Definition of a Monster 2

Chapter Eight

I've never been much of one for monkey suits. Not that I don't look good in them. I'm sure I do. It's just damn hard to get your tie right when you can't see yourself in a mirror.

I was nervous. Didn't know why. Yes I did. I was taking Buffy out on the town. Sure, we had to kill a slayer while we were out, but if the two of us couldn't make a date out of that, who could?

I was still jerkin' about with the tie when she walked in. She was wearing red, a red that reminded me of nothing so much as blood fresh from the neck. I know that's why she wore it. She'll deny it, but she likes to play it dark. She wears leather more than she wears lace, but she's not a bad girl. No, not naughty at all.

Like I said before, she's a bad liar.

She reaches up and helps me with the tie.

"Looking good, Billy-boy."

"Feeling good, Buffy."

She smiles a coy smile, and steps back so I can see her.

"What do you think?"

I can't think much. All the blood has left my brain and gone to more southern latitudes. The dress is slit up the side far enough to let you know that you want to see farther, and the neckline …the neckline makes me lick my lips.

"You like…?"

She knows I do. So confident. Well…

"It'll do," I say, trying to make my face look as unimpressed as possible.

"Uh huh," she says, nodding her head slowly. She knows I'm lying.

"Pet…"

"Yeah…"

"Not to be picky…but where are you gonna keep a stake in that outfit…?"

"No stake…knife…slayer, not vampire, ya know…"

"Yeah…well, where's the knife?"

She walks toward the door, twirling her purse. She stops at the door, and puts one leg behind her so I can see up the line of her stockings. If I wasn't damned already, it would be the final proof in my mind that there was a God.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

I look up. She's laughing.

"You coming…?"

Oh, she's not playing fair. Wants to lead her puppy on a string.

"Not yet, pet…but we'll see where the night takes us…"

The party's one of those weird affairs they threw in Europe in those days. Half state affair, half bacchanalia. Nazi officers with whores on their arms. Businessmen and their wives who'd be home by ten while their husbands went out and met yet more whores…

Between the prostitutes and the quislings, 70% of the people in the room had sold their souls in one way or another. Looking around I could tell I wasn't the only one in the room without a soul to sell.

"C'mon," said Buffy. "Let's mingle…"

"Are you forgetting something, luv? You don't speak French or German…"

"Well, you can translate, right?"

"If I must…"

"Then we mingle…"

An officer whose insignia indicates he's with the Luftwaffe approaches us.

<Hello…I'm William, and this is Elizabeth…>

<Charmed, I'm sure. You are very lovely, dear.>

<I'm afraid she doesn't speak German…or French for that manner….she's…> Damn, what language won't he know?….<…Icelandic.>

<Ah…Icelandic?…I'd heard that the women there were beautiful. Now I have proof…come, dear, come, I've just the thing for you, > he says, taking her arm…

She looks at me, panicked.

I stifle a laugh, and nod. <I'm sure she does. >

I follow them over to the buffet and watch while she is forced to down some. The look on her face is worth the whining I'm going to hear later.

She makes like she has to go to the loo, and grabs me on the way by.

"Very funny, mister."

"It's just cod, luv…"

"Fixed in what? Plutonium?"

"Don't know love, never wanted to."

"Well, just for that, you're going to have to dance."

"Dance?" I ask. This could be good.

"Well, we can't exactly mingle, now can we? Not with you changing the subtitles like that…"

She leads me onto the floor, and the band starts to play something I would swear, if I didn't know better, was "April in Paris."

She pulls me close and we start to dance. I don't really know how she wants this to go…

"Spike, dancing usually involves moving…"

So I move.

The feel of her body against mine is something I've longed for. Now it's not only happening, she's pulling me closer.

I smell the vanilla in her hair, and take a deep breath, absorbing the feel of her skin. Her hair spills down over the open back of her dress, and I let the back of my hand follow it down her spine.

I feel her gasp.

This is such a bleedin' good night.

We don't say anything. For once, she's letting me let go of myself, and do what I want to with her. Right at the moment, dancing is perfect. Dancing is lovely.

I find myself humming the words to the song. A song I'm sure is before its time. But then again, so are we.

As the song ends, the last line is "What have you done to my heart?"

I don't have to ask her. I know.

She looks up at me, and I can feel her go on tip-toes to kiss me. Pulling her to me, the kiss lasts for seconds…or hours, I don't know which. I don't even smell the cod.

I let her down, and she smiles up at me, a finger running along my jaw. Then I can see her glance at something behind me.

"Spike, this slayer…"

"Simone, luv…"

"Simone…she's a red-head, right? Tall?"

"Yeah…."

"She just walked in…"

"Guess playtime's over then…"

As I turn, Buffy quickly pulls me back around, and pulls my head down into her shoulder.

"What's wrong, pet?"

"They're walking past…look and you'll see what's wrong…"

The slayer walks by me, all pomp and circumstance. The little man with the little mustache walks behind her, another lady on his arm.

"It's Hitler, pet….this IS 1943…"

"Not him….her…"

I take a closer look at the lady on his arm. She smiles as she turns. I was right about this place when we got here. Another whore.

"Now, do you see what I mean?" asks Buffy.

"Yeah….guess, this calls for a little improvisation."

Taking Buffy by the hand, I walk up to the little dictator. The woman beside him smiles.

"So good to see you, William…Have you met Adolf?"

"No….I can't say that I have, Darla."

Chapter Nine

This is way too Indiana Jones. I'm standing here talking to Hitler. And the evil blonde beside him. Should have figured Darla for a Nazi. Too bad I don't have a grail diary to get autographed.

"Hello, Darla," I say snottily.

"Spike…who is this? And where's Dru…?"

I look at him. "Uhh….Dru and I are taking a little break. I wanted to, you know, shop around."

"You…shop around? Dru finally wise up and leave you?"

I see the anger in his eyes. I reach over and squeeze his hand. Not yet.

"…uh….yeah…well….this is Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth….she looks tasty, Spike…"

"She knows, ducks. Does the lil' field marshal here?"

"He knows all the important things, don't you, honeybunch ?" she says, rubbing Hitler's head like he's a four year old.

<Eva, who are these people?>

"Eva?" asks Spike…"He thinks you're Eva Braun."

"I am Eva Braun," says Darla. "Didn't you know? See my picture in the paper?"

"I'm not much of one for the social pages, dear."

"No, you never were…." She walks around behind me. "So…what's her story…?"

"She knows the score…If she's a good little dolly, I'm considering keeping her around for a while…"

"Are you ready for that, little girl?" asks Darla, leaning in and whispering in my ear. "Are you ready to lose your soul?"

"Were you?" I ask.

"Me…I never had much of a soul to lose…"

"Darla…" says Spike….

Darla looks up to see Simone walking toward us. The way she walks bugs me. It's like she carries her stake in her ass.

"Eva, the Führer would like you and your friend to join him at his table."

Darla nods, and Simone quickly turns around and heads back to the table. She doesn't like Darla and it shows. Hey, a point for Simone.

"She doesn't care that you're a vampire? Or is she just that stupid?" I ask….

"She knows…but she won't tell anybody…"

"Why not?" asks Spike. "Seems just the little piece of info little Dolfie would love….why not just tell him? He'd get off on it."

"Because…"

"Because why, ducks?"

"You don't need to worry about it…"

"Well, at least explain why the Slayer doesn't tell him. I mean, is she a loose end here?"

"No…especially not that you're here…"

"I don't get it," I say…

"You wouldn't. I just keep reminding her…" she says, running her hand along Spike's neck, "that I've seen Slayers killed…and if she crosses me, I'll make sure she doesn't do it again. Spike being here just makes that threat that much more real….thank you, Spike…"

"You're welcome, pet."

It's all I can do to reach up and rip her arm off. I want to kill her, right here, right now. But I don't even know if I can…I mean, if she dies now, how is Angel going to kill her later? And why is she pissing me off so much…she never had this much effect on me before.

God damn it. I'm jealous.

I see Spike can tell, and he steps back.

"Yeah, well…it's been nice seeing you, Darla. But the little lady and me, we're going to go home…"

"So early?"

"Yeah…you know…a little grunt and tuggle…a little bleeding…"

"C'mon, Spike" I say. "Let's stay. We can always do that later. Unless you think you won't be…up for it later?"

He doesn't think it's funny.

"Please do join us, Spike…I want to hear all about how Dru left you," says Darla as she turns to join Hitler at the table.

Spike grabs me by the shoulders.

"Are you daft, woman? Darla will see through this…"

"How? Darla never was quick on the uptake. It's not like I'm pretending to be Drusilla or anything…and besides, we couldn't just come here and stake Simone. We've got to find out where they're keeping Sarah and the others…"

"Are you sure, pet? I mean, we don't even know if she's related."

Oh, right we don't.

"Spike… she looks just like Willow. And her name's Rosenburg…it's probably her grandmother."

"I know, dear. But how do we know she doesn't go on to live a merry happy life in flippin' New Jersey?"

" I kind of want to make sure of that, you know…I kind of like having my best friend as actually existing…"

I see him take a deep breath.

"You're right, luv."

"I am…I mean, yeah…of course, I am. Tell me again why I'm right."

"Listen, luv…I don't want to take any chances here. If the wicca isn't around….then you're not around…" He says, taking my hand.

"No…I guess not…"

"But it still doesn't do me any good if you go and get killed here…now…"

"No…but hey, Elena said they couldn't kill me…that I'd come back again…"

`Yeah, well…like I said, you're not Jesus, pet. And even if you were, he still got nailed to the cross."

His hand brushes a hair off my forehead. He's using the quiet voice again.

"….and luv, as impressive as the whole Lucy Lazarus bit is…it still hurts…"

"I know…"

"We don't know for sure that you'll come back either. Like the watcher said, it could be just a myth."

"I thought you were the one who believed in myths," I say, looking up into his eyes. How do eyes get that blue?

"I do. But this…you'll understand if I hedge my bets…c'mon…if we're going to do this, we can't keep her waiting."

He turns to walk away. I keep hold of his hand, turning him back around.

"Spike?"

"Yes?"

"Do you believe in happy endings?"

He laughs a little laugh, and smiles.

"I'm starting to, pet. I'm starting to."

Chapter Ten

I like to think of myself as a realist. I really am a monster. I know that. But I'm only one kind of monster. To my mind, there are at least two kinds. I'm your "boogey-man" kind of monster. The kind that attacks people on the moors in those old Gothic stories, the kind that children imagine is lying in wait for them under their beds. The kind your mum warned you about. I'm the predator in the jungle who'll rip your throat out at any second. But I'm okay with that.

Because it's natural. I'm a part of nature, her little reminder for all you humans who think you're at the top of the food chain. The sad part is, as natural as I'd like to think vampires are, we aren't. We don't reproduce like other animals do. We were once a different animal, created through some cockeyed bastardization of metagenesis. We don't show up in mirrors. We can't even go out in the soddin' daylight. But most of all, we're different from other animals in that we enjoy our killing.

I realize now that couching that joy that I took in nightly tearing the throats from young lovelies and stupid gits as "evil" was a lie. I was lying to myself to think that I was truly evil. I was only doing was came naturally, seeking food the only way that I could. The joy I took in it…while being vicious and cruel…was not ignorant joy. I knew what I was doing. Knew it was wrong. But it was the only real joy I had in my life, the thrill of the fight, the hunt, the kill. The only way that most vampires think they can live. I've learned differently in the last few years. I've learned that I don't have to kill to feel alive. I don't have to make things as dead as I am to feel joy. I just have to look at the girl sitting across from me at the table.

Which brings us to the other kind of monster. The bastard sitting next to her. Adolf God-damn Hitler. I figure I killed a person a night every night for a hundred years. That still doesn't come close to him. 6 million people in less than 10 years. Children, even. He's that other kind of monster. The willing monster, the ones who even with a soul treat the pain and suffering of others as tools for their amusement. Pedophiles, rapists, the kind that impose their will on others weaker than they. Who are deader in soul than I am in body. This thing sitting across from me, who decided his idea of right was the only one…who decided to play God, picking and choosing who lived and died. Like I said before, I always thought of myself as being part of nature, killing indiscriminately. He was anything but indiscriminate in his killing. He didn't kill for food. His weren't crimes of passion. He killed in the end, because he wanted to. Now that's the very definition of a monster, innit?

For the first time tonight, I'm thankful that Buffy can't understand German. He thinks he's amusing her with some story of a child and a lampshade Goebbels made for him. If she could understand him, I'm sure that story about him having only one testicle would be true enough by the end of the night. He actually thinks this will work with her. I can tell by the hand he's reaching toward her leg. The hand I won't let touch her…

<Hey, Dolfie….the lady doesn't understand German. And in any case, she's not interested.>

Buffy hears the tone in my voice, and looks up at me, concerned. She looks down quickly, and I can see that she's trying to maneuver his attaché case under the table. I get it, might have a location on the Wicca's grandmother. But that can wait. Right now, I need to make sure the little dictator knows the score.

He wipes his hand across his forehead, swiping his hair across with it.

Great, not only was a he a genocidal bastard, he was a misogynist genocidal bastard.

Hitler sat back, smiling as though he had just opened a Christmas cracker. Damn. Maybe I gave him some ammunition.

<Ah, so this is the woman you love. I apologize. I was to understand you were involved with a "Drusilla"? I thought this girl to be only a dalliance.>

"Since when, Spike" asked Darla as she approached the table. Damn. Forgot all about her. That's what I get for letting the midget get to me.

"Speaking of bottled blondes…you did know she was an aeroplane blonde didn't you, Dolfie? Painted all nice on top, but she still has a black bo.."

"Since when what?" asked Buffy angrily. I can see she doesn't like being left out of the conversation.

Simone came and sat down next to me. I quickly look at her, and measure where she's keeping her stake, then back at Buffy.

"She wants to know how you and I met, pet. Don't you, Darla?"

"Sure…when you met," purred Darla in that dockside trollop voice of hers.

"Oh, that," smiled Buffy. "He tried to kill me."

"You tried to kill her. Why didn't you?" asked Simone.

"Yeah, Spike," grinned Buffy. "I'd like to hear this one. Tell us…"

I look across into her green eyes. When I tell her I'm drowning in her, it's moments like these that I'm talking about. I feel like I could get washed over by the colour of her eyes, smothered in the smell of her. The intensity of everything increases. She wants to hear the truth. And I want to tell her.

"To be honest…I don't know."

"You don't know?" asked Darla. "C'mon,Spike…spit it out…"

"Spit it out, Spike," said Buffy evenly.

"Because…she excited me…I actually felt myself breathing hard…."

"Are you sure that's what was hard?" laughed Darla…

"Shut up!" snapped Buffy. "Let him talk…"

Darla looked over at Buffy in a way that didn't say good news. Buffy knew she was a vampire, but wasn't acting scared of her. Darla may have the brain of a syphilis-ridden whore, but even she's got instincts.

"Spike?"

I can see Buffy is still waiting for my answer…I don't have time to think of a lie.

"Because," I said. "It didn't feel like fighting…it felt like….like…"

"Like what?" asked Darla…

"Foreplay" said Buffy. "It felt like foreplay." She smiles as she says it. Not like she thinks it's a bad memory. Not a bad memory at all.

I could feel Simone gripping her stake beside me.

"And so it was, WASN'T IT, DEAR?" I say, hoping Buffy realizes that sharetime needs to be over before they get the chance to put two and two together. I should have said killing, not fighting. Darla may not have caught it, but something tells me Simone did.

<Did you say she fought you?> asks Hitler.

Oh, bollocks. The midget awakens.

"Whatever gave you that idea, Herr William?" he says…"I apologize. It's a little game I like to play, to see just how stupid people think I am…"

Well, I can tell him right now, he's a lot stupider in my opinion than he thinks.

"So…Miss Elizabeth, is it…you and Herr William fought?"

"More than once," she says cautiously.

"And you survived…you must be formidable…especially for a girl so…slight…"

"I do okay," says Buffy nervously.

"Perhaps, then Herr William, you'd be interested in a little wager?"

"What did you have in mind, Dolfie?"

"Your Elizabeth versus my Simone…"

I look at her. It makes sense. She nods. She knows I can't kill her, not with the chip in my head. She was always going to have to be the one to do it. I can see it hurts, but she accepts it She feels dirty, I can tell.

"All right," I say…."What are the terms?"

He smiles. He thinks because Simone is the Slayer, this will be a cake-walk. Shows what he knows.

"The terms are these, Herr William. If my Simone wins, I not only acquire your services…I acquire those of Miss Elizabeth as well…in whatever manner I see fit…"

Buffy looks over at him like he's nuts. What am I saying, he is nuts.

"Sounds fair as far as I go…but I can't speak for the lady. Sounds like pretty heavy punishment if she loses."

"It's okay," said Buffy. She's planning on winning anyway, let the little twerp dream, I guess.

"And what do I get if she wins?" I ask.

He reaches down into the attaché case and pulls out a small wooden box. "The contents of this box…which I assure you, you would be interested in…"

"What is it?" asks Buffy.

"Something I was going to give to Eva…or Darla, as you call her. But it is still mine to give…"

He pushes the box toward me.

