Becoming Me

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1


11: AMBIVALENT

The room felt empty.

Spike scanned the space and his eyes fell upon a short vampire with a mousy look to him. “You won’t find the Slayer in time, “ the vamp drawled smugly, and proceeded to scratch behind his ear.

“She’s not here?”

“Obviously not,” he drew out slowly, making Spike want to dust him right then and there. “You know, you really should have considered renting an apartment. A room like this...anyone can come in and take your...stuff.”

Spike glared, hazel eyes flashing. “How do you feel ‘bout gettin’ smashed into a bloody pulp?”

The vampire’s demeanor changed suddenly and drastically. “Not too keen on it,” was the hurried reply.

“Then you’ll tell me where the Slayer is,” Spike hissed forcefully. The vamp’s mouth quivered.

Spike slammed his opponent against the wall and held him a few inches above the carpet.

“Where is she?”

“U-underground, under the House...In Revolver territory...” he hacked several theatrical coughs. “Would you mind letting me - Amber’s got her,” the man squeaked.

Spike squeezed harder, and procured a stake from the pocket of Buffy’s coat. “How can I find this Amber bird?”

“You-your girlfriend knows the place! Drusilla!”

Spike shoved the stake into the vampire’s chest and rushed out the door.

* * * * *
“So, Preppy.” A glare, and then, “Oh, come on, Buffy?! What were your parents thinking? Anyway, y’mind telling me how you and Spike got your bodies all mixed up?”

Buffy moved her knight to a different chess square and took out one of the naked pawns. “We’ve been over this, and yes, I do mind. But for the record, I don’t know, and don’t care.”

“Checkmate.” Amber’s nude queen had found its way near Buffy’s cornered, inaccurately proportioned king. (Now that Buffy had her new body, she felt herself to be a very authorized judge. She may not have had vast experience, but by comparison she could tell that the king made Spike Jr. look a tad undersized, and she could tell he was anything but small.)

“Fuck off.” At first glance, Amber really wasn’t all that bad. Of course, at second glance, one noticed the kidnapping, the slicing of the chest, and the general evil vampire-ness... Either that or Buffy had lost her marbles so completely that she would never find them ever again.

Amber leaned back in her chair, playing with her purple hair. “What happened right before you switched? Did you do anything?”

A frustrated Buffy shifted around in her chair, unable to find and position that was comfortable. “No, not really...We just went and got food, and then on the way back to the car...We were there, the sky flashed - we switched. All at once, like that. Nothing happened really.”

“Hmm. Weird,” Amber said just as the phone rang. She listened for less than a minute before staring at it angrily. “Bitch,” she muttered as she tossed the phone onto an armchair. “C’mon, Preppy. We’re moving. And I’m tying you up.”

Buffy looked around the room, but there were minions anywhere. Resisting would have little or no effect, she realized, and allowed the teenager to bind her arms.

“Spike’s kind of a hottie, isn’t he. Ever thought about...?”

Buffy would have blushed. “I, um...Well sometimes, when we’re kissing, I get all – I mean, his...”

“You kiss him?” Amber’s hands froze in the middle of tying a knot.

Buffy shrugged. “Yeah, I guess it’s probably part of being stuck – “

“Are you...together?” She made it sound like a thoroughly repulsive prospect.

Buffy frowned. “Yeugh! Of course we’re not...Unless you meant sleeping together – not that we’re doing that either, but...I just didn’t...realize that you might...” she rambled, flustered.

Amber looked at the single she’d tied, staring at it venomously. Then she furiously added a few more knots, securing it in place, and pushed Buffy roughly out the door.

* * * * *

There were 106 candy shops in Los Angeles, and very possibly several hundred more stores that sold sweets in addition to their primary product line. Twelve of them were in the same general area as the hotel.

Spike ran a hand through his blonde hair tensely, and then suddenly slammed his fist into the side of a building. He didn’t even know if a candy shop was the right place to look, and every second he spent looking, or worrying, or even standing still considering his next action, was a second wasted.

Drusilla had smelled like candy. That was the only clue he had, the one fact he was gambling with, because it was his best shot at finding her.

A group of children giggled as they walked down the street. Spike wanted to wring their necks, hurl them into the wall, and then maybe sink his fangs into their soft, young skin, and for a second he wondered why he wasn’t doing so.

It was all the Slayer’s fault, everything he was feeling right now. If she hadn’t gone and switched bodies with him, he would be off shagging Drusilla somewhere, instead of standing in an alley, feeling so frustrated and helpless as he actually did. Somehow Buffy had made him care for her, and he wanted to kill her for it.

The kids all entered a shop of some sort, giggling as irritatingly as ever. The smell of sugar and of various artificial flavors wafted out through the door and even Spike’s human nose detected them.

Candy shop. He looked more carefully at the store front, and in addition to large, caramelized letters SWEET SHOPPE, was the pink writing painted on the window. “CHILDREN’S DISCOUNT.” It made sense that Drusilla might adopt this store as her temporary residence, as she liked the taste of children, and since she even had a soft spot, Spike remembered, for human candy. He left the alley and followed the children into the Sweet Shoppe.

Upon entering the store (which, Spike noticed with twisted amusement, bore a “We’re open, come on in!” sign on its door), Spike noticed a tingly sensation that spread through his body and made him want to be more cautious of his surroundings. There were no employees in the Sweet Shoppe, or at least no living ones. Slumped over the counter lay the corpse of the sales clerk, and several smaller bodies littered the floor, bite marks in their necks.

A child screamed and ran for the door. Two more followed, but the third was swept up into a woman’s arms, the girl’s cry of terror cut short. She looked around wildly, and then settled her panicking gaze on Spike.

“Evenin’, Dru. Trust you had a bite to eat since we last talked,” Spike drawled.

“Me an’ the fat man an’ Miss Edith, we 'ad ourselves a nice party,” