at her boyfriend over her assortment of herbs. “The sooner I find Buffy, the more time I have with her. If I do this right the first time, I can find her before you and the others go home. Then you wouldn’t have to wonder how I was doin’.” She flashed him one of her adorable smiles and Oz watched her contentedly from his seat.

“Quaero, reperio, illustrio.”

The entire map shimmered.

“Any luck?” asked Oz.

A small bead of light lit up above the map, walking up and down the streets of a certain seedy section of town. Willow grinned. “Looks like. Can you take me there?”

“Sure thing.”

* * * * *

“Aaaaaaaah!” The mage jumped a few inches in the air when he turned to see the vampire standing in the doorway.

Amber grinned. “Nice. That was very manly. Now, business – I’ve heard that your prices for spells are cheap when your clients intimidate you with bumpies and fangs, so here’s my small gift of cash, let’s get to work. I want a locator spell done on the Slayer.”

The mage edged away. “I don’t...I’m not very good at locating – “

“Oh, stuff it,” exclaimed Amber joyously. “I saw you at that Real Estate bitch’s place. Dunno why she needed you, since she’s a good ol’ Wicked Witch of the West herself, but –“

“You like Wizard of Oz?” asked the mage in hopeful diversion. “I’ve got this awesome spell, I call it the ‘Wicked Witch of the West’...”

Amber kicked his shin and caused him to shut up. “Will it tell me where the Slayer is?”

The mage smiled a forced smile. “It’s a very attractive spell, visually. And yes, it’s an element of my flashiest locator spell.” Blabbing as he went, the mage poured several ground herbs into various metal cups. As he snapped his fingers and caused each cup to brim with deep orange flames, he turned back to Amber. “The...Slayer, you said? Vampire Slayer? Funny...You wouldn’t by any chance happen to know this other client of mine, by the name of Drusilla? She’s a bit taller than you, dark hair...”

“You did a spell for Drusilla?”

“That I did! I did the Wicked Witch of the West, and I also did this really complicated one, the Haitian Body Exchange –“

Amber’s golden eyes snapped up and bored into the mage’s. “You did that. You switched Buffy and Spike.”

“That I did! Though I must say, Drusilla was a tad disappointed at Spike’s reaction to being in the Slayer’s body...” he chuckled, and instantly silenced himself when he noticed Amber was not laughing as well.

The purple-haired vampire, however, was not listening to anything the mage said. Instead, her eyes were fixed on the oval of smoke, which had swirled to create a colorful picture of a bleach-blonde vampire leaving a motel room and walking out onto the street.

“There you go, there’s your Slayer. Product of my lovely Haitian Body Exchange, of course...”

“That’s the Slayer, inside there?” Amber asked in disbelief. “Buffy’s the Slayer?”

No, it can’t be. Not a new Slayer. Not yet.

A redhead climbed out of a strangely painted van, her nose buried in a map. Suddenly Buffy noticed the human and ran closer, glad that the sky was heavily overcast and the sun was hidden behind thick rainclouds. “Oh my god, Wil!” She reached to hug the girl, who instead backed away fearfully.

“Spike? What are you...oh. Oh! It was you! Where’s Buffy?”

“Wil, it’s me. Buffy. I’m right here.”

Willow frowned, but a glance at the map showed that Buffy was indeed right in front of her. “Then, um, why do you look like...Spike?”

“Well, our bodies switched. But he’s...back at the motel, kicking the walls or something. He’s kinda funny when he’s pissed off.”

Willow returned Buffy’s exuberant hug but then frowned again. “Buffy, are your sure it’s safe to...you know, stay with him? I mean, he’s killed several Slayers –“

“Two,” interjected Buffy.

“And he’s in love with a vampire who kills them, too. Don’t you remember?”

“Wil, of course I remember. But...What Dru decides to do isn’t Spike’s fault, and that last time...It was mostly my fault that...she died.”

Amber was incapable of listening to the rest of the girls’ conversation. All she could think was, The Slayer is dead. She knew there were logical questions she should be asking, such as, ‘how could the death of her predecessor be Buffy’s fault?’ But Amber didn’t feel like logic.

Buffy was the Slayer. There was only one Slayer; she was the Chosen One, only called to action after the demise of the girl who came before her. So Buffy had become the Slayer, and it meant that Amber’s Slayer was dead.

Amber was in the mood for a kill.

* * * * *

Spike heard footsteps on the other side of the cinderblock wall. Fuck, he should have brought a stake, or something... The footsteps stopped and Spike imagined that feet were poised to pounce. Spike felt his Slayer sense tingling, and as adrenaline coursed through his body he felt more comfortable, calmer, his Slayer body preparing for a fight.

The vampire vaulted over the wall and landed calmly in front of him. “Spike, my darling,” she crooned as she glided towards him.

“Dru...” Spike felt her kissing his lips and licking them intermittently, and he feverishly returned the attention. “Baby, I missed you so much. He wondered why he hadn’t done this last time they’d met, and saved Dru several days’ pain...

“Come away with me, my Spike,” Dru murmured. “Don’t let that pesky Slayer get in between – “

“She’s not in between anything!” snapped Spike defensively, and then he apologetically kissed his Princess again. “I want my own body back, Dru, before I go anywhere. I don’t know –“

“I can undo it, Spike. Un-entwine you and from that snake til your whispers are like memories...”

Spike frowned at the emphatic vampire. “Dru...” he murmured, before being cut off by Drusilla’s mouth once more.

“I’ll come back for you, dear 'eart. After I make you 'ole again, and then we’ll see you 'aven’t changed. No one can change my Spike.” He nodded as he watched her jump over the wall and disappear, but he felt a little sick.

He was fairly certain he had changed. Maybe he could change back, but...in the glass doors he could see the image of a petite Slayer, with her beautiful face pressed into a confused frown. Maybe he could change back, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

* * * * *

Mr. Brown stared at his work in shock. After numerous spells to trace magical residue of the bond between the vampire and the Slayer, he’d finally reached a conclusion.

Haitian Body Exchange, certainly. He would have known it earlier if the answer had been that simple.

Only the bond was stronger, somehow, some darker power tied the two together, something summoned from the nether realm. Something powerful enough that it obscured the entire flow of energy for miles around, and also something dark enough that he’d been able to trace its origin to a variety of gypsy curses. Mr. Brown had been taught that controlling the gypsy magic was like taming a wild beast, full of its own free will. If vigilance were relaxed for one crucial moment during a spell, then the primal forces could spin out of the sorcerer’s control.

Mr. Brown still was not completely sure what had gone wrong during which particular curse, but somehow it had caused some reaction within Buffy, and Mr. Brown was positive that reversing the Haitian Body Exchange would be near impossible.

* * * * *

Amber was almost to the main sewer tunnel when she heard the voice. “Undo it, or the angels will rip throats out!” The voice was frantic, angry, and insane. Also British.

Amber sprinted back up the sewer tunnel in the direction of the mage and Drusilla.

“I can’t!” stammered the mage, looking at the flames that danced over his entire counter. The spell parts were charred black, and the foul smell of burning mingled with the sickening feeling of angry energy that emanated from the botched spell. “It...It’s out of my control, the spell is stronger than my reversal spell –“

“Undo it!” raged the furious Drusilla. “I want my Spike back 'ow 'e was, I want it now, I want you to undo it!”

“It’s not possible...no one can interfere with it now, magics are too strong....” he choked as angry claws ripped at his throat.

Amber raced inside the room and her eyes fell on the mage and the splatters of his blood all over the room and Drusilla’s face. “You idiot,” she hissed. “Now he never can undo it.”

“UNDO IT!” screamed the older vampire.

Amber’s face morphed as she launched herself at Drusilla, knocking her to the floor and tearing at her with fists and nails and fangs. “You bitch!” She smashed her fists into Drusilla’s face, hoping she could crack the bones and feel the blood and brains seeping out all over her palms. “Bitch, I hate you!”

The pair of vampires bit and clawed at each other, rolling into table after table of magical artifacts. Glass jugs shattered and stones clattered on the floor. Drusilla tossed Amber into a large brass gong, which exploded its angry note in both vampires’ ears. Drusilla snarled as Amber pounced on her once more, screaming, “I hate your guts! I hate you, you mother-fucking...murdering...bitch!”

Suddenly Drusilla managed to roll Amber into the growing fire. Screaming in pain, Amber jumped up and dashed out of the room into the sewer. She rolled in the several inches of sticky much to douse her burning clothing, and then continued to scamper down the tunnels, tripping over obstacles and tearing the skin on her knees. Finally her toe caught at the top of a downhill section and she tumbled and slid until she smashed into a metal grate. Amber curled her throbbing body into a fetal position, huddled in the wet sewer tunnel and pressed up against the wall. “I hate you,” she sobbed as her skin tingled with red welts. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you...”



Woah, crazy Amber. Don't worry, all will make sense someday...but in case it doesn't, review! (and no, this is in no way a sleazy attempt to acquisition reviews, just so that's clear ^_^) 19: INTERLUDE

“He’s kinda cute when he’s calm and sleepin’,” commented Willow to the blonde girl who sat across from her.

The blonde girl’s mouth formed a very un-Buffy-like smirk.

“Oh – you’re not - It’s so hard to remember that you’re...” Willow looked away from Spike and resumed her reading in embarrassment.

“You should be careful, goin’ ‘round, callin’ vampires ‘cute’. One of these days you just might get one of ‘em really brassed off.” Willow couldn’t decide if he was teasing her or if he was honestly pissed. If he had meant it as a joke, the serious serial-killer tone of voice rendered it not funny. Willow nodded and kept reading.

Buffy, stretched out on Mr. Brown’s sofa, mumbled something unintelligible.


“Teach me.”

“Teach you what, luv?”

“My Sire up and left me. I want ya to teach me to be a real vampire.”

Spike smirked; the woman behind him cackled.

P shut her eyes tight against the humiliation, and then continued. “I’ll do...anything... Anything you want.” Gray-blue eyes glanced at his crotch dubiously.

“You 'aven’t got a chance, little girl,” Drusilla sang. “You’ve got to be bad...And you’re not bad enough.”


Buffy squirmed, her face in an expression of pain. “Oh...Looks like she’s having a nightmare,” voiced Willow sympathetically.

“Looks like.” Spike frowned but returned to his book, although he continued to watch the vampire out of the corner of his eye.


Defensively she kicked a beautiful brunette into the wall, watching dark curls flood an angry face. She didn’t know whose blood was everywhere, but it terrified her. “Don’t you know me?” she screamed.

Buffy tried to lash out at invisible foes, but sleep weighed down her limbs and forced her to simple tossing and twisting on the sofa.

“ I think we should make a present for the Slayer, you and me. What do you say, sweetness?”

Buffy screamed out loud.

Spike began to stand up, but then changed his mind and planted himself firmly in his seat, although he looked troubled as he watched Willow dash over to the sofa, knocking her chair backwards in the process. The redhead kneeled beside the sleeping vampire, holding her hand. Spike tried to growl but due to the lack of growl-producing vocal chords, he ended up nearly vomiting.


”Okay, listen up. I’m your new leader.” The red-haired vampire brushed the leader’s dust off the chair and sat down meaningfully, letting her gold eyes shift back into stormy blue. “ We’re callin’ ourselves the Revolvers, and we’re gonna be the new power in this town.”

Something about P’s face seemed familiar to Buffy, and for that matter it always had.

There was a murmur throughout the crowd of vampires, and the entire room turned to look up at their fearless new leader.

‘Who are you? Buffy wondered.

A brunette vampire spoke up. “Yeah. What do we call ya?”

“Amber.”

With an awakening gasp, Buffy looked up into Willow’s concerned eyes. “Y-you alright, Buffy?”

“Yeah. Just had a Slayer dream, is all.

“Bloody nightmare, more like,” muttered Spike from his chair.

Buffy looked at him. “Bloody useful nightmare,” she informed him. “Remember ‘P’, our mystery girl?”

Spike hadn’t forgotten, but at the mention of her name a memory he’d filed away as unimportant came spiraling back to the forefront of his consciousness.

The small redhead met his eyes bravely, and would have seemed defiant had she not been so clearly scared. “I’ll do...anything,” she said quietly.

Spike met Buffy’s eyes solemnly. “Amber.”20: IT'S ALL COMING BACK TO ME

“Where's Spike?” Willow toweled her hair dry as she spoke.

“He went out. He does that sometimes. You know, to take advantage of his new tannable Buffy skin.” He'd offered to take the car so she could come with, but Buffy had opted to stay in the room with Willow. Spike had seemed somewhat miffed.

The redhead nodded and flopped on the bed beside the vampire. After a minute or two of watching her friend flip through the TV's four channels two of which were clearly intended mature audiences), Willow wrestled the remote from Buffy's hand and asked, “What's it like, being Spike?”

Buffy frowned. “Well, it's really frustrating to have to stay inside all day, and be all sleepless at night, which is when he sleeps. And I have to drink, you know, platelets.” Willow made a face, feeling that Buffy seemed altogether too calm and comfortable with the subject matter. Although she did fidget a bit at her next words: “And I'm, you know…a guy.”

Willow nodded, awaiting the rest of the story. “I have…” she gestured with her hands, appearing to describe something long and very large. “Guy parts.”

Willow's eyes widened. “And do you…you know, are you attracted to girls?”

“Well, no…” said Buffy jovially. Then she frowned. “No.”

“Bu-ffy…” her friend whined.

“Well, you see, I'm not attracted to girls, really…Just one, sort of…” She felt wobbly inside. Nervous. “I'm kinda attracted to Spike.”

Willow if it was possible, appeared even more shocked. “Buffy!” she said, sounding scandalized, “He's you! You mean you're attracted…”

Buffy didn't know what to say. Suddenly she laughed. “It's not that. With Spike, I sort of was…before. But it's not like I love him or anything. It's just that he was there and he wasn't tryting to kill me. And he was really hot.”

“I can see that,” laughed Willow in agreement.

Buffy sighed. “Yeah…You know, until you showed up, I'd kinda forgotten he was the bad guy. But I mean, he is - he's mean and heartless and he kills, both for fun and food, and he's your basic evil…” Buffy explicated all of Spike's shortcomings as a white hat, leaving herself with a mildly uncomfortable vomity feeling. It took two hours and 37 tirps to the vending machine down the hall (the motel's sole source of food) for her to identify the feeling.

Guilt.

Huh. Where did that come from?

* * * * *

“Decided yet, my sweet?”

Spike jumped and turned to look behind him. Across the orange light of the late afternoon sun, a long finger of shadow stretched from the roof of the café. Safely hiding from the sun, but only inches away from Spike's ear, stood Drusilla. “It hasn't been very long, Dru. You talked to me this morning.”

“I knew 'ow you'd choose, darling. I asked 'im to undo it, but then I killed 'im.” Her expression melted into a smile. “It was lovely.” Spike felt his own spirits lifting. Seeing Dru brag of a kill kindled the same fire he'd felt the night of Amber's massacre. “Sounds lovely, Dru,” he told her, pulling a section of her thick dark hair towards his lips. “But I'm still thinking,” he drawled seductively.

Buffy would throw a fit, but Spike really wanted to be doing his things again. Smoking, killing, doing things that did not mesh well with the Slayer image…He wanted to be evil.

The most pressing issue was why did he care? If he was indeed evil, if he wanted to be evil, the least of his concerns should have been keeping the Slayer's public image intact. If he was indeed evil, he should have been doing everything in his power to destroy her image. But the thing was, he wasn't, and he did care about preserving Buffy's Slayer integrity so that when they switched back she wouldn't feel…

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Spike, turning away from Dru. He cared simply for Buffy. So much that it interfered with his thoughts, his behavior, the way he dealt with Drusilla…the love of his unlife, whom he loved more than anything…whom he cared nothing about now that Buffy had infected his mind…”Bloody hell,” he repeated resignedly. He abandoned his milkshake with Dru as he stormed furiously away from the café.

“Bloody hell.”

* * * * *

“So then I was like, no wait that's my foot, and…then he…” Buffy and Willow collapsed into sidesplitting laughter.

“So you were really like…? Wow.”

“I'm having trouble getting over the wow-ness of it myself, actually, but it wasn't bad, and - Spike, what are you doing here?” In less than a second Buffy's sultry British voice switched from fluid and giggly to stern and cold. Apparently something in Spike's ribcage was connected to Buffy's voice, because suddenly his chest felt ice-cold as well.

“My room too, innit?” he countered moodily.

There it was again. That little half-thought that had been tickling the corner of her mind. “You guys share your rooms.”

“Well yeah,” said Spike, implying Willow's extreme stupidity. “Neither of us has got a whole lot of dosh.”

Buffy insisted, “It is cheaper that way.” Buffy seemed uncomfortable, and even Spike showed signs of embarrassment - his cheeks were beginning to color.

Willow glanced suspiciously at the solitary bed. “ I suppose you'll say that you get single rooms cos it's cheaper, too.”

“Well - “ Spike began, making the spontaneous choice to make his speech to Buffy, whether or not Willow was absent. Well not really. You see, the Slayer and I…We've been shagging like mad, actually, and it's been pretty damn nice. Like it a lot, really…Not just the shagging, though, I belive I rather fancy the Slayer…Buffy…

But Buffy spoke. “Exactly. In fact, we used to be at this hotel, but our money's running out, so we came here. Basically everything's about the money, or lack thereof. But I make Spike sleep on the floor.”

Spike met her eyes, but she pulled out of the gaze quickly. As quickly as one would when meeting the eyes of their ex-arch-enemy, who was once threatening but now they just feel a fearless, seething hatred.

Faced with such a blatant lie, Spike didn't know what to say. He tried to speak several times, but no sound came out of his mouth. Finally, he succeeded in shrugging and crossing the room briskly to flop down on the floor. Buffy and Willow got prepared for bed and turned of the lights. Spike watched the reflection of the moon in the sliding glass doors.

Spike was startled by Buffy's whisper. She stood close to him, her bare feet pressing into the coarse weave of the carpet. Moonlight made her pale skin silver. Spike had never felt so confused about so many things, not since he was that wanker, William.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, not meeting his eyes.

“Blood well better be,” he hissed in response.

“I just…” she glanced at the moonlit courtyard. “Can I make it up to you?”

In seconds Spike had scrambled to his feet and followed Buffy through the sliding glass doors. She dropped a fuzzy brown blanket on the cracked cement. Spike spread it out and reclined on top of it suggestively. “So. What's your plan?” he asked the vampire in front of him.

“Pretty much this.” She straddled his legs and devoured his lips. Spike relaxed, enjoying that she took control. But apparently she didn't know what to do next, because she sat still and looked at him.

Spike laughed quietly at the paradox that was Buffy and slid the black T-shirt over her head. She followed suit and within seconds they were two naked bodies in the moonlight. Keeping her sitting on top of his hips, Spike slowly slid into her, their eyes meeting for a brief, embarrassed moments before looking elsewhere. Periodically Buffy glanced back to the bed to check that Willow had not moved.

As each slow thrust built up her pleasure, Buffy switched her gaze to Spike's naked chest. Even without Spike's usual gusto and confidence, Buffy realized, this was still absolutely the most moving sex - and possibly the most moving experience overall - that she had ever known. The night seemed silent, car and people noises distant, and all she heard were gasps and groans from Spike and herself. Something about lying on a fuzzy brown blanket in the shabby concrete courtyard of a sleazy motel, completely naked under the bright night sky, was beautiful. Buffy shuddered and rested her head on Spike's soft chest, panting in a quiet climax.

Spike twirled a curl of her gel-less, silvery hair around one finger, wishing he could see her face.

His own face. He wanted the swap reversed, so he could fight and smirk and kill.

But he didn't want to lose this. He would stay swapped forever if he could have Buffy. Seeing only the back of her head hurled his entire mental process into a limbo of ambiguity, so he looked past her blonde hair into the courtyard.

Several dandelions struggled against the bleak concrete, valiantly reaching out of the cracks. The gray-green, spiny leaves, together with the dark tendrils of ivy that crept over the wall, created an atavistic picture, wild plants triumphing where concrete tried to shut them out.

Spike suddenly remembered Amber. He felt pity for her now, because she was a fledgling vampire. Completely disconnected from the things she had known and come to rely on, and cast into a place where who she had been meant nothing because she was trapped between worlds, no longer a human but not really a proper vampire.

“Buffy, luv?”

The head did not stir; the ex-Slayer was fast asleep. 21: THE WAY WE WERE
Willow had liked Mr. Brown. In fact, meeting him had reassured her, because she'd been very nervous about Buffy's mental state, post-Angelus. After hearing her friend roomed with Spike - Spike, of all people - Willow had felt uneasy. Then waking up to find Buffy not in the bed, but on the floor covered by a brown blanket, and Spike awake and taking a shower…Well, Willow had been simply distressed. But Mr. Brown was perfectly sensible and good and Willow couldn't think of any plausible ulterior motives. Buffy showed good judgment in trusting him over, say, Amelia (who, according to Buffy's stories, made Spike look like a good guy.)

Mr. Brown had taken Buffy upstairs to talk to her, leaving the two women downstairs. Willow glared at Spike, but his attention was focused completely on scrutinizing his fingernails. Minutes went by without either girl saying anything, so finally Willow forced herself to break the silence.

“What's wrong with you? I mean, any normal, ordinary person would be bored, sitting here for ever and ever - but clearly I'm the only normal one here…Why aren't you trying to kill everyone? Isn't that what normal vampires do?”

At that, Spike finally met Willow's eyes. “Oh, please! You think I'm going to kill you when the Slayer's right upstairs?” Willow appeared rather disconcerted. “But if things were different,” the ex-vamp added, “You better be sure I would.” The red-head nodded with a small frown.

Suddenly Buffy came bounding down the stairs. “Wil!” she greeted cheerfully. “Guess what? Mr. Brown thinks he knows exactly what's wrong, and he wants you to…” her voice died as her eyes fell upon the sullen form of Spike. “He wants you upstairs.”

Willow nodded. “Kay. But Buff, can I talk to you for a sec?” Buffy agreed and Willow popped a very adorable, wide grin. The pair maneuvered their way through the precariously stacked shelves and out the door, sitting down on the dirty LA sidewalk.

“You gonna be OK, alone…with the tension?”

“What?”

“Spike. And his grumpiness? He seems…kinda angry? Really, you could cut the tension with a knife. Not just any knife, but one of those white plastic ones from the cafeteria that bend - “

Laughing, Buffy cut Willow off. “It's ok Wil, I get the picture. But really, it's no big. Spike's always been like that. Big, evil, broody…”

“Really? God, how have you been putting up with him? I mean, with Oz there's quiet, but sitting at that table in there is like the epitome of uncomfortable silences.”

Buffy shifted guiltily. “Oh...yeah, definitely,” she affirmed, in the voice of someone who has recently invented a brilliant alibi. “I, I couldn't stand him, not one bit. So annoying! But we're not hangin' cos we're such big buds - God. I'm stuck with him. And until we turn off this stupid spell there's nothing I can do.”

“Alright, Buff, I believe you,” Willow laughed weirdly, and the two returned to the shop.

Willow waved a farewell to Buffy and Spike and disappeared up the stairs, and Buffy suddenly found herself extremely interested in a strange transparent bauble. As she reached out to pick it up, the stone seemed to take on a green glow from somewhere in the center and it began to hum. The closer she brought her hand, the more violently the sphere shook, until Buffy feared it would break. Sighing, she turned her attentions to some boring, dusty tome, pretending to be deeply involved. Spike, however, would have none of her faux nonchalance.

“Stuck with me, are you?”

Buffy was taken by surprise when his voice came from just behind her; she'd been so preoccupied with looking busy that she hadn't been listening to his approach. Turning around, her eyebrows drawn in an expression of worry, she spoke quietly. “Spike, you know I just said that…Wil, I just didn't want her to know - “

“Know what, the truth?” Buffy winced when she heard her own vocal chords bending to Spike's cockney accent and acrid tone. “The Slayer, deceiving her mates…Fuck, hell must be freezing over! Or maybe Red's not the one you're lying to.”

Buffy felt her face grow hot. “I'm not lying to you, you…stupid bleached idiot!”

Spike had the audacity to laugh. “Now I see why Slayers so often resort to violence. It's nothing to do with your calling, o-oh no…it's only because you twats can't think of halfway-decent comebacks!”

The ex-Slayer gritted her teeth. “Go to Hell, Spike. I hate you!”

“Ha! Now the truth comes out!”

Buffy growled. “I don't hate you!” There was a brief silence when Buffy thought that maybe she'd shocked Spike and he was unable to think up anything to say or do. Time stood still as words pressed in upon her, weighing down on the corners of her mind. And then in a rush she was shoved up against a wall, knocking various hanging ornaments to the floor.

Spike held her shoulders roughly, his hazel eyes boring into hers. “Prove it. If you lied to Red, tell me the truth. What am I to you?”

Buffy snarled as she struggled against the pressure on her shoulders. How dare Spike ask questions she had no clue how to answer? It was so unfair, the way they cut into her for no reason but torment. With a wordless cry she kicked Spikes legs out from under him and shoved the smaller body into a bookshelf. She could hear the wood cracking and the various books and talismans tumbling to the ground. “You honestly expect me to tell you when you're acting like this?”

Groaning as he shakily stood, Spike glared. “You started this, pet.”

“WHAT?!” Buffy stomped closer to the girl in front of her. “I did so not start this.”

There seemed to be a dangerous gleam in his eye. “Denial, luv. You're very good at it.” While Buffy was still taking in what Spike had said, she felt one of Spike's legs trip her and a second later his body landed on top of hers as they hit the floor.

“Oh my God Spike, this is so not the time for - “

“Just belt up, luv.” ((A/N: “belt up” is British slang for “shut up.” This is not some bizarre reference to car interiors, although if for some reason you wish it were, feel free to take it that way ^_^))

An uneven sigh escaped from Buffy's lips. Furious, she interjected, “But - “

“I said, quiet.” Spike pressed his mouth to hers in a gentle, slow incongruous kiss that was so distracting Buffy forgot to protest as she felt her jeans slide off her hips. “You want it as much as I do,” Spike murmured to her neck. “If nothing else, don't lie to yourself.” Buffy didn't want to let her body absorb his comment, but his tongue was in her mouth again, languidly tracing curves on the inside of her mouth.

Spike was right. She wanted…God, there just aren't words… Suddenly Buffy shoved and found herself looking down at Spike's shocked face as she made one fierce thrust after another. “Stuck with you? That means “stuck” with this.” The thought that Spike still didn't understand, that his frown and his wide hazel eyes cut a tunnel of emptiness in her chest and let the cold air run through, flitted across the back of her mind, but the fury of ecstasy tumbled over it and soon it was gone.

Buffy pushed her hands up Spike's moist thighs and over his muscular stomach, pinching roughly and sweaty nipples and feeling like there was no way she could have enough, that even fatal squeezing and shoving wouldn't be strong enough to express whatever she had trapped inside. Buffy pulled Spike's lips into a hungry kiss that lacerated skin, and she felt tongues battling and tangling on fine, pointed fangs as the blood washed between the two mouths.

As the salty-sweet liquid hit her tongue Buffy felt a surge of addiction, a need for the substance that was repulsive and yet also the best thing Buffy had ever tasted.

The only thing in the world was blood. No, that wasn't right...Blood, and Spike, the body right in front of her, smelling irresistible covered in desire and Buffy sank her teeth in and took her first pull, her first swallow of life…

Then with a lurch in her stomach and a whirring spinning dizzy SLAM! Buffy looked up in confusion at the pale-haired, lumpy-faced body above her. A pink tongue reached out to gather the red that spilled onto kissed-pink lips, and quickly, effortlessly, the bones in the face shifted into the beautiful face of Spike, who was pulling away, standing up, and zipping his jeans.

What? Buffy asked. What happened? Where are you going? Somehow she wasn't saying anything, just lying on the floor propped up on her elbows, watching Spike, whose impossible blue eyes were filled with something strong and terrifying.

Buffy managed to stand, to angrily grab his arm and open her mouth. But suddenly, for just a second, the blue eyes slipped back to gold and Spike sent Buffy flying through the bead curtain hanging from the storeroom door.

By the time Buffy gathered her half-naked self to her unstable feet and raced back into the main room, Spike had left, with the bell on the door tinkling behind him.

* * * * *

Willow had been floating through inky darkness, trying to follow a little strand of magic that laced through skies and clouds and deep caverns. Astral projection, Mr. Brown had told her. Find the caster of the spell, because he's the only one who has power over this spell. Help Buffy.

I just hope I don't get stuck here, Willow had thought in frustration. Why, exactly, had Mr. Brown asked her to do the projecting? She was hardly a skilled witch. He'd said something about leaving a detectable trace, something demony, something like that, but Willow didn't remember.

Then an invisible tidal wave crashed over her, raising her up and shoving her back and out of the darkness. Willow crashed into the warm orange light of Mr. Brown's room, all her breath pushed out of her lungs. “What?” she started to ask, but moments after she landed in reality the lights flickered off. Willow froze, sheathed in the darkness, until she heard a loud crash from the ground floor. Buffy!

Willow jumped up and tried to run, tripping over the coffee table and ramming her shoulder into the edge of the doorway. From the top of the stairs she could see a small window of the scene below. Pots and glass merchandise shattered, books turned face-down with crumpled pages beneath them, overturned furniture and jagged parts of bookshelves littered the room that appeared to have been hit by a tornado.

“Buffy?”

Thoughtlessly Buffy struggled into her underwear. Her eyes squinted as she searched for Willow amid the darkness. Was she dreaming? There was nothing, not even shadow, just opaque black clouding her eyes, like a thick veil being raised to cover her vision…

“Oh - Spike…Sorry, I didn't know you were changing…” Willow's voice sounded close, but Buffy heard the echo of many Willow-like footsteps walking away in embarrassment.

“No…” Buffy replied mistily, half-forgetting what came next. Something wet was on her, her neck and her shoulder were wet and sticky… “Nahime Buffy,” she murmured. Her mouth wouldn't follow orders or shape around words. She needed to get dressed, she was very possibly naked, she thought…

Buffy bent over, feeling the uneven floor for her pants, which seemed to slide away from her. Was Mr. Brown aware that his shop was built sideways, falling off a very steep hill? Buffy tried to shake her head in the middle of slipping off a floor that had become nearly horizontal…why? Everything was so dark…

“Buffy? Buff, are you awake? Oh my god, Buffy, are you ok?”

Buffy blinked. Everything she could see looked clear and well-lit, but her past was a blur, completely obscured…Something green…. “Yeah, I'm alright. What…?”

Willow bit her lip. “You…fainted. Blood loss, I'm more or less positive?”

“Blood loss? How did I lose my blood? I've been very careful with it,” the Slayer joked.

Heat…She was unrestrainable…A green flash, a stab of passion, a salty jolt of pain and bliss and silence, like a sharp ringing…ringing

“What is it, Buffy? Buff, did you hit your head going down? Don't go to sleep! Hey, um, um, who's the Mayor of Sunnydale?”

“Richard Wilkins.” Willow looked doubtful still, and asked for the number. “The Third. Or Fourth. Listen, I don't have a concussion, okay?” I'm…just…

“Oh my god! Spike! Buffy, where's Spike?

Cold, impossibly blue eyes…Tinkle of the bell on the door as it slammed…A truffle dangling in front of her face… “You want it as much as I do,” with that cruel glint in those hazel eyes… “You can't deny that there's something between us…” SLAM! The door closes and the bell tinkles… Buffy's mind flitted over Spike in the shower, on the concrete in the courtyard, on the floor of the store, every time and any time they'd been together over the past few days, but each time something started to make logical sense she heard the SLAM! and the mocking tinkle of that fucking impudent bell…

The Slayer suddenly stood and ran to the door, throwing it open and ignoring the terrible sound.

“Buffy?”

She looked out once more onto the dark street, lit by white headlights and orange streetlamps. It looked wet, drizzly, and it smelled like rain. “He's gone.”

Behind her, she heard Willow trip over her words and stammering, “What? Buffy, I think you should lie down…”

But Buffy had broken into a run, her shoes splashing on the wet sidewalk. The bell tinkled as the door closed behind her.22: DEMONIC RETRIBUTION

The rain poured down hard, splashing into Buffy’s face. Briefly, ridiculously, she wondered if the garish eyeliner Spike had been using while in her body was running. But of course it wasn’t important.

Armies of cars waited, engines running, as they crept up to the very edge of the limit lines and waited for lights to turn. Windshield wipers wiped furiously at the wet streams dripping down the glass. The comforting, orangy light from open windows stood out painfully as Buffy ran down the slick sidewalks, bright beacons amidst the rain.

“Spike!” she called. Every person in a long dark coat drew her attention, before she realized that they didn’t have his hair or his face or, occasionally, weren’t even male. She tried not to think anything that would distract her from her search, because finding him was the most important thing.

Far more important than why.

“Spike!” Where is he? she thought furiously. Had he even gone this way?

He would answer if he heard her. Of course he would…wouldn’t he?

Was he that upset? He probably wasn’t hurt, probably more angry, or offended, or maybe, thought Buffy, He was planning to leave the second we switched back, all along.

I’ll bet I was stupid. Yet another stupid Buffy moment, where things mean more to me than they should…

All around tires splashed in puddles and gutters rattled and shot gallons of water out on the cement. “Spike! C’mon, I’m sorry, ok?” Buffy shouted, hoping the entire town could hear her. “SPIKE!”

She hadn’t even realized she was crying until her voice broke. She tried to keep shouting but ended up uttering strangled shouts that degenerated into sobs. Tears obscured her vision, making the filthy buildings and streets dance. I can’t see anything... Buffy kept running, she had to; every second was another step Spike took away from her.

Buffy stumbled as her foot connected with a soggy newspaper and muddy splash soaked her already dripping body. Choking and coughing, Buffy dragged herself away from the street and sat with her back up against a brick building. She was probably dreaming, because things like this didn’t happen in real life. People didn’t have so many unbelievable terrible things happen and end up crying and lost in the sopping streets of Los Angeles. Buffy closed her eyes and imagined waking up in between the warm crisp sheets of the bed in the hotel.

A siren screeched somewhere near by, the pitch changing as the source drew nearer. Someone had been in an accident. Hardly surprising in this weather. Water splashed over Buffy as an ambulance passed. Then, fewer than ten seconds later, more water splashed and yet another siren passed.

Blearily, Buffy opened her eyes and watched as red and bright lights bled together into the darkness, as a red and white ambulance followed the other two down the street, back the way Buffy had come.

Mainly because she was protective of her friends, Buffy fleetingly imagined that the flashing lights were driving to Mr. Browns, where Willow and the kind old shopkeeper were distorting and dripping amid unbearably hot flames.

The lights were moving in that direction.

No, of course not.

Curious, Buffy got to her feet and followed the sirens. After a block of increasingly speedy walking, she broke into a run. At each street she carelessly ran across she expected the ambulances to turn and go somewhere else. But each time she recognized their route as the way back to Mr. Brown’s. With a terrible sinking, nauseous feeling in her stomach, Buffy turned the last corner.

It was red, everything was red. Red trucks, red lights, red hazard tape. Heavily armed policemen hopped out of black cars and climbed in through Mr. Brown’s windows as paramedics rushed in through the door, which had been knocked off its hinges. All three ambulances were parked in the middle of the road in front of the shop. Buffy didn’t even acknowledge her feet pounding the sidewalk as she drew closer.

“’Scuse me, Miss, you can’t go in there. It’s a crime scene.”

Buffy tried to find her wavering voice. “My friends…”

“I’m sorry. It’s a crime scene.”

“I DON’T CARE! I NEED TO GET IN THERE – ”

A static-filled voice began speaking over someone’s walky-talky. “Attackers still inside…Dangerous…No, they’re not armed, but…Some sort of gang, possibly using illegal substances…” the breath of the speaker suddenly caught in his voice. “No…she just – bit one of my men…their faces…”

Buffy shoved past the officers and jumped over the red tape, ignoring the cacophony of voices behind her, and darted through the door.

The first thing she saw was the wreckage of the room, which she and Spike had actually caused. It was hard to imagine that, probably less than an hour ago, she had caused so much destruction. Buffy didn’t immediately see any police officers – they must be upstairs or in the storeroom, she decided.

