Becoming Me

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters except for Amelia and the random bad guys, and I don't own the world (wouldn't that be nice, though? Wouldn't mind ownin' Spike either ^_^). Definitely not LA, anyway. Buffy and Spike and the rest of the Buffyverse belong to Joss and ME, which you all know.


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, she could feel psychic energy radiating in waves. Stiffly she approached the center of the room. Amelia held out her palms and felt the air until she felt satisfied.

Then suddenly she pulled out an ornate dagger and sliced the air harshly. A thin stream of light traveled down the weapon and poured into the air, cutting a somewhat jagged slice.

Energy hit the real estate agent so forcefully she nearly stumbled off her work heels. Amelia wriggled her fingers inside the rip and pulled the two halves apart, spreading the tear into a chasm that crackled with electric-blue light. Amelia peered inside, frowned, and tried to widen the tear some more.

Only it would not budge. Amelia pulled with all her strength and could not produce any effect. Holding her palms out flat once more, she felt around the room but failed to find more hot spot. Something was wrong. For the sake of optimism, Amelia tried convincing herself that someone physically stronger might have more luck.

After staring at the chasm for another minute, Amelia stamped her stiletto angrily and left the room. She would find herself someone stronger. She doubted they would be able to open her chasm for her – she assumed there was some psychic disturbance blocking it – but if she intended to unblock it and to succeed in overcoming all other obstacles in her path, she would need the help of someone a bit physically stronger.

Really, it wasn’t much of a pity. She knew all about sub-contracting, and besides, she had no problem with letting someone else do all the dirty work. After all, once things were all over, she would be able to kill whomever she’d found, and no one would be any the wiser.

Amelia was nothing if not determined.

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