Things That Go Bump in the Night

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Chapter Five
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Doyle suddenly curled over the table, his fist pushed against his temple. **Damn it! Why now?** Eyes clenched tightly closed, he flinched as each wave of pain accompanied the mind flashes. Peripherally, he was aware of Cordelia's hand lying comfortingly on his arm, but could spare no attention to it. she was saying something . . . something soothing he was sure, but it made no more sense to him right now than the gibberish one spoke to a crying infant.

As quickly as it hit, the vision ended, the sudden relief from most of the mind numbing pain almost as shocking as the pain itself. Of course, the fact that his head still pounded certainly wasn't helping any. The small glass Cordelia placed into his hand, however, was *very* welcome. He gave her a shaky half-smile as he immediately downed the shot.

"Bad one?" she asked softly.

Doyle shook his head carefully. "Par for the course, really." He rose slowly, using his hand to brace himself against the table. "As much as I *really* want ta continue this evenin', we need ta get ta Angel," he informed her.

One corner of Cordelia's mouth twitched upward. "Of course," she replied dryly. "Life would be too easy if it didn't include the need to rush to someone *else's* defense."

Doyle brought his head up sharply, regretting the quick move instantly. All he saw, however, was amused, if slightly irritated, acceptance. He sighed in relief.

He held out his arm as Cordelia rose, and smiled when she curled her fingers around the crook of his elbow. "Aw, Princess, you know life would be boring without these all too frequent crises."

She laughed lightly. "I think I could handle boring for a while," she retorted.

"Me too, Princess, me too."

Cordelia remained silent while Doyle paid for the dinner they'd only managed to eat half of, not speaking until they were outside. "So, what did you see?"

"Spike," Doyle replied shortly, remembering with rising Irish ire the last time they'd run across Angel's Childe.

Cordelia shuddered, he could feel it travel through the hand that still touched him. "Damn!" Cordelia swore. "What is he up to *now*?"

"Attacking someone--A redhead, name of Willow."

"Willow!?" Cordelia exclaimed loudly.

Doyle froze at the sound of horrified shock in Cordelia's voice. "You know her?" he asked, his concern overcoming even the residual pounding in his head.

"Yeah," she replied absently, digging in her purse. "She's a witch."

"Now, Cordelia, that's not--"

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "I didn't mean that figuratively, as in like a witch with a b, although I did used to think so. I meant it literally, as in, she's a Wicca."

"Oh," Doyle replied. "Do you think she can hold him off?"

Cordelia shrugged, pulling out her cell phone and sliding into the car as Doyle held the door open. "I'm not sure," she said absently, already dialing. "I have no idea how much she's learned since I left. She did dust one vampire using a pencil, though."

"A pencil?"

Nodding, Cordelia laughed. "Yep, spelled it from across the room, and *whoosh*, pretty as you please, it flew straight into the vamp's back--nothing left but dust."

**A pencil.** He had to give the girl credit. He'd have never even thought of using a pencil, magic or no magic. He hurried around to the driver side and quickly hopped into the car. "Who are you calling?" he asked as he started the engine.

"Angel," she replied. "We're going to Sunnydale."

"Joy."

*****

Spike struggled back to awareness, his head pounding. He frowned as he tried to remember the last time he'd actually passed out from something other than alcohol; he couldn't. He carefully opened his eyes, but the light sent piercing stabs of pain through his already aching head. He slammed them shut again without having seen so much as a bloody thing. He groaned softly. He felt as though the chip were punishing him for trying to kill the entire boy's tabernacle choir!

"Bloody hell," he moaned softly, rolling off the body he'd just realized lay beneath him. "Just cut off my head and spare me the misery," he whined, then lay there, unwilling to move farther as he willed the agonizing pain to subside. What confused him was it wasn't just his head that ached. It felt like he'd gone the full nine rounds with a demon twice his strength, and lost. Only thing was, the sadist had left him alive to regret it.