“Get your hands in the air, miss – IN THE AIR!” Buffy turned to see an officer emerge from behind a bookcase, holding a rifle aimed in her direction. Buffy slowly raised her hands, and noticed that the officer looked relieved at her compliance. “Listen…You should get out of here…It’s dangerous, they aren’t –“

“Human, yeah I know. And I’m not leaving my friends. I know they’re in here somewhere – an old guy…black…and a teenage girl with red hair? Have you…”

The officer smiled sympathetically and lowered his gun. “The girl’s outside with the paramedics. Some lacerations and bleeding, but no…well, her neck’s ok. Maybe your other friend’s upstairs…No one’s been able to get up there yet.”

Buffy shot a worried glance at where the stairway disappeared into its alcove. “I don’t suppose you’d let me try…”

The officer shook his head. “Sorry.”

The Vampire Slayer shifted her eyes from the officer and surveyed the room, and then looked back at the man in front of her. Suddenly she lunged forward and slammed her fist into the officer’s jaw, and watched as he fell to the floor unconscious. “Sorry,” told the unconscious man with a wince and started off toward the stairs.

Buffy noticed a rather unsavory dark smudge across the wall behind the landing. For some reason the thought which she tried to dispel – that the smudge was wet and dripping – seemed to belong to a different time, as if everything before the past 24 hours had belonged to an entirely different era. As her feet softly padded up the last few steps, Buffy inhaled the familiar and nauseating scent of blood. Her heartbeat picked up to adjust to her increasing sense of panic, and Buffy entered Mr. Brown’s study.

As the Slayer took in the scene in front of her, she wasn’t immediately aware of what caused the wrongness to pervade the feeling that everything was okay because it had to be. Because Mr. Brown had to be fine…

The room was dark. That had to be the problem, because it made Buffy imagine things were bad and that she felt tinglies down the back of her neck warning her of impending vampires –

Buffy’s head whipped around as she heard the door creak. She squinted through the blanket of blackness but couldn’t see anyone else. Maybe no one else was…

The door clicked shut. Buffy patted her body in attempts to locate a stake, but realized she hadn’t taken one. Mr. Brown had a table somewhere in the middle of the room; if she could find that, she could break it and use the splintered pieces for weapons.

“Scared?” said someone from only a few feet away. The voice sounded young and cruel as a result of hours of practice.

“You wish.” Buffy thought, I know that voice. I’ve heard that girl before…

“Where’d your little girlfriend go, Spike? She run away?”

Buffy grunted as she aimed a sudden and fierce kick at where she assumed the vampire kept her stomach, only her foot connected roughly with a bony pelvis and a body even smaller than her own crashed into the door only moments afterwards. Suddenly, a realization…With surprise, Buffy asked, “Amber? Is that…?”

Amber, she realized, had what would be a cute, tinkling laugh if only it sounded less malevolent. “No need to sound so surprised, Willy. I am evil, after all.”

“I…don’t…” Weird, she thinks I’m Spike…

Buffy could hear Amber’s heavy boots walking somewhere, to the other side of the room. “A little light might help you see what I’m talking about.” The lights clicked on.

“Oh…” Blood was everywhere. It stained the upholstery and the carpet and only a few inches from Buffy’s shoes lay the red outstretched arm of a police officer. Worse, there was a body, tossed over the back of the sofa, the limbs twisted in what had to be an unnatural, out-of-the-sockets kind of way. The eyes, which were wide open, were a glassy sort of indigo and several crimson ridges had emerged on the cheeks, marring the wrinkled face of Mr. Brown.

“Oh my god,” Buffy gasped.

“Yeah, getting his blood down was a bitch. You know how shitty demons taste.”

Buffy nodded despite the feeling that her stomach was trying to squeeze its way out her throat and spill into her mouth. “Yeah.”

“Anyhow. So I’m sorta pissed that you didn’t bring your Slayer here with you, cos I really wanted her to see all this. But whatever, guess you can just tell her. Just be sure not to leave out the crap on the wall.” Amber gestured vaguely in the direction of the staircase. “And let her know I’ll see her around. I guess that’s sorta the point. Slayer’s only last for a year or two, but we vamps stick around without growing outta anything, eh Spike?” Before Buffy could respond, Amber grinned and disappeared out the window.

Buffy’s gaze accidentally drifted back to the…couch, and moaning she dug her palms into her eyes. This always happens to me, she realized. The people I care about…The second I just look away, some baddie comes in and has some fun…Fuck! What is wrong with me? Not sure whether she’d rather wake up sweating with hotel sheets stuck to her skin or vomit the last day down the toilet, Buffy stepped over the corpse of the police officer and onto the landing at the top of the stairs. She didn’t see anything right away, because of the contrast of the light spilling out of Mr. Brown’s study and the darkness of the store, but the edge of the hallway leading in the opposite direction from the study was illuminated. Curling on a wall she hadn’t seen from the actual staircase, Buffy noticed part of a symbol. It sort of resembled a hybrid of a Celtic rune and a graffiti tag, red and wet and sinisterly artistic. Buffy drew closer to the wall and, squinting into the shadows, managed to read a message that was clearly written in somebody’s blood.

2 THE WORST SLAYER IN HISTORY: HERE’S WHAT U GET 4 NOT PROTECTING UR OWN. 2 BAD U DON’T LEARN FROM UR MISTAKES.

Smeared below, next to what Buffy realized must be the gang insignia, was the name “Amber.” Buffy squeezed her eyes shut and allowed herself to collapse at the base of the opposite wall, hugging her knees back to her chest.

* * * * *
“It’s ok, Buff. I promise I’ll be fine.”

Buffy smeared her already smudgy makeup with the heel of her palm. “No Wil…I’m so sorry…It’s completely my fault…”

Willow sighed. “Really. It’s fine, and I’m not mad or anything,” she told her friend, acting as if being mad would be preposterous. “Honestly, just go calm down and have fun. Where’s Spike?”

Buffy had become very quiet. The whole room seemed thick with taught silence.

“Buff? You said you were a few blocks away when the vamps attacked…Were you…?”

“I was…following him,” Buffy said wetly, and each word seemed like a struggle. “He…left. We fought and he left.”

Willow frowned. “You fought? Aren’t you always fighting?” Buffy nodded. “Well…um, ok, what did you fight about?”

Buffy stared at the blankets for a moment and then covered her reddening face with her hands. “Oh my god, Wil…There’s so much, I…”

“Did you sleep together?”

“What?” Buffy snapped defensively.

Willow began using her hands to gesture. “Not that…I don’t think…I just wondered, is all. I didn’t really think, just…wondered.”

Buffy’s head was back in her hands. “Yes,” she moaned after a long pause.

“What?! Okay, I sort of thought maybe…Well, just once? Or…”

“Lots of times,” muttered a very pink-cheeked Buffy. “Five or six, and then just before…” Buffy peeked at her friend through her fingers, and slowly put her hands back in her lap. “I’m not even sure, I don’t remember, what we fought about. Sort of, about wanting sex, like…with each other, I mean.” Still nervous, Buffy’s breathing was erratic and came in long silences and sudden gasps. “But it wasn’t really about that, I don’t think. More like he thought I didn’t like him – “

Willow looked Buffy right in the eyes. “And do you? Like him?”

“Yeah. Well, like as in the-antithesis-of-hate-like, but I don’t know about, y’know, like-like. Ok, maybe. But I don’t think I, like…love him. I know I don’t love him.”

Buffy’s expression portrayed apprehension, so Willow grinned playfully, but the expression looked arguably forced.

“I think…even though this sounds horrible…I think I was just trying to be more, I dunno, grown-up. I was all on my own, except for Spike, and there was no Mom to realize I hadn’t come home that night or yell at me for having unprotected sex with a man who can neither impregnate me nor give me any diseases, and…I don’t know, I just think I’m going insane or something. I am really screwed up.”

Willow laughed. “No, you’re not. You’re not crazy or horrible. You just went through some…pretty hard stuff, all crammed into a couple of weeks, and then you kill this guy who…looks like your boyfriend, and drive off with a vampire who isn’t trying to eat you – “

“Least not in a bad…never mind,” finished Buffy hurriedly. “But yeah, I don’t know. But I definitely…” Buffy trailed off, unsure of what she’d been planning to say. She didn’t really want to keep talking to Willow about everything she was afraid was wrong with her, because as much as she loved her friend, the witch just wasn’t getting the point. Buffy herself wasn’t quite sure what the point was, but it was something…about being better, about being more responsible or careful or doing the right thing…

To the worst Slayer in history…

…not protecting your own…

Somehow these deaths…Mr. Brown, Ms. Callendar, the people from Amber’s LA massacre…and Angel…somehow they were all her fault. Not because she meant to, but because she was careless.

Spike…that whole thing had been really careless. Really spur-of-the-moment. Really immature and ill-advised and basically stupid. Basically wrong, because he wasn’t like Angel with a soul, he was evil like Angelus and Amber and she didn’t know him or trust him. She had just thrown herself into the whole wild-horny-sex-with-Spike thing without thinking ahead or backwards or any kind of rational thought at all.

Spike exemplified everything that was wrong about the way she did things. Everything that made her a bad Slayer, everything that made Kendra a much better one and had led to Buffy getting Kendra killed. Amber’s message was the grossest, meanest, most vampire-like slap in the face Buffy could imagine, but it had pretty much been accurate, and Buffy was disgusted with herself and her choices.

Time for a change of plan and a change of plan-making policy. “Wil?” the Slayer asked brightly, shocking the redhead and surprising even herself a bit.

“Buff?”

“Do you think we could…I mean, I think I’m ready to go home now.”

Willow smiled the brightest smile Buffy had seen in the past month 23: REGRESSION


The brunette cocked her head, angling her ear towards the entrance. Footsteps, thudding, heavy-booted footsteps, echoed somewhere above her. “Shh, my Miss Edith,” she whispered to the small doll in her arms. “A shining knight draws nearer.”

“Mornin’, Dru.” Spike descended the creaky wooden steps. “M’not interrupting a party, am I luv?” He smiled seductively as he approached.

Dru stood up, Miss Edith tumbling from her lap. “Ooh! I love parties, Spike!”

“Know you do, pet. And now as I’m back, there will be loads of parties.”

Drusilla giggled excitedly and leaned into Spike’s hungry embrace. “With mummies and daddies and baby…fishes?” Her voice purred close to Spike’s ear.

“That’s…right, Dru,” replied Spike evenly, a small grimace twisting his smile. “Mummies and daddies and babies.”

Suddenly Drusilla pulled back with a hiss. She fixed Spike’s blue eyes with a penetrating gaze that he felt left his soul quivering from the confrontation. That’s bollocks, he reminded himself. Haven’t got a soul to be quiverin’… He could hear Drusilla’s anguished moan reverberate in the basement like an eerie song. “Ohhhh….” she cried. “Now does ‘e feel ‘is secret murders sticking on ‘is hands…What ‘ave they done to you, dearest?”

“Nothing…They haven’t - what are you goin’ on about, Dru?”

“It’s slowly arranging inside ‘ere…” she placed a long-nailed hand over his chest, “Making an army, to shatter my world…” her moans lapsed into intermittent sobs.

The volume of Spike’s voice raised in alarm. “No. No, Dru, you’re wrong! Dru…” Suddenly he slammed her up against a wall, trapping her with his own body. For a moment, there was only the sound of his heavy, wound-up breathing, but then Drusilla giggled darkly and finished with heavy, desirous pants. “I’m back, Dru,” Spike growled, grinding his hips against the eager body in front of his.

“Spike!” Dru gasped, and Spike grabbed her long hair and dragged her to the floor, dropping down above her and ripping away clothes. The surge of desire he felt when he watched a naked Drusilla writhe between his knees was encouraging.

Spike pinned Drusilla’s arms beside her shoulders and slammed into her as roughly as he could. She screamed in wild delight. Spike growled as his face morphed and he buried his fangs in the soft skin of Drusilla’s neck, liquid gushing into his mouth. The blood tasted empty, cold and flat, but it was still salty and wet.

Drusilla clawed stinging furrows down his back with her nails as their sticky skin met and ripped away in a hurried, uncontrollable rhythm. The concrete floor was dirty and his back throbbed as it bled, and Drusilla’s aroused screeching was very loud and very close to his ear, but over all, it was good.

It was good to be home.

* * * * *

“Mom, you know I love you, but I really don’t need any more hot chocolate.”