I slowly open it. When I see what's inside, I quickly nod and shut the case.

"Done….with one condition," I say.

"What is it?" asks Hitler.

"You don't get her if she loses. This fight…it's to the death…"

Chapter Eleven

The first swing she takes is pretty weak. Either she's taking it easy on me, or she's afraid to lose. Probably taking it easy on me. I can't do this if she does that.

"That all you got?" I ask.

"You do not know what I am…" said Simone…

"Sure I do," I say, smiling. "You're a skanky Nazi ho who just happens to be a Slayer," I say, and hit her back. She flies into the back wall.

I hear Spike laugh behind me, and Darla gasp…

"You…she's a Slayer.." Darla says…

"And…" says Spike.

"You brought a Slayer here?"

I grin at Spike's response. "Well, YOU brought one…"

Simone catches me good in the gut. Pay attention to what you're doing, Buffy.

I look up at her. She's younger than me, and taller. But I can tell she's scared. Anyone would be. I know I was scared as hell the first time I fought someone I really thought could kill me. Of course, he didn't. He fell in love with me instead. Somehow I don't think Simone's going to be that lucky.

I roll and take her legs out.

"So, tell me, Simone…"

"What?!" she yells.

"Why are you a Nazi? I mean…I get Darla…I expect it from Darla…and well, Hitler…Hitler's gotta be a Nazi…I mean if he's not a Nazi, who's a Nazi?"

She takes another swing at me, and I catch her in an armlock, and start punching while I talk to her.

"I mean really, Simone. You're better than this. You're the Slayer."

She manages to flip me over, and looks down at me… "the same reason you're with Spike…"

"And what's that," I ask, waiting for her to attack.

"Because I enjoy it," she says, and I see her go for the knife she has hidden in the small of her back. Too bad for her I already had my hand on mine. I slash her as she goes by, and some of her blood drenches my arm.

She gets up holding the wound, looking down at it, like it's some kind of impossibility.

"Believe it, honey," I say. "It's not the first time I've done it."

"You….you talk too much," she yells and catches me in the chin with the hilt of her knife. Before I know it, we're on the ground and she's on top of me.

Okay, not a situation I foresaw, but hey, I've been in worse. I look over at Spike. He rolls his eyes, like he's getting impatient with me. Glad one of us isn't afraid I'm going to die. But then again, I'm this Slayer Queen, aren't I? Not supposed to be able to die….wonder if anyone gave the memo to Simone. If not, too bad for her.

I knee her in the crotch and flip her off of me.

"That wasn't very ladylike," she says.

"Sue me…besides come into the 21st…wait, sorry…that's wrong…"

"Whar are you talking about?" she says…

"Nothing…just come and get it…." As I say it, I realize I've said it before. It's what I said to Faith right before I stabbed her in the gut. That was different, though. Faith is better than Simone. Faith had a chance to kill me. Simone…only has a chance to die. And I think she knows it.

"All right," she says. She's telegraphing her moves. I can see her coming. She knows she's going to die, and she wants it. The death wish Spike told me about. This is it.

So I grant her wish She tries a right cross to my face but she never connects. I'm below her, backhanding the knife across her stomach. Things come out I don't want to know about. I feel myself start to heave.

I look up and Spike, and catch myself. He nods at me, telling me it was the right thing to do, that I had to. I know he's right, but it doesn't make me feel any better. It makes me feel even worse when I look down at Simone, and see she's still alive.

She tries to say something, and I lean down to hear.

"They…they have my father," she whispers. "Save him…"

I look back at her eyes as they go dead. Oh …no….. I just killed her, and she was only doing this because…

"AAAAAAAAAAAArgh," I look up and see Spike on the floor in pain. Above him I see Drusilla.

"Bad Boy," she says, the knife she's holding dripping blood. Spike's blood.

"Buffy" yells Spike. "Behind you!"

It's too late. I feel the cold hand grip my neck and lift me off of the ground. I don't have to turn around to know who it is…I can tell by the voice…

"Well, well…look at this little cutie…"

Chapter Twelve

Not again. And definitely not like this.

He'll kill her. I know he will. He's me. A pathetic love besotted fool who deserves to die. But not one to hesitate. So I do the one thing I know will stop him before he starts.

"Dru, dear," I say, grabbing her by the wrist and folding myself behind her. "Do be a doll, and be a good hostage."