An echoing moan next to him brought his attention back to his surroundings, and he cautiously opened his eyes again. He immediately wished he hadn't, although the light didn't bother him as much this time. *That* was not who he had brought home tonight. He blinked twice, but nothing changed. The man in front of him, slowly sitting up, though as slender as Adam, had bleach blonde hair--much as he pictured his own.

He frowned. **Wait a minute!** he thought in confused outrage. **didn't I land on bottom?** He looked down at his body, wanting nothing more than to reassure himself that things were as they should be. What he saw had the opposite effect. This was *not* his body. That was not to say it was unfamiliar to him, it just wasn't *his*.

His eyes narrowed as rage consumed him. **What did that bloody wanker do to me?** spike rose, stumbling, and feeling very much as though balance were a foreign concept. He didn't feel right at all. In fact, everything felt very, very wrong. Each step he took left him feeling like he was almost falling.

He stopped, fear shuddering through him. His heart racing, it felt as though . . . **Heart?!** He swallowed convulsively, his hand reaching toward his own neck. Placing two shaky fingers against the pulse point, a wave of dizziness assaulted him, bringing him to his knees as he felt the telltale, 'thump, thump' of an active pulse.

He dropped his head between his knees, fighting against blacking out, his vision narrowing to the tiniest pinpoints of light before he managed to semi-calm his panic. He could bloody *hear* the blood. The 'whoosh, whoosh' as it sped past his eardrums drowned out all other sounds. His surroundings, even, were secondary to it. His pain was secondary to it. Even his rage receded before the sound he hadn't heard in over a hundred years.

Moments, or perhaps it was hours later; he had less than no idea, a startled gasp brought his head up, and he found himself staring into icy blue eyes that looked as horrified as he felt.

"What did you do to me?" they demanded in unison.

The silence that followed their angry, fear-filled outcries was deafening. Both of them sat there staring, warily disbelieving that the other had nothing to do with the utterly unbelievable situation they found themselves in.

"I must be dreaming," Adam murmured.

"Well, let me out of your dream then," Spike retorted angrily. "I don't want to be here." Then suddenly his eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. He could no more have stopped it than he could have blocked out the sound of his new heartbeat.

"What?!" Adam demanded.

"That bloody witch!" he exclaimed, blocking out the oddity of hearing someone else speaking with his voice. "I'll kill her! I don't care if . . . Wait! The chip's in your head now." An evil smile forming, Spike jumped up, stumbling to his feet and strode awkwardly toward the trap door. He took a deep breath as the oddity of his gait struck him once again, but continued forward. This had *definite* possibilities.

"Wait!" Adam cried out behind him. "What chip?"

"No," Spike replied shortly. "I'm gonna kill that bloody witch. There's nothing to stop me now."

He stopped directly under the exit, after grabbing his pants and duster. "Except for one thing," he continued sullenly, and glaring at the opening that was far too high about him, now.

A low growl sounded behind him. He turned slowly, pants half on, the blood pumping through his body turning to ice. **Fuck!**

He held up a placating hand, and began slowly back up as Adam, in demon form, stalked forward. "Calm done there, mate. You need to control. You don't want to try and hurt me," Spike said calmly. **And I sure as hell don't want my throat ripped out.** "Believe me, you'll regret it."

"I'll regret it?" Adam questioned, a sinister smirk curving his lips upward. "Oh, I don't think so."

Spike backed up until he found himself against the stone wall, dodging as he saw a fist headed straight for him. He wasn't fast enough. He cried out in pain, first as a fist connected with his nose, then again as he head connected with the wall behind him.

The howl of pain coming from his attacker, however, snapped his eyes open, and it was not without a large sense of vindictiveness that he spoke. "Told you," he gasped, letting himself slide down the wall.

He kept a wary eye on Adam, as the human turned vampire panted, holding his head against the pain Spike knew from personal experience was beyond excruciating.

"What the . . . bloody hell . . . was *that*?" Adam asked in between huge gasps of air.

"*That* was the bloody fricken chip in your head telling you that you've been a very naughty vampire," Spike answered, resentment dripping from his words. Though, he had to admit, he was actually glad it was there now. Somehow, he didn't think Adam had been thinking about turning him, and he didn't particularly want to end up dead today.

"What?"

"I'm sure you've figured out that, somehow, we've switched bodies."

"I kinda figured *that* part out when I opened my eyes to find myself looking at, well, myself," Adam spat angrily, jumping up and grabbing his own clothes. He didn't want to deal with this mess . . . this insanity, nude.

"Yes, well, mate, you need to calm down," Spike replied, wondering when the hell *he* had been assigned the roll of peacekeeper, then added with an ironic laugh, "your demon is showing."

Silence once again fell between them, and Spike continued watching as Adam tried to reign in the emotions that had to be near the boiling point. Fascination took over as he wondered whether or not Adam would actually *be* able to control the demon nature well enough to return to a human visage so soon. He really doubted it, however.

Adam was, in essence, despite the fact that he wore a master vampire's body, a fledgling. Most fledglings couldn't wear a human face for some time after rising. Of course, that varied greatly from individual to individual.

As Spike fought a grin, Adam reached up with trembling hands to touch the face he wore. Spike's grin turned into a full smirk at the horror he saw in the golden eyes when the prominent ridges of a vampire's true face were felt.

"I told you your demon was showing," he said quietly, completely ignoring the twinge of discomfort he suddenly felt.

"How do I get rid of it?"

Spike shrugged. "Control your anger, and you control it."

Adam nodded and sank to the ground, assuming what was obviously a meditative position.

Spike's mouth dropped open when, after just a few moments, Adam calmed completely and his face smoothed out, reverting to its human form.

"Cor, luv!" Spike breathed in amazement. "You'd make one hell of a vampire!"

Adam slowly opened his eyes. "Thank . . . I think." He regarded Spike steadily. "You didn't think I could do it, do you?" he asked finally.

Spike shook his head. "No, I didn't. Truth be told, you *shouldn't* have been able to."

Then it was Adam's turn to smirk. "There's more to me than meets the eye."

Spike laughed, and for the first time since coming to, let the anger slide completely away. "Oh, I already *knew* that," he said, then looked down at himself. "We're gonna have to switch clothes, you know. My pants won't fit your body."

Holding the pants he held in front of him, Adam nodded in agreement. "These are too long."

They silently switched, both of them opting to go 'commando'.

Spike had no sooner finished buttoning his newly acquired jeans when Adam's head jerked up suddenly.

"What?"

"Someone's here," Adam hissed, glaring at Spike. "I thought you said my stuff would be safe."

"It should have been," Spike insisted. "No one ever comes here."

"Spike? Are you in here?"

"Willow," Spike whispered fiercely, his anger returning full force. "It's Willow."

Adam frowned. "The person you think is responsible for . . . this?"

Spike nodded. "Answer her. She'll think you're me."

He was answered, not with Adam calling out to Willow, but rather with a growl as Adam brushed past him, leaping up toward the trap door. "No!" he shouted as Adam disappeared above him. "Bloody hell," he muttered. "Just my luck, he figured out my body quicker than I've figured out his!" Quickly looking around for any means that would allow him to reach the exit unaided, his gaze fell on the sturdy table.

Struggling to pull the table--that was far heavier than he seemed to remember it being--far enough over, Spike groaned at the twin yells from above him. Willow's fear-filled one was quickly followed by Adam's pain-filled one. "I coulda warned you, but would you listen?" He shook his head, but really couldn't condemn the man. How many times had *he* tried to bypass the pain before it had sunk in that it simply wasn't possible.

"Willow!" he called out as he climbed up onto the table. "Don't kill the bastard. It isn't Spike!" **I am!**

Spike sighed just before jumping to catch the floor of the crypt. **Besides, I want to be a vampire again, and I don't fancy going through the bloody fledgling stage to do it!**