Joyce smiled, abashed. “I’m sorry, Buffy. I’m just so glad you’re home.”

Buffy hugged her mother from behind. “I know. I’m so sorry I…I’m glad I’m back.”

Joyce nodded. “We don’t need to talk about it right now.” She looked over at the kitchen counter and noticed a Blockbuster card. “Buffy? Would you like us to rent a movie? We can stay up late,” she suggested with obvious excitement, “And eat ice cream and lots of other tasty things that will rot our teeth and make us fat.”

“Sounds great.” Buffy grinned wider than she felt, because the thought of lots of sugary ice cream actually made her feel rather ill. “And it’s summer, I don’t have school early tomorrow…Or ever, really, since Snyder kicked me out.”

The mention of school seemed to dampen Joyce’s spirits somewhat, because she lightly frowned and added, “We’ll start taking care of the whole school thing tomorrow. I’ll meet with your principal and then if I can’t knock any sense into him, I’ll call the school board.”

Buffy smiled gracefully and grabbed the car keys. “Thanks. But now, movies.” She jingled the keys and tossed them to her mom.

“Does Mr. Giles know you’re back yet?”

“I think Willow and Oz told everyone when we got back. But I should go see them tomorrow, right?”

“It’d be a good thing to do. But don’t feel pressed to do anything right away, Buffy. You’ve had a hard time lately and it’s ok to slowly ease yourself back into the flow of things.”

Buffy shrugged and donned her coat. “Nah…Buffy’s ready for the whole flow.”

* * * * *

Buffy waited for the door to open. She felt nervous – almost as nervous as those times, screwing Spike, when she hadn’t known what to do. Only this was a worse kind of nervous, because however stupid it might have been, she had felt more or less sure that she could trust Spike to still be there despite whatever she said or did. And Buffy knew her friends would be glad to see her…but they didn’t know exactly what had gone on in LA. Even Willow didn’t know everything.

Buffy hated that it was obviously the wrong thing to do, but she’d already decided to lie to her friends. There was no way in hell she was going to tell Giles, Xander, or Cordelia about what had happened with Spike, and she wasn’t doing cartwheels over the idea of telling Oz or the fact that Willow already knew. She’d just gloss over the dirtier details.

And that, really, was what made her so nervous. She knew it was wrong to lie to people she trusted. And she also knew she was a terrible liar. And she knew that everyone would be hurt that she’d tried to lie. So all in all, she wasn’t exactly looking forward to the imminent confrontation.
Giles’s apartment door opened to reveal the meticulously made-up face of Cordelia, which melted into an expression of surprise. “Oh my god…”

“Buff!” exclaimed Xander. “You’re really back!”

“Yup,” replied Buffy cheerily.

Willow fought through the crowd of Buffy-welcomers and told the Slayer, “I – I told them, but they didn’t believe me. I…”

“Easy Wil,” Xander advised her as he patted her red hair. The entire group broke into laughter, relieving the room of some of its tension. Buffy and her friends seated themselves upon Giles’s furniture and the Watcher placed six tea cups down on the table amongst everyone.

“So Buffy,” Cordelia began, “Why’d you come back? Not…that we’re upset that you did, because that would be ungrateful and just – weird…But generally when someone runs away, they stay away for longer than a week or two.”

Noticing Xander’s apologetic face and smiling slightly, Buffy responded. “Uh, well…I just sort of realized that…what I’d done was kind of stupid, and I missed you guys, and I wanted to come home. It was sort of lonely.”

“Were you all by yourself out there?” Giles inquired.

Buffy took a while to reply and felt like the silence stretched onward for hours. “Uh…no.” Buffy could feel five sets of eyes on her, and imagined that Willow’s in particular would be surprised and curious about what followed. “I, uh…I was there with Spike. He…drove me. There.” Buffy finished with a shrug.

Again there was silence.

“Spike?!” exclaimed Xander, sounding scandalized. “Spike? As in, William the Bloody? As in, ‘I-spent-most-of-last-year-trying-to-kill-you’ Spike?”

Buffy stared at her knees. “I know. I know it was mental. I know that, okay?”

“Buffy.” Giles leaned forward solemnly. “How long did you stay with Spike?”

“Um…most of the…time. Until Willow came.”

“Oh my god. Did he bite you?”

Buffy turned to look at Cordelia, but her vision was assaulted by scenes from the past week.

A hungry kiss, a battle of tongues…Mouths filled with saltysweet, delicious…

Hot breath on her cheek, on her skin…moist closeness, and then the gentle tug, his arms wrapped around her body and his mouth latched on to one spot on her neck…

”Slayer…”

“No.”

Suddenly Xander stood up and came forward, peering at Buffy’s neck. “Xander, what are you –“ she shouted as she tried to twist away.”

“Aha! He – Spike has you under some sort of spell, doesn’t he? Saying what he tells you to say, doing whatever he wants –“

“What? No! That’s ridiculous!”

“Buffy?” Giles’s voice.

“Look!” Xander, showing people her neck.

“Oh my god!”

Buffy caught Willow’s sympathetic and fearful glance.

“Buffy?”

She stood up. “Listen, okay? It’s not…Spike does not, and never did, have me under a spell. It’s…it’s complicated, but I’ll explain. Spike didn’t bite me. I bit me. There was…Somebody put a spell on us, and not Spike, and it switched our bodies. So, I was in Spike’s body, and he was in mine, and…Xander, it wasn’t that gross. But anyway, I was a vampire and I bit me, only Spike was me at the time. That’s why there are marks still. But it wasn’t anything bad, or serious, or anything.

“Listen guys, I’m not totally distraught and weird like I was when I left, but…I’m still not perfect, either. And what happened while I was gone, with – with Spike and everything, was weird…and I’m not sure I’m really up to talking about all of it now. Later. Now, can’t we do something, like…drinking our tea? And not worrying? Anything new happen since I left?”

Oz, to everyone’s surprise, took it upon himself to answer. “Well…school finished.”

Willow’s eyes lit up. “Ooh! Oooh! Oz, he – he flunked senior year – and, he’s gonna take it again, with us!” Oz rubbed Willow’s arm gently and nodded to show that what she’d excitedly spluttered was indeed the case.

“Neat,” commented Buffy, trying not to associate the boyfriendliness of the scene with painful memories of Angel. “And my mom’s gonna force Snyder into letting me come back, so all will be good. She smiled at everyone, but felt like the warmth of the smile failed to extend past her lips. She didn’t really feel overjoyed to be back. She felt overwhelmed.

* * * * *

It was perplexing and perturbing.

After she had been walking beside Amber for several minutes and analyzing all of the vampire’s movements and expressions, Val could tell that something was up. The job they’d just done with the Slayer’s hang out the previous night had been fucking fantastic – any creature of the night would have agreed wholeheartedly.

Yet Amber was pissed off. They had come across a couple, sucking face on the hood of their car, and Amber had snapped their necks but not wanted any blood. She “wasn’t hungry,” apparently, and Val and the others had treated themselves.

She also wasn’t reliving the moments of glory, when they’d ripped into the men’s skin, when they’d smeared the wall with warm and fresh blood…Amber had said nothing longer than a few syllables.

Suddenly Amber’s head whipped up as they passed a records store. She squinted, and then sniffed and looked away into the surrounding shadows. “You guys keep going. I’ll meet you back at the House. I just spied some little vamps who think they can take a stroll in our territory.”

The other girls nodded and some growled, but Val smiled to cover her suspicion. She was older than a lot of the other girls, and her vampiric senses were more honed. As smart and cunning as Amber was, she was wrong in thinking that there were any non-Revolver vamps anywhere in the area. Something was up, Val was even more sure of it.

She even had an idea. It was awful to think, the next worst thing after “pulling an Angelus” and suddenly acquiring a soul…but Val suspected that Amber might be going soft and feeling a little grossed out by the first-rate carnage at Mr. Brown’s. If this was indeed the case, things had gotten really serious, and Val knew that Amber, once she was feeling more like her evil old self, would thank Val for setting everything back to normal.

Amber prowled the dark alleys until she was sure the girls had left. Too much was at stake to risk being careless. Finally she stalked into the record store and stuffed three Spice Girls CDs into her jacket, making a face as she did so. Those idiots made such disgustingly terrible music, why didn’t one of them just take a gun and blast all their brains out? It’d be doing themselves and the rest of the world a humongous favor.

Amber added a Dead Kennedys CD to her collection, smirking. Think of it as educational. Welcome to quality music. Feeling pleased with herself (and uncharacteristically and alarmingly bouncy), Amber strolled out of the store, and with four more CDs and short no cash at all, she started back to the House.

* * * * *

“Donde vas, Lilia?” the mother called from another room.

“Just the door, mama,” Lilia shouted back. Her mother was so weird. Amber called it “over-protective.” Whoever it was knocked on the door three more times. “Who is it?” Lilia asked.

“Amber. Is now a good time? Can I come in?”

“Yeah. Mama’s all covered in purple bubbles, ‘cos your tights bled in the wash!” Lilia giggled.

The vampire began to open the door, and Lilia grinned up in expectance. But when she saw a ridged forehead on a vampire who was way taller and way fatter than Amber, she screamed as loud as she could.

“Thanks for inviting me, brat,” spat Val as she pulled the small child up into her arms, ignoring a woman’s shouts coming from a few rooms away. She clapped a strong hand over the young girl’s mouth. “And for fuck’s sake, shut up.”

Previously…
The vampire began to open the door, and Lilia grinned up in expectance. But when she saw a ridged forehead on a vampire who was way taller and way fatter than Amber, she screamed as loud as she could.

“Thanks for invitin’ me, brat,” spat Val as she pulled the small child up into her arms, ignoring a woman’s shouts coming from a few rooms away. She clapped a strong hand over the young girl’s mouth. “And for fuck’s sake, shut up.”

And now on with the story!

24: CHOICES

Amber had made it halfway down the final block when she heard the scream. It was a piercing, terror-filled cry, the kind that expressed a feeling that was ageless and genderless and simply human. Despite her being a frequent and ferocious killer, Amber was sure the sound made her blood run cold. She broke into a run.

The door to the House was open. Why is it open? It shouldn’t be open. No one but me goes in there, Amber told herself as she hurried up the steps. Suddenly the sweet smell of blood washed over her, and her appetite was suddenly resurrected. Then she saw the body of Lilia’s mother, lying in the doorway to the kitchen. She heard the clatter of the CDs dropping to the floor.

“Lilia?” Amber called, leaping over the corpse and running desperately towards the kitchen. She heard Val scream, “You fucking brat! I’ll bite you back, you bitch!” Lilia was darting out of Val’s snatching hands, her wrinkle-less face screwed up in terror. Amber paused in the doorway, catching her breath and regaining her cool.

“Val,” she acknowledged coldly once her voice had grown calm. “What the fuck are you doin’ in my house?”

“Oh…” giggled Val cruelly, “I was invited.”

Lilia paled visibly and bit her lip. Fearfully, the small girl explained, “Amber, I thought she was – “

“Shut up,” Amber spat, and turned back to Val. “Val – honey – I really don’t appreciate dissention in the ranks,” she said casually as she opened the utensil drawer and located the hidden stakes. She’d made Lilia’s mother keep stakes in every room, just as a precaution. Fat lot of use they did, Amber thought angrily as she grabbed a stake and twirled it in her fingers.

Val leaned tantalizingly close to Amber, and mimicked the other vamp, saying, “But Amber – honey – it’s not dissention. It’s mutiny. Me an’ the girls are thinkin’, maybe you’ve gone…” she trailed her fingers down between Amber’s breasts and ended by poking Amber’s bare patch of stomach, “Soft.”

Amber growled in frustration.

“Now to be honest, I’m kinda upset. I mean, y’mean a lot to me, Amber. I really like ya. So I hope y’can, ya know, prove we’re not losin’ ya. All you’ve gotta do is kill the niña. She’s gettin’ in the way of the gang, Amber. All us sistahs, we’re s’posed to be equal, like ya said. But you’re the only one who gets to in the House. But now, everyone’s waitin’ to come upstairs. Just like we deserved to do at the beginning.

“I really hope ya can do it. I mean, you’re on the road to being one kick ass vamp. I mean, you’re fucking creative with your torture and killin’ an’ everything. Just, ya know, you’re so human. Ya just have to pick between human an’…Your life is over, Amber. You’ve gotta choose to live in the now.”