He laughs. "What do you think you're doing, mate? That's Drusilla. She's no shrinking violet, her. She'll kill you."

"But I'm you, William Percy Eugene…" I say, enunciating each name…

His eyes go empty. No one's called me that since I was ten years old, a human ten at that.

He lightens his grip enough on Buffy for her to kick him in the underarm, and run to my side. He's still on the floor and I look to make sure Darla's keeping her distance. She is. She may be dim, but she was always big on survival.

Buffy looks at me with that `I'm so funny' glint in her eye. "Percy Eugene?" she asks.

"Oh, just get the case, BUFFY…"

She runs behind the table, and grabs the case. Hitler has his hand on it, and doesn't look like he wants to give it up. Not a smart move.

"I'm going to remember this," she says, and backhands him to the floor. "Fondly." She hops back over the table, and is soon back at my side, where she belongs.

"What are you going to do, mate? Door's behind me…and if you are me, you know I'm not going to let you pass…" he says.

I smile. "Well, I am you, mate. But I'm older and wiser," I say. There's a loud crack as I twist Dru's neck in my hands. She falls to my feet. He drops to his knees like I knew he would. I reach back and grab the box off of the table, and signal for Buffy it's time to go. I smile at Darla as I walk past her. I open the door for Buffy, and before I shut it, I can't resist one last parting shot…

"And I have much better taste in women…"

We barely make it out of Paris, between the SS and my former minions. The watcher lady manages to get us to London right as the sun's rising.

Buffy and I sleep the day away, and wake just after tea. Elena is showing the contents of the case to her fellow watchers. I don't know what interests them more, the case, the Slayer Queen, or a vampire who isn't going to kill them. They have us ensconced in some drafty room on the upper floor of the British Museum. There are a lot of large windows, but no direct sunlight. For once I actually have a view of London in the daytime. I think Buffy can tell it's appreciated. Between the tea and the sights, we're keeping busy. I almost cry when I try to point out the church I went to as a child. It's been destroyed by the blitz. That and a lot of other places I liked. Even some I didn't.

I'm trying to show Buffy the proper use of honey when there's a knock on the door. Buffy answers it, and I can tell it's not Elena.

"Can I help you?" she says….

"Yes…yes I think so, " says a polished English voice. Almost sounds stentorian.

She steps back, and lets him in. Smiling, she tries to play the host. "Hi, I'm Buffy, and this is…"

"Billy," he says. Something about the voice.

I stand up and stare at him…he's old, probably 75, and wearing a uniform that says he's important. But I don't know him…

"Billy," he says… "they told me and I didn't believe them…but it really is you." He hugs me, then quickly pulls away. I can tell he wasn't expecting me to be cold.

I look in his eyes, and see an older, paler reflection of my own. I look down at his uniform, and see the badge that says "Sumner". Finally it dawns on me…

"Hello, Morris…"

"Mother told us you were dead."

"I am."

I can see Buffy wants to know what's going on. She's craning her neck like she does when she wants me to do something, like she's a sled-dog trying to pull an explanation out with her teeth. I personally have much better uses for her teeth.

"Buffy," I say, guiding my hand behind her shoulder and facing her toward the man, "this is my little brother, Morris. He was 11 when I was turned."

I can see the surprise on her face. I don't blame her. No doubt the closest thing to my family she thought she'd ever meet is Drusilla or Angel. But this…this was my human family.

To be honest, I didn't know how to act. I haven't seen Morris since I was human, and it had been two years at that when I was turned.

"So…you're in the army, then?" I say. Small talk is better than nothing, but I'm an absolute prat at small talk. Better than going into what I know he wants to talk about.

"Yes…yes, I'm in intelligence. They brought me the information you obtained…and they said you got it from Hitler himself…and so I demanded to know the name of the person who obtained it…and it took a lot to find out, I tell you…but when they told me…I didn't believe them. I had to come"

"I understand, Morris. But you shouldn't of. I'm dead. I should remain that way."

"How is it…except for the abominable hair, you look the same…"

"Tell him, Spike," says Buffy. I look at her, trying to make her back off.

"Oh, don't you even try that, buddy," she says. "You never let me get away with it with my sister, this time the shoe's on the other foot. Tell him."

"Tell me what…"

I look at him. "You say you're in intelligence."

