Things That Go Bump in the Night

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Chapter Twelve
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Spike carefully wiped the blood off his face. This was all *way* too much. Angel had hit him before, that basically went without saying. His Sire had done far more to him over the years than ram a fist through his jaw. This time, however, one hit had broken his jaw. He hadn't felt, no *been* this bloody vulnerable in 120 years. It scared him, and that pissed him off. He didn't like being scared. He was supposed to be the one causing fear, not the one feeling it.

He heard footsteps in the hall outside the bathroom, and it was all Spike could do not to spin around and drop into a fighting stance. He felt out of control, weak, defenseless.

He slowly turned his head just as Adam entered the bathroom. The man leaned against the door frame, stuffing his hands inside his jeans pockets. He wondered if it would be even possible for Adam to look any less threatening. He didn't think it was. He snorted when it hit him. That was exactly the point of Adam's posture.

Spike straightened and turned, leaning back against the counter. For the first time since being turned, he just needed to talk. His problem was, he didn't know, exactly, what it was he wanted to say. This whole situation had turned his world upside down. Nothing he'd held true for over a century made sense anymore. Of course, after the eye opening discussion downstairs, he knew *why* it didn't, but that didn't stop him from feeling lost just the same.

He'd had only one example to use to judge how these things went for vampires who suddenly got reintroduced to their souls, and he wasn't reacting that way. Truth be told, well, thought anyway, he was seriously freaked. The problem with that was, he didn't want anyone to know, not even the man who was, essentially, in the same fix he was.

"I don't think I'd ever get used to this," Adam said quietly.

**That's *my* voice, Damn it!** Spike tilted his head questioningly. "What?"

"Not having a reflection," Adam replied waving toward the mirror. "But even more, seeing my reflection, only not in front of me."

Spike let out a short bark of laughter, turning back around to face the mirror. "I'm having about the same reaction seeing any reflection in fron me. me. I keep thinking I need to turn around and face the person standing behind me. But as to the first, there's more than one reason vampires don't have mirrors in their homes." Reaching up, Spike traced his fingers across the twin faded white scars on his neck.

"I saw these heal right after I bit you. They faded to scars inside a couple of seconds. But I have to say, being on the receiving end of the healing is completely different."

"Yeah," Adam acknowledged. "Seeing it and living it are two very different things."

Spike turned, smirking. "That sounds like the voice of experience," he drawled. "Don't tell me you've undergone some odd transformation recently?"

"There's one thing we haven't talked about yet," Adam said, completely ignoring Spike's raging sarcasm.

"One thing!" Spike exclaimed, feeling his face heat when his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "One thing?" he asked drily.

"Yeah, well, one important thing," Adam ammended with a chuckle.

"Oh, and what's that?"

"You know what's dangerous to you, but I have no idea what's dangerous to me? Or did Hollywood actually get something right for a change?"

"Oh! Don't even go there. Especially don't get Peaches started on *that* subject." Spike grinned. "You ready for the rundown?"

Adam grimaced, but nodded.

"One, we don't have to sleep in coffins. We can be up and around during the day. We just have to avoid direct sunlight. That'll send us up in flames. Which brings us to fire. Fire is also deadly."

"Painful too," Adam noted drily. "I think I'd avoid that as a matter of course."

"Yeah, well, vampires are especially flammable."

"Got it. Avoid sunlight and fire."

"The other things you need to worry about are: wood through the heart, doesn't matter how big a piece...well, unless you're a *really* old vampire."

"How old is 'really old'?"

"Older than the body you're wearing."

"In other words, hopefully it won't ever matter to me."

Spike nodded. "I've heard tell that once you reach a thousand, you start gaining extra protections, but you also start changing physically before then." Spike grimaced "I met one vampire old enough, and no, I don't know how old he was exactly, to have cloven hooves for hands and feet."

"Holy water and crosses will burn, not like fire burning, more like acid burning. Usually those two things don't kill, but suffer enough damage from them and you'll be just as much a pile of dust as by sunlight."

Methos frowned. "Seems like you got the better end of this switch."

Spike blinked at him in surprise. "You'd think so," he replied, unconsciously echoing Methos' earlier comment.

"Anything else?"

"Well, garlic isn't any fun. It won't kill you, but it stings like a bitch if you eat any of it."

"Well, at least it has a distinctive scent."

Spike shook his head. "Not to vampires. You'd think with our increased senses we could smell it a mile away, but for us it's practically odorless."

"So, any natural enemies -- or personal ones, for that matter, that I need to worry about?"

"Other than the slayer? Nope on the first. As to the second," Spike smirked, "lots."

Adam groaned and rolled his eyes. "Great."

Spike shrugged. "A master vampire always has enemies created along the way. There's no way round that. And since the chip, and me teaming up with the slayer, I've made enemies of demons I haven't even met. Of course, the fact that the only way I can get a good spot of violence is to beat up on other demons certainly hasn't helped make me any friends."

"No, I imagine not," Adam replied. "Sounds lonely."

Spike frowned, shifting uncomfortably. "It is," he found himself saying, the words out before he even thought to stop them. "So," he continued suddenly, speaking quickly. "What about you? Any personal enemies?"

Adam sighed. "You live long enough you're bound to make a couple."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"It was a yes," Adam admitted, "however, all but one of my 'personal enemies' believe I'm permanently dead."

"That's helpful," Spike laughed, suddenly throwing an arm around Adam's shoulders. "Cheer up, mate. Let's go get us something to eat, because quite frankly, I'm starving! Then, I can go out and find myself a witch."

"No."

Spike frowned, pulling back. "No?" he asked, glaring.

"You can't go out by yourself, not--"

"Oh, that! For a minute I thought you were refusing to eat."

"Eat?" Adam asked confused. "Oh, no not that . . . Oh!"

Spike watched as Adam's face drew into a scowl. "You *will* eat, mate. It's not your body to starve." Rolling his eyes when Adam started looking a little green, Spike threw lay his arm back across the reluctant vampire's shoulders. "Don't worry about it so much, Adam. Just close your eyes and forget about what it actually is, and your taste buds will do the rest."

Adam glanced at skeptically.

"Your brain may be protesting, but I'd bet just about anything that your mouth is watering, and just thinking about eating you're having to fight the change."

Adam remained silent, not refuting his challenge.

"Thought so. Come on."

They were halfway down the stairs before Adam spoke again.

"I suppose I've eaten worse," he offered weakly, not stopping his slow pace. "But I was awfully hungry at the time."

**Worse?**

Spike thought about asking what Adam thought was worse, but decided even he may not like the answer. If a non-demon said they'd eaten worse than blood, *he* didn't want to know what worse was. Things with six or more legs came instantly to mind, along with all sorts of possibilities that were covered with slime.

"Okay," he responded with too bright cheer, and an attempt at a smirk. "I don't think we need to expand on *that* topic. Besides," he continued, "I want to get out of here. I want to take advantage of the one *good* thing that's come out of this exchange."

"What good thing is that?"

"I get to go out during the day, and *not* turn into a big pile of dust."

"No, that's what I was saying earlier. You can't go out without me around."

Spike pulled away again. "Listen, mate, I know this is your body and what all, but I've been taking care of myself for a bloody long time. We can stick together at night, when I have to worry about vampires and the like, but during the day, I figure--"

"Taking care of yourself for a long time, huh? I suppose you can protect yourself from a sword wielding Immortal with millenia of experience, who's trying to separate your head from your body!"

Spike froze, glaring at Adam. "Bloody hell! How old are you to make enemies that old? Or were you just stupid and pissed off someone older than you?"

Adam shifted uncomfortably as they reached the kitchen, and Spike carefully remained silent as the man obviously wrestled with a decision. Reaching into the fridge, he wondered just what had suddenly turned Adam introspective.

"The older an Immortal is," Methos began quietly, pausing until Spike faced him, “The more he or she gains a reputation."

Spike tilted his head thoughtfully. "In other words, the longer you survive, the more skilled you obviously are."

"That's part of it," Adam admitted as Spike returned to preparing the blood. "A larger part of it is the number of quickenings taken. When Immortals fight, the winner receives the losers quickening, and with it his power."

"So it makes you stronger, then?" Spike asked as he punched buttons on the microwave.

"Sort of," Adam shrugged. "We add everything that they were, all of the slain Immortal's experiences and memories, as well as those of all the Immortals they've killed, so on and so on, to our own quickening. It doesn't really make us physically stronger, but it does make our quickening more powerful, more . . . attractive to head hunters."

"Bloody hell! Must make it a mite crowded in that mind of yours."

Adam laughed. "Actually, after the quickening 'settles', it's more of a subconscious knowledge that comes out at unexpected times."

Spike watched the microwave turntable spin slowly, lost in thought for several moments before turning back to face Adam. "Does it change you?"

Adam's eyes widened in surprise. "It . . . can," he replied finally. "Mostly it's just little personality quirks, and those usually subside after a while. It happens more so when the Immortal winner is young, with less of a sense of self to carry them through the experience."

Spike nodded as the microwave dinged. "Makes sense," he replied, setting the warmed mug of blood on the counter between them.

Adam eyed it warily.

"It's pig's blood," Spike said, "in case you were wondering. *Angel* doesn't stock human."

"That helps," Adam answered, slowly reaching out for the mug, "a little."

Spike watched, fighting both laughter and unease as Adam downed the blood as quickly as possible.

Looking faintly surprised, Adam set the mug back onto the counter. "It wasn't as bad as I expected it to be."

Spike grinned. "Told ya your tastebuds would take care of any problems you might have. Although, I *do* have to say that pig's blood tastes absolutely *horrid*!"

"Now he tells me this," Adam muttered disgustedly, glaring at Spike. "However, I have to disagree. While it is something I'm not eager to make a part of my regular diet, I wouldn't describe it as 'horrid'."

Spike grinned. "That's because you haven't tasted human."

"Don't plan on it, either," Adam responded with finality.

Spike let it slide. It didn't look like they'd be switched back immediately, so he had time to work on Adam. Since the body he was in couldn't die permanently from blood loss, he wanted to experience that end of it again. He wanted to find out if knowing you weren't going to die would change the experience any.

"So, this enemy of yours, the one that doesn't think you're toast. How old is he, and what did you do to him? I'm assuming that the earlier age discussion that interrupted the conversation has something to do with it? Are you like prime real estate or something?"

Adam burst out laughing. "Thank you *so* much for not saying that until I had *finished* drinking."

Spike smirked.

"But strange similes aside, you're essentially correct. So I'd appreciate it if you kept your mouth shut about the rest of this conversation."

"Vampires are notoriously unreliable in the trust department," Spike readily admitted. "However, as I say it, I mean it. I have no plans whatsoever to mention your age, or the age of your enemy . . . in relation to you, to anyone."

"Cassandra's 'beef' with me, as you put it, is that when she was still mortal, I made her my slave. More detail is not necessary."

"Your worst enemy is a *woman*?"

Adam rolled his eyes. "Don't underestimate her, simply because she's a woman," he began.

"Underestimate her?" Spike exclaimed. "I'm seriously considering hiding in the sewers until I get my body back!"

Adam blinked. "Oh."

"Women 'wronged' are the most vindictive creatures alive -- no matter the species!"

"Nice to see *someone* has the proper appreciation for the dangers of Immortal women."

Spike smirked. "I lived with one for 119 bloody years, I should. Well, she was a vampire, but for the purposes of qualifying for the 'dangers of Immortal women', I'd say she qualifies. She could be a right cold-blooded bitch when she wanted to be."

"And you stayed with her that long?"

Spike shrugged. "Love's a funny thing."

"It is at that," Adam acknowledged.

"So this woman you made a slave of has millenia, plural, of experience? I'd say that makes her someone for me to avoid . . . religiously."

Adam snerked.

**And if she's at least 2,000 years old, how old does that make *you* my friend?** Not asking aloud, Spike wondered if he'd ever know, unable to truly appreciate what it must be like to *be* that old. But what he really wanted to know, was how old that was comparatively speaking. For a vampire, 2,000 would be considered ancient, in the extreme, but would it be for Immortals as well?

"Not to change the subject, but to change the subject.... You know this group better than I do, how quickly are they likely to find a way to reverse what was done?"

"Well, on the surface these people seem like a bumbling bunch of idiots, but I'll admit, denying it until the day I'm dusted if you tell them I said it, they somehow combine to make an amazingly affective team. They've averted world apocalypse several times in just the few short years I've known them. If there's a reversal to be found, they'll find it. If there isn't, they'll make one." Spike shrugged. "How long will it take? That's more difficult. It depends on whether or not they have to reinvent the wheel."

"And do you have any idea how accurate Rupert was being about our contribution?"

Spike shook his head. "Well, let's put it this way. On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, our fucked up timing rates about a 15."

Adam winced. "In that case, do you know anyone who's good with a sword? I want to get some practice in, wearing this body."

"Peaches is good -- better than I am at any rate. The slayer's not as good as Angel, but also better than me. Back when I might have actually used a sword, I wasn't exactly the sword using type."

After the two of them scrounged something up for Spike to eat, the two of them headed back up the stairs, Spike smirking at him suggestively as they reached the second floor.

"So," he asked, "you wanna shag?"

Adam coughed. "I'm not quite that narcissistic," he replied.

"Your loss," Spike shrugged. "But I suspect I've got time to change your mind," he quipped, grinning as he sauntered off.