Amber frowned, the stake drooping in her hand. Lilia whimpered from where she was cornered, trapped between the washing machine, the cabinet, Val, and Amber.

Val smiled sweetly at Amber, golden eyes glinting. “Just make a choice…”

* * * * *
“Spike…” the blonde vamp looked down at the woman nuzzling into his shoulder. “I’ve been so happy since you returned…You’re my golden…Spike.” He smiled awkwardly; he was still getting used to brown hair instead of blonde, insane ramblings instead of Buffy’s inane, girly chatter.

Spike was quite proud of what he’d done. He had not let the bloody Slayer get the better of him. And now that he was back with Dru, things started to make a lot more sense. He realized how ridiculous it was to think he was in love with Buffy. Drusilla completed him. He was always content in her presence. Better yet, she respected his violent and bloodthirsty tendencies, instead of preaching sanctimonious, moralistic Slayer bullshit.

That last thought made Spike laugh out loud. A vampire a Slayer, in love! Just the idea was hilarious!

“My love,” Drusilla moaned, “You taste like ashes. Are you thinking of her?”

Spike growled and covered her lips with his own, feeling like nothing had ever felt better or simpler, he’d never felt so lustful and yet so uninhibited. “I’m thinking of you, baby,” he whispered in her ear.

* * * * *

“That was so brave, Buffy. Most people?” Wil raised her eyebrows in awe. “We’d have needed a few days before facing Giles. But not Buffy the Vampire Slayer!”

“But Wil…” Buffy protested, “I evaded questions! I – I lied by omission! I am a coward.”

Willow stared incredulously at her friend. “Buff, you did great. I do have a question, though. You’re back now, and everyone’s happy – even you, as far as I can tell – but just a day or two ago you were coming out all against coming back home. What made you change your mind?”

Buffy’s gaze drifted over the peaks of Sunnydale’s roofs.

She felt distant and disconnected from the noise and the cars and the modern world. Instead her soul longed to soar in the summer wind and fly until the air grew cool and the lively noises set beyond the horizon.

“I don’t know,” she said at last, her voice small and solitary. “I don’t know.”

* * * * *

Val’s words echoed in Amber’s ears. “Just make a choice…”

Amber approached the corner where Lilia cowered, and reached out for the girl’s wrist. Val smiled encouragingly, ready to welcome Amber into a new life. The purple-haired vampire looked back at Lilia, realizing that in front of her stood her last tie to her old life. Just one snap of a small neck and the world of vampires, of predators and prey, would rush up to greet her. With just one snap, she would be free, and her old world would be gone.

Lilia’s wide, pained eyes were a reminder of what it had once felt like to love and be loved. They were a tangible window into something that was unattainable, that Amber realized was gone forever.

Amber could shut those eyes. It would be so easy to kill Lilia. Then the rest of the gang and all the minions could rush up the basement stairs and surge into the house, which would no longer belong to the vestiges of a happy family. It would belong to a new family. The Revolver family.

Lilia’s family had been ripped from her, and it made Amber imagine how angry Lilia’s sister – if Lilia were to have sister – would be if vampires came in and destroyed the family even more. Amber barely had to imagine, barely had to remember, she only had to look at Lilia’s trusting face…

Amber pulled on Lilia’s wrist and roughly threw her across the room, away from the vampires and towards the door, and turned to face Val. Amber didn’t have time to look back and check that Lilia wasn’t hurt, to make sure that the small child had gotten back on her feet and begun to run. Val pounced, pinning Amber ruthlessly to the floor, and Amber struggled, for a moment helpless beneath the larger and stronger girl. She let go of her mind and it began to race, wondering if she’d done the right thing, if she could have done any better, if Lilia was alright and if she’d die in a few minutes anyway and the entire thing would be futile…

“Amber,” Val cried, distressed, “You’re fucking breaking my heart! Snap out of it!” Amber felt hysterical, weakly kicking and wriggling. Then furiously, she bit into Val’s shoulder and ripped two bloody gashes through the muscle. “YOU MOTHERFUCKING WHORE!” Val screamed in agony, and used one hand to grasp at the gaping wound. Amber kneed her assailant in the stomach, freeing herself and crawled across the tile to where the stake lay on the ground. Val twisted, watching, ready to protect herself, but Amber jumped and managed to land in the middle of Val’s back and used all of her emotion to plunge the stake deep inside Val’s chest. A few seconds later, Amber was kneeling on the kitchen floor in a pile of dust.

Amber heard rattling on the basement door. Suddenly, she realized that if Lilia had gone outside, she would be an easy target for the rest of the gang. In a few minutes, the vampires might realize Lilia had gone outside, and Amber would have a hell of a time making sure there wasn’t a Revolver waiting to jump out on Lilia or herself from the shadows. She knew she needed to destroy the gang as quickly as possible.

Amber rifled through the cabinets until she found a box of matches, and wildly began striking them, breaking most of them and watching the small red heads fall to the ground. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she exclaimed under her breath until she finally lit one. She ran into a room with a carpet and dropped the lighted match down into the shag. She lit two more matches and waited a few seconds to see that the rug was burning, and then scrambled out through a window. Once outside, she found the gas pressure gauge and turned the pressure as high up as she could, hoping the pipes would burst and feed the flame.

She stood still for a few seconds and then hurried off to the front of the house to check on Lilia. When she came around the corner, Amber was greeted by an empty front lawn. She sniffed around, but found no traces of Lilia. The girl could not have gone outside. Cursing some more, Amber ran up the front steps once more and into the house.

She could smell smoke and the pungent smell of gas. The smoke detectors were beeping and the air seemed cloudly. “Lilia?” she called loudly. “Lilia, where the fuck are you?”

Amber heard a noise, and then Lilia emerged from the fireplace, covered head to toe in black soot. “I climbed up the chimmy,” she confided, apparently pleased with herself.

“That was fucking stupid,” assessed Amber, rolling her eyes. She scooped Lilia up in her arms and made her way to the door. Halfway out of the burning house Lilia struggled and pointed to the floor.

“Discos!” she exclaimed, and when her feet hit the floor she began scooping up the CDs. Amber picked up the others and grabbed Lilia once more, feeling the heat of the fire fanning their backs.

“You need lessons on having brains, Lilia. A life or death situation and you stop to fucking pick up CDs!” Lilia giggled at what she felt was a superb joke and allowed the vampire to run with her out of the house and down the street.

The girls saw a fire truck speed past. “He’s going to my house,” Lilia told Amber knowledgeably.

“You don’t have a house anymore.”

“Neither do you.”

Amber set Lilia down more roughly than necessary and walked a little bit ahead of the girl, arms crossed over her chest.

“But it’s okay. We still have a home.” Lilia waited, but continued when she was met with silence. “I mean, we have each other. And I feel at home with you – ”

Amber whirled around and glared down menacingly at Lilia. “Listen, brat. I saved your life because I don’t support heartless murder of innocent babies. Not because I have fuzzy, family feelin’s for ya. You aren’t my home. I don’t have a home. Now I’m stuck with ya cos I saved your sorry ass, but I need ya to quit with the touchy feely shit, aright? Unless you’ve got somethin’ important to say, like ya took a piss in your pants, then please do me a favor an’ just shut up, aright?”

Lilia swallowed and nodded her head, and Amber continued walking. After a while she got the slightly disconcerting impression that Lilia was sobbing silently, but then Amber found the bus station and was able to occupy herself with planning which bus to take.

They had no where to go. Neither of them had family or friends.

But then, maybe they had allies. Amber remembered that Buffy (such an awful name, really), the new Slayer, and realized that since she had grudgingly switched sides when she saved a kid’s life, a Slayer might help her out. Especially a Slayer who was already pals with a vampire. Amber hated the idea of working with a Slayer, Buffy in particular, and what she really wanted to do was torture Buffy in a million creative ways and murder her in a million more to get her back for her fucking carelessness, but Amber didn’t believe she had a choice.

She’d heard that Buffy was the Sunnydale Slayer, and the LA – Sunnydale bus departed in about twenty minutes.

A week ago, I never woulda believed I’d be babysittin’ a kid and takin’ a bus to Sunnydale. Still I hardly believe it.

But then again, a month or two ago, I never woulda thought I’d be a vamp, like in the movies. I never woulda thought that she…Faith…would…

Amber felt a weight on her upper arm. Looking down, she saw Lilia’s dark-haired head, leaning against the pillow of Amber’s bicep. “Lilia, move it,” Amber commanded, but Lilia didn’t stir. Amber sighed and returned her gaze to the flashing marquees and lights, and the few people who were getting on and off buses, going places and meeting people and moving through their lives.



Ok, how did you like it? Review and let me know. And on another note, I realize that I have quite a few typos in my stories and I'm looking for a beta reader or something, someone who has a solid proofreading ability and would like to help me out. I tried the yahoogroups at the top but it didn't work, so if any of you would like to/know someone to beta, please tell me! I sometimes go back and edit my work, but when I already have trouble making updates as frequent as I'd like, taking writing time to edit seems like a dangerous plan. Anyway, review and stay tuned for the next chapter!

25: OBLIGATED

The month since Buffy and Willow had arrived back in Sunnydale had, in everyone’s opinion, been a very productive one. Joyce had threatened Snyder, gone to the school board for back up, and then returned to threaten Snyder some more. Xander was glad Buffy was back and thought she had recovered nicely from the initial shock of her return. Willow had been practicing more magic after having noticed, due to recent events, how useful she could be to Buffy by doing more than floating pencils. Oz thought he was the only one who noticed the way Buffy’s two weeks in L.A. had affected her. She was more quiet and withdrawn, and he caught Willow looking at her oddly when the Slayer’s head was turned. Sometimes the werewolf thought that maybe Giles was aware of something odd, because he would occasionally frown and clean his glasses for no reason, but otherwise he behaved like a father whose child has suddenly taken an interest in his father’s favorite pastime. Oz didn’t want to say anything to anyone when people were so happy and there was no proof that anything was wrong.

Buffy heard the phone ring through the voices from the TV. Sluggishly she leaned across the couch and pulled the receiver off its hook. “Hello, Buffy Summers.”

“Hey, Buff.”

“Hey, Wil.”

“Buffy, Xander, Cordelia, Oz, and I are going to a movie…Um, 2:30-ish. You’re not doing anything, are you?”

Buffy laughed dryly. “What would I be doing, exactly?” She shook her head to clear it and added, brightly, “I mean, sure. I’d love to do something with you guys.”

“So you’re coming?”

Buffy watched the sitcom characters dump iced beverages over each other’s heads, causing an explosion of canned laughter. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll come.” Buffy held the phone in her hand after the click of Willow’s hanging up, gaze fixed to the television program. Then Buffy stood up, hung up the phone, and turned off the TV.

Fifteen minutes later, the Scooby gang hopped out of Oz’s van and entered the theater complex. The air conditioning was cold and Buffy wished she’d brought a coat. As she walked beside her friends, she entertained herself with imagining having a coat. She could have that coat. The one that was lying folded and untouched at the bottom of her closet. She imagined the soft, worn black leather, the smell of cigarettes, sunk into the material like a particularly alluring cologne…He’d been wearing it during the switch and she’d ended up with it and she had it still.

He’d run off to quickly to notice.

“Buff?” Buffy looked up at Willow. “Do you want any yummy munchies?”

“Oh…” Buffy grinned. “Sure, I’ll have some of those two-sided gummy things. White and green?” All of a sudden, Buffy heard a familiar voice catch her attention from amid the hubbub of other moviegoers. She snapped her head around, trying to place the voice’s owner.

Buffy saw a flash of purple hair. Just outside the food area, sitting comfortably on the countertop, Amber lounged, sipping a soda. “I’m broke, ya moron. Fuckin’ get some yourself. Panhandle, shoplift, pickpocket, I don’t give a damn so long as ya leave me alone.”

Buffy couldn’t tell who the vampire was talking to, but Amber didn’t strike her as the type to be afraid to cause trouble. “You guys just go on,” she said to her friends. “I’ll find you in a bit.” She patted herself over and realized, angry at herself, that she had not brought a stake. “I’ve got something to do first. Y’know, ‘sacred duty’ and all that crap.”