"Yes…"

"So you consider yourself an intelligent man…"

"I took honors at Cambridge…"

"Cambridge, really? Good for you…"

"Spike…"

"Why does she call you Spike…"

"It's my nomme de guerre, mate…"

"Huh?" asks Buffy… "I thought it was your nickname…"

"That's nickname in French, luv…"

"You know I don't speak French…."

"Well, I wasn't talking to you, now was I, pet?"

"No, but you could at least talk so I …"

"Excuse me," says Morris. "You were saying?"

I put an arm on each shoulder. "Morris….I'm a vampire."

He looks over at Buffy, who's nodding enthusiastically in affirmation.

"I don't believe you," he says.

"Believe this," I say, and shift into game face.

Surprisingly, he is non-plussed. Gotta admire that stone faced British reserve. But he's not that reserved.

"Still shaking your knee like you did when you were little, Morris? Trying to keep from peeing your pants?"

I shift back as he steps away.

"He won't hurt you," says Buffy, taking his hand. "Touch him…he's cold…but he's nice," she says, smiling at me.

"Take that back…"

"No," she laughs. "You two, sit…talk…catch up…this is probably the only chance you'll get…Spike, I'm going to see what Elena found out on where they're keeping Willow's grandmother and…"

"And what, luv?"

"I'll be back," she says. A lie of omission is still a lie, pet. And you can't lie to me.

I look at Morris, and he stares back at me. For lack of anything better to do, I reach out and ruffle what's left of his hair like I used to do when he was little. That breaks the ice.

We sit and talk for what must be hours. He tells me about his life, and even shows me pictures of the little grand-nibblets. Tells me what happened to my two sisters, and where they are now, tries to convince me to go see them. I convince him that wouldn't be a good idea. He asks why, and I tell him about my life. All of it. He's a military man, I figure he can take it. I tell him every little detail from the blood and death, to the chip, to Buffy. He sits and listens. I can almost imagine I'm reading him Kipling, and tucking him into bed, like I did all those years ago.

"So…you love her…"

"More…more than I can express…"

"And you were never one to be at a loss for words, were you, Billy. I read some of your poems you know…"

"Bloody awful" we say simultaneously, and laugh.

"So what are you going to do?" he asks.

I look at him, and decide. "I'm going to ask you a favor, brother."

"Anything."

"I need you to find someone….something, actually, and give him this." I go to the desk window at write out a short note, and hand it to him.

He looks down at it, and laughs. "Are you sure they'll understand this?"

"They will. They're even more cryptic than I am, believe me…"

Air raid sirens blare in the distance.

"All right," he says. "I should be going. War calls you know…"

"Yeah, guess it does."

I walk him to the door, and he turns and hugs me.

"I love you, Billy…we all do…even if you're a god-damned bloodsucker," he laughs.

I feel a tear creep out of my eye. Quickly wiping it, I nod at him.

"I love you, too, Morris." Two years ago, I wouldn't have been able to say that. Wouldn't have been able to feel that, and if I did, I wouldn't admit it. God damn you, Buffy Summers, you've made me a poof.

"And your lady friend, Billy…take care of her. She cares, I can tell, despite what you say…"

"Taking care of her's all I think about, mate…"

Buffy comes in about 15 minutes after Morris leaves. I'm standing at the window, looking out as the searchlights comb the sky. It's dark, darker than I can ever remember London being. You can actually see the stars. She leans into me, and we look out together into the darkened streets.

"How was your brother…?" she asks…

"He's…quite the man. I'm proud of him…"

"And how are you?" she asks.

"Worried…"

"About what?"

"I don't know how to get you back, luv…"

"I know…it's okay…"

"No…no it's not…it's not enough…I never do enough…"

She looks up at me, confused.

"What is this about? Is this about Glory?"

"No…no…it's everything…you deserve more than I'm able to do…"

"Spike…I've never asked you to do anything. You just won't leave," she jokes.

"It's not funny, pet. My brother Morris…he has a family he looks after…takes care of their every need…and you…I can't even keep you from dying…"

"Spike…I'm not your responsibility…"

"Yes, you bleedin' well are…you and Dawn both are…I made you a promise…and I've not kept it…"

"Spike, " she says, reaching up to brush my face… "You've done more than I could ever expect…more than I hoped for…"

"But it's not enough," I say, and reach out and grab her throat. I catch her in a sleeper hold, and lower her to the ground. The chip does nothing. A sign I'm right, or so I'd like to believe.

"I'm sorry, Buffy. But it's not enough."