Becoming Me

13: KILLER

“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.”

“I'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," Spike told her dryly. "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 have a...well, those in thuh know call it a 'linked consciousness.'”

"Like mind-reading, you're saying?" asked Spike suspiciously.

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 sleep with him – not, of course, that I’ve ever thought about that – just, theoretically...

Mr. Brown continued. “Not ezzactly. The adept - wicca, for example, can read moods. But I suspect dat, for thuh two o' yuh bein' conscious, so tuh speak, might inhibit..." At their blank looks, Mr. Brown gave them a look of sharp reprimand that was very reminiscent of Giles's, and rephrased, "I'm sayin', yuh might share dreams."

"That's not all that comforting," announced Spike. "It's not just my thoughts that are...well..." Buffy glared at him.

“Why don’t thuh 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, six months?”

Amber nodded. "Seven 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 undead teen needed something to get the nasty taste of being good out of her mouth.

* * * * *

The next few 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 make love in the shower?”

Spike laughed. This woman really is something, he thought with amusement. "Make love"? “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.”

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? She didn't know what she thought about that description. People, you have no idea.