“What? What’s a vampire doing here?” exclaimed Cordelia, with the same tone she’d use if Willow were to turn up, decked out in Prada from head to toe.

Xander rolled his eyes. “Couldn’t hear you, Cordy. D’you think you could say that any louder?”

“Watching a movie, maybe?” Willow suggested

Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy saw Amber leap off the counter and dive for a small child in the crowd. “Hunting, more like. Go on, I’ll catch up.” Buffy ran from her friends toward the vampire.

“Lilia! I was kidding! C’mon, don’t – ” Buffy watched as Amber scooped the girl up in her arms.

Buffy came up close behind them. “Sad to say, lunch time is over…’P.’ Oh, wait, it’s ‘Amber’ now, isn’t it? My bad.”

Amber swiveled around. “How do you –“ Her eyes swept over Buffy. “Oh, it’s you.” Amber opened her mouth, but Buffy stepped into a fighting stance and Amber closed her jaw tightly and set Lilia on the floor. “You Slayer brats are all the same, huh. Kill first, ask questions later?”

“Pretty much. Assuming there’s anything I’d actually want to ask a vampire – “

“What about, ‘’How big is your dick? Care to stick it in my’ –“ Buffy kicked Amber in the jaw. The vampire reeled back from the impact.

“You really suck, you know that?”

Amber kicked Buffy back and ran to Lilia. “Get the hell out of here! What are you, stupid?”

“What if you get beat upped?” Lilia asked with concern.

Buffy got back up on her feet and ran over to where Amber kneeled by Lilia. “Real pro, Amber. Run off to eat the kid when I’m right here?”

Amber growled warningly, and something about the vampire’s face made Buffy feel old.

“Oh, Amber wouldn’t eat me!” Lilia laughed. “She’s a good vampire!”

What?! Buffy asked herself, remembering Mr. Brown. In a rage Amber demolished a sign with a ferocious kick. She planted both feet firmly on the ground, arms clenched to her sides, breathing deeply for a fleeting second. She looked explosive, murderous, insane.

“NO I’M NOT!” she bellowed. “I’m bad! I’M EVIL! I AM NOT GOOD!“

Her voice died in her throat. The entire theater rang with sudden silence as every voice paused to listen and every pair of eyes turned to stare. Buffy watched, incredulous, as Lilia scampered over to Amber and hugged the teen around the middle, burying her face in Amber’s shirt. Amber’s golden eyes locked with Buffy’s. The vampire’s face was twisted into a hateful expression, but somehow she appeared more vulnerable than dangerous.

“Amber,” began Buffy, the fire in her voice somewhat muted. She didn’t really want to fight. But she knew she had to. “I’m warning you…I’ve seen your handiwork. Do you honestly expect me to believe you aren’t going to kill her?”

“Amber…wouldn’t kill me…” Lilia said slowly, glancing tearfully up at the ridges of Amber’s forehead and the small sharp teeth poking out below her upper lip. “She’s nice! She…doesn’t hurt good people…”

Buffy snorted. “What did you do, brainwash her?” But Buffy realized Amber wasn’t paying attention. The golden eyes squinted and then Amber’s bones shifted, her forehead smoothing out and allowing her eyebrows to draw into a frown.

“Lilia…” she murmured, and she kneeled, bringing her head to the same level as the child’s. “Lilia, I won’t hurt you. You’ve got to believe me! Lilia…”

Lilia backed up in fear, causing Amber to exclaim, “God! Lilia, what the hell am I supposed to say!? Don’t you get it? I don’t fucking know how to do this!” She swallowed and looked at Lilia as if the girl was a gamble of her most precious commodities, the precarious balance deciding between all or nothing.

She looked crushed when Lilia backed up even further.

Buffy suddenly nauseous. It was unfair, for Amber to look so distressed, to have feelings, after what she’d heartlessly done at Mr. Brown’s…Vampires weren’t supposed to have feelings, to care about anything. To care what little children thought. Amber was breaking all the rules, and it was obnoxious and for some reason threatening. Buffy ran towards screen # 3.

The heavy wood doors closed behind Buffy, blocking out the sound. She leaned against the wall, huddling in the darkness. She wondered what all the people out there had thought, whether they’d remember weird girls talking about vampires and killing or whether they’d struggle to find a way to explain the strangeness away. Buffy knew, from experience, that they would believe whatever they wanted to. That’s what people did, unless they were absolutely forced to do otherwise. She shivered, and again wished she had a coat.

She thought about the duster, getting creased on the floor of her closet. Her friends were in the theater, probably watching trailers or maybe the movie had started already, and they’d wonder where she was. She wished she’d never come.

She also wished she’d never come back to Sunnydale. Either that, or she wished she’d never left. She wasn’t sure.

Buffy gripped her hands around her goosebumpy arms, and wished she had time to cry.

* * * * *

“You can have anything! Anything you want…I’ve got a wallet, a credit card – please, don’t hurt me –“ The woman trembled in front of the monstrous looking man. What is he? she wondered, some part of her realizing that he couldn’t be human, that he couldn’t care less about her credit card.

The vampire laughed in predatory delight. “I want to feel your fear. Your instincts are telling you to run, aren’t they? Bet you wish you listened better…”

“Now, I bet you wish you’d listened better, mate,” the vampire heard from behind him, just as he felt a sharp stake penetrate his skin and burn its way through his heart.

“What…what was that thing?” the woman asked her savior as he tucked the stake back inside his jeans pocket.

“Vampire,” he said casually. There was something intimidating about him, a hard-to-place eerie feeling like a ghost of a nightmare. His pale hair and skin and black clothes made him look monochrome and reminded the lady of moonlit sprites peering out of dark tangles of plants and crawling out of obsidian lakes.

“Oh,” she hiccoughed.

He stared at her, his gaze pulling her further into a world of allusions, of faint threats. His dark brows were creased in a puzzling frown. She wanted to know, who was he? What was he? How had he destroyed the monster – the vampire – and floated him away like an incomprehensible memory?

“Thanks…You know, for…” Words like ‘rescue’ and ‘save’ went with gallant knights and warmth, and strong, broad smiles, and she couldn’t bring herself to sound ridiculous and say them. “Killing him.”

The man in front of her shrugged. He seemed to be looking into the shadows and listening cautiously. “Couldn’t very well leave you there, now could I?” he asked in his purring, British voice, but she couldn’t help but imagine that he sounded haunted. He walked away, leaving her more confused and with the impression that he had saved her life grudgingly.

Spike closed the door softly behind him and rolled the stake under the bed. He slid under the covers, feeling Drusilla’s sleeping body beside him. He fell asleep and dreamed of the warm bodies lying in his arms, necks snapped and blood dripping like a fountain and begging to be tasted, and Dru laughing as she killed beside him. Then he dreamed of the faces he’d saved, falling under his body and bleeding, faces screwed up in pain and fear as he couldn’t stop their blood from flowing out and sticking his lips and fingers together.

He dreamed he was young again. There was dirt and a willow tree and a gravestone that he knew was his. His vision was blurry and the thought, This isn’t heaven. I’m back where I started. He heard an imposing voice tell him all he needed to do was kill the woman in his arms. Isn’t that wrong? Just to follow his instincts. This is being a vampire, some more conscious part of his mind remembers. All animal, predator and prey, the deepest instincts from the cruelest part of the heart…

But I don’t want to kill her! he thinks. What feels natural is to rock her in his arms until she feels no fear, but it also feels vulnerable. Strong is the dark power surging through his veins, blinding him to reason or feelings or second thoughts. Strong is the taste of the woman’s life draining away.

Spike woke up in a silent scream. He hadn’t dreamed about his first night in over a century, but he had never forgotten it. He had never forgotten the second he made the choice, the second he allowed himself to be a vampire.
26: INTERLUDE

“Buffy!” she heard from downstairs, “Don’t forget to clean up your room! I thought you were more organized than that!” Buffy flipped on the switch and saw a pair of dirty jeans crumpled by the foot of her bed. On her dresser were toppled stacks of clean laundry, and hairbrushes, and makeup bags. Everything belonged somewhere that had been too out of the way for Buffy to bother putting it. She wasn’t disorganized, she was lazy. A small sigh escaped her lips.

The light bothered her. Not like a headache, but like it drained her and made everything dull and not worth doing. She flipped the switch again and watched the shapes and shadows of her room leap out, defined by the sunlit outlines amidst the dark. Buffy padded over to her dresser and stood in front of the mirror. Methodically she re-folded some clothing and put it back in its piles.

Her fingers brushed the satin of a bra. She extracted it from the pile and considered it. Then glancing back at the empty hallway, she reached up inside her silk camisole and unhooked the bra she was currently wearing. As she slid it off she felt the feather-light touch of the silk fabric graze her nipples and glide over the smooth skin of her breasts and stomach. She looked into the mirror and noticed how her hair fell about her shoulders, how the camisole hugged a body that was clearly bare beneath its supple fabric, how her eyes appeared full of something yearning and ancient.

Slowly, seductively, Buffy dragged the camisole up over her head and watched her breasts rise and fall as she moved her arms. She brought her hands to cup underneath them, bouncing them lightly. She wondered why she had been attracted to her own body, back in LA. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe she looked attractive, standing in bare skin with the sideways light of the setting sun defining her curves, but…somehow it was different.

On a whim, she grabbed the other bra and pulled it up over her breasts, adjusting it and letting the white cups draw her breasts together in a luscious display of volume and cleavage. The white satin stood out against her summer tan, golden-brown against white and orange light against shadows.

She wondered what Spike would say. She imagined him, standing up close behind her, breathing. Stupidly, unnecessarily, breathing on her neck.

She drew her hands up the soft, tanned skin of her stomach. His fingers dance upwards, a whisper of a touch. Her skin tingles as she feels each digit move up over her ribs. Her own hands felt the ridges of her ribcage as it expands upward, taking a sudden, unstable breath.

She slid her fingers over the satin cups until they come into shocking contact with skin. He graces the gentle swell of her breast with his cool touch… “Miss me, pet?”

“Hardly,” she whispered, dipping her fingers down inside her bra and causing her breasts to rise up even more. His callused, male thumbs rasp across her nipples as he chuckles like a purr deep inside his throat.

She gasped, and pulling her hands out of her bra, she found the button on her jeans, and watching her furtive face in the mirror, tugged them open. Her lips twitched into a smile when she heard the quiet “pop” of the fabric sliding past the button. “Like what you see?” she murmured.

He exhales in the way that means he’s grinning. In the mirror she watches as invisible hands slip just beneath her jeans, sliding burning trails of touch down her bare thighs as they push the jeans to her knees. Buffy scraped her nails lightly up her thighs and over her panties back to the gentle curve of her stomach, smiling coyly. He finds her intoxicating. Then gracefully, dramatically, she bent down and pushed her jeans past her knees into a pool at her feet and steps out of them. She peered back into the mirror. She saw her white satin push-up bra and her black cotton panties and thought it wasn’t perfect, it was mismatched and awkward, but then she imagined herself on the cover of a magazine, in the front of a room with Spike watching her, his eyes roaming up and down her barely covered body in hunger.

She stepped her legs wider apart like she was straddling a large piece of furniture and then cocked her hips at a ridiculous, ostentatiously provocative angle, firmly tugging the pads of her fingers up the front of her thighs and whimpering at the friction. He presses his pelvis into her ass, his entire front spooning up to her back. His hands slip around her thighs, gripping them and going almost halfway around, and slip up to press firmly at the apex. “Drowning in it,” he growls, lips on her neck. Buffy rocked sharply into her hand, feeling the shockwave roll over her body. ”Drowning in you…

“Buffy? Are you cleaning?”

“Yeah, Mom!” she called, watching her cheeks flood with pink. She crossed her room, walking slinkily and sexily and putting on a show for Spike, and closed the door. She feverishly drew a hand up between her legs and onto her stomach, rolling her hips around in a wide and tempting circle. She looked across the room into the mirror, and watched herself through Spike’s eyes as she snaked her hands up her body and yanked her bra over her head without unclasping it, causing her breasts to fall free and exposed to the entire room. “Come and get me,” challenged, and pounced onto the bed. The springs squeak and bounce as he lands beside her and rolls to stand over her on all fours. He has stopped breathing, and he crouches in predatory silence.

Buffy wriggled out of her panties and felt the cold air of the room rush in on her damp skin, reminding her of how out in the open she is. It felt dirty and dangerous and liberating and essential. “Spike!” she gasped, as fingers grated over her clit. Broad fingers ghost up and down her inner thighs and flick her clit in brief fiery bursts, teasing her, baiting her… “God…”

”He’s got nothing to do with this…” he purrs, drowning out the rest of the world…

“Spike…Please…”

”Please what?” he mimics, whining. Buffy whimpered. His large, stiff shaft hovers close, teasing her, baiting her… She wriggled fiercely under the sudden, painful pressure she put on her nub, ”Miss me yet, pet?”

“Spike…I need…I…want…” she choked. Suddenly he grins and slams into her, pumping fiercely – fingers slipping into her slick pussy - pounding her back into the bed. He is no longer teasing; the two struggle to give and get what they violently yearn for, and he rubs against her clit with every stroke…

Buffy’s sweaty back stuck to the sheets as she lifted her hips up from the bed, digging her fingers deep inside her moist core. Her hair stuck to her forehead and to the drips on her neck. Spike hovers above her, grinning ferally, challenging her to admit it… She held her breath as intense pleasure rocked her body, and then collapsed on top of her sheets in the sticky heat of her summer room, breathing heavily.

27: I WANT YOU

"Will you stop saying that, Dru?" demanded Spike.

"You…taste like ashes."

Spike paused, and then ran forward and forced Dru into the wall. "Shut
it, bint!"

"Like…like you've kissed the sun," she whispered fearfully. "What have you been doing, my Spike? What have you got inside?"

"Nothing!" he growled desperately, grabbing her shoulders. "Nothing's different, I haven't got any ashes, Dru!"

Her face in a mournful expression, Drusilla slipped out beneath
Spike's arms and drifted across the room. "Last night tells all," she said over her shoulder. "You were saving."

"No, I…No," stammered Spike, dumbfounded. "Haven't got the
slightest what you're…"

Drusilla turned around to look at him with an air of finality. "Spike, you burn, your goldness stings…Inside, the sun…you've got to get it out, to be touched…"

Spike watched as his Dark Princess slipped away into the sewer tunnels, crooning a mournful tune to herself as she went.

"Bloody hell. Bloody fucking hell."

* * * * *

Since the fiasco at the movie theater, Buffy had not seen much of
Amber. She had, however, seen a whole lot of Lilia. The small girl had appeared one day, late enough that shadows stretched from place to place over the yard, standing on the front porch with some CDs and a box of My Little Ponies. Joyce had, at first, been frustrated with being saddled with a five-year-old girl, but as the weeks stretched on it seemed the mother had almost forgotten that Lilia wasn't her own.

Buffy hadn't forgotten, though. From the beginning, she had been not frustrated with but amazed at what Amber (presumably it had been
Amber) had done. It left her wondering how much humanity soul-less vampires were actually capable of.

Sometimes she sat on her bed, looking out the window into the bright summer day and wondered what, exactly, a soul did. The previous year she'd been sure that a soul altered an entire person, diverted their wishes and choices from evil to noble. The soulless tried their best to be awful and the soulful tried their best to be perfectly good. But how much influence did the mind and heart have, if they were even separate things?

Could someone change on their own? Was it possible to move between evil and good, completely independent of a soul?

"Buffy?"

Lilia's soft voice, thickly accented with youth, yanked Buffy back into the present. She realized that her glass of lemonade was close to overfilling, and she put the pitcher back on the counter. "Uh-huh?"

"When's Amber gonna come visit again?"

Buffy took a moment to understand the question. She shook her head to clear it. "Um...Lilia, I think..." The first week or two, Amber had shown up ever other day, to laugh with Lilia and stare at Buffy. The
Slayer was fairly sure that she and Amber had not exchanged more than a few words since the time in the movie theater, but the vampire always bore a more or less impenetrable expression, full of something a bit like revulsion, indecision, or pain. The "something face," Willow had called it.

Then, Amber had stopped coming, like she'd suddenly remembered she had somewhere else she was supposed to be. Although Buffy doubted it had much to do with Amber, the number of human deaths had noticeably increased at roughly the same time. Buffy was the only one who'd thought much about Amber's disappearance. Scoobies just assumed she'd taken off. Xander said Buffy thought too much about Amber.

"...I don't know," she confessed, and she watched Lilia's face fall.

Sometimes vampires could be a little hard to predict.

* * * * *

Pulled from her reverie, Buffy suddenly stood up. "Oh my God!"

Her mother frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"I promised the guys I'd meet them by the Espresso Pump, and I completely forgot! I think I'm already late," she berated herself, as she dashed up the stairs to grab her purse and put on shoes. "Great. Now Wil will be sure there's something wrong."

Joyce stood up, and began following Buffy around the house while the teenager collected her things. "Is there? I mean, is this...Slayer thing...it's a lot on your shoulders, isn't it? Are you sure you wouldn't rather just quit?"

Buffy sighed, cramming money into her wallet. "Well yeah, but the thing is, I can't. One and only, y'know, it means there isn't another...At least, not now that Kendra's dead."

"Buffy..."

Joyce jumped in. "Didn't...Spike's girlfriend - " Buffy bristled at the memories of Drusilla.

"Yeah," she said quickly. "But now that I'm alive, there's still a
Slayer, so it's not like Kendra's death made a new one."

"Buffy?" The Slayer looked down and noticed Lilia, tugging on a designer shirt. "Um...Amber always said, you’re not the Slayer."

Buffy stroked Lilia's hair awkwardly. "Yeah? Well, actually, I am."

Lilia looked at her new shoes (Joyce had gone crazy with the shopping, since she missed having a child who would wear whatever she wanted it to.) "Ok...Are you sure?"

Buffy laughed so hard she ran out of air and began to cough. "Yeah.
I'm sure." She looked at the clock and muttered something that sounded like "bloody hell." "Well, I'm off," she said energetically, and was almost entirely down the walkway by the time the door closed behind her.

Her friends were overjoyed to see her. Even Oz seemed to have more to say in greetings than usual. In fact, most things seemed stuffed to the brim with energy since she'd returned, and the loudness still weirded her out a bit. Maybe I'm just used to being around fewer people, she justified. Even if Spike isn't exactly the quiet type.

"Hey Buffy!" Cordelia began, "Remember Scott?" she pointed to a boy Buffy only vaguely recognized.

"He had sixth period with us," Willow added helpfully, and Buffy tried to look like her memory had been jogged.

Scott smiled. "Dude, Buffy...wow. I mean, imagine being falsely accused for murder. That's probably one of the most exciting things that would ever happen to someone I know, you know?"

"You have no idea," Buffy replied.

Over the next half hour, the Scoobies and Scott sipped coffee and chatted about things like school, movies, and the lameness of Sunnydale. Something about the conversation seemed so flat to Buffy, like it was all forced small talk, and she tried to assure herself that chatting with Spike had been just as lame.

Only, she didn't think it had. She couldn't remember talking – except for the dramatic discussions of what was or wasn't between them, and some kind of inane but somehow entertaining banter about nothing in particular. When Spike was bantering, he said the dumbest things, all of which were about Buffy. And when he was talking, he cut right to the chase. It was like the man had never heard of small talk.

"Buffy?"

"Oh. Yeah?" She turned to look guiltily at Scott.

"It was great getting to know you better. All of you, actually. I'm gonna take off, so...see you around, maybe?" The last word, in Buffy's opinion, seemed directed straight at her, and it knocked her off guard.

"Uh, okay," she said in kind of a bewildered tone, and waved at the retreating boy.

"Buffy, he is so into you," Cordelia informed not just Buffy and her friends, but the entire coffee shop. Xander raised his eyebrows and shrugged, as if saying "sorry, there's nothing I can do - she's just that way, and besides, she's got a point." Buffy sighed.

Willow leaned in. "Yeah, kinda, and Buffy? It really would do you good...to, you know, date some people? Move on - "

"To people who aren't vampires?" interrupted Cordelia tactlessly, causing everyone to make shushing noises and try to hold back smiles. Everyone except Buffy, who sat, looking dazed.

"Uh...I think it's...maybe kind of early? Just a bit? I mean, I'm still not really over..."

"Angel," Oz supplied gently.

Buffy nodded. Angel. Exactly.

* * * * *

Sunnydale, read the sign, 20 mi.

Why am I going to bleedin' Sunnyhell? Spike asked himself for the hundredth time that evening. Of course, he thought it should have been obvious. Buffy was there.

Not that he wanted to see her. Not really. But whatever had happened that made Dru reject him had happened since Buffy, had probably happened because of Buffy. She'd probably even done it on purpose, as some sick joke. He would go and ask her to fix it.

Not ask - demand. The soddin' bint had forgotten that he was evil and he would make sure she remembered.

Sunnydale, 10 mi.

This stupid little part of Spike felt elated as Sunnydale grew closer and closer. It's not like she'll want to see me, he reminded himself, but still he kept imagining scenarios of his reunion with Buffy. Things they'd say, things they'd do…The petite blonde launching herself into his arms…

Spike growled. He couldn't deny it any longer – he wanted her back.

Welcome to Sunnydale.

* * * * *

“Normal? Or Slayer-ish?” Buffy paced up and down in front of a fresh grave, tossing a stake in her hand. “I mean, how am I supposed to know what’s the right thing to choose? What my friends want…or what I…what do I want?”

Someone behind her purred, “Now that’s the question, innit?”

Buffy started and whipped around, brandishing her stake at chest-height. “S…Spike?!” she exclaimed.

He chuckled. “Good. For a second or two there, I almost thought you’d forgotten me.” Smiling in a way that was both condescending and seductive, he placed his hand on Buffy’s wrist and directed her arm back to her side. “No stakes.”

“Yes stakes,” Buffy protested, her breath catching. “Stakes are good. Especially when they’re inside of you…I –“

His grin of amusement was intolerable. “You don’t say,” he replied, his voice dripping with sexuality. “Care to prove your…” Barely hearing him, Buffy had already leaned forward, coming pelvis-to-pelvis with the blond vampire and staring insolently up at him. “Point?” he added, after the fact.

“Shut up.” Their mouths met in a flesh-crushing kiss as their bodies ground against one another. Buffy felt Spike’s fingers snaking through her belt loops, pulling her closer, sliding between fabric and skin and over the curve of her bottom and out again to pop a button and unzip a zipper.

“Miss me?” he quipped.

“Hardly,” she replied between gasps of air and feverish kisses.

He snorted in disbelief and said, “Bet you were just sittin’ here, waitin’ for me to come back, am I right? Pathetic, Slayer,” he said with a grin.

Buffy said nothing as she wriggled against the finger pressing against her sex.

“Be honest, Slayer. Your life’s much better now that I’ve walked back into it.”

Buffy stopped moving and glared up at him angrily. “Don’t let your head get too big or anything,” she said icily.

Smirking, Spike glanced down. “Sorry, pet. Looks like it’s a bit late for that…” Then he leaned forward once more, descending towards her lips. Buffy pushed him away so forcefully that he needed to take a few steps to regain his balance. He stared at her in shock.

“You are not a part of my life, Spike. You chose to walk out of it, remember?”

When he didn’t say anything immediately, Buffy turned around and began to walk home.

“You want me, Slayer. You know it,” he called when she was a few gravestones away. He waited for a response, and when none came, he tried again. “You want me, Slayer…I want you – “ he paused to see if this last bit had any effect, and noticed that Buffy had not turned around, but she had stopped walking. “What more is there?”

He didn’t think she was going to reply. Then, suddenly, he heard a whooshing sound and he jumped out of the way as a stake came spinning towards him and landed on the ground, still rotating like the hands of a clock.

“There’s a lot more,” Buffy called back, with a slight tone of defeat. The vampire and the Slayer stood, not facing each other and not moving, for what seemed like hours more, and then Buffy continued on her way.

Spike bent over and picked up the stake. It was smoothly whittled, but still clearly done by hand. It looked like redwood; probably a transformed piece of a broken fence or mailbox post. Spike sniffed along its length, and he smelled the vanilla smell of freshly bathed Buffy, the cherry smell of her lip gloss, and the slightest tinge of her sweet blood and sweat. Spike pocketed the stake and slipped back into the shadows.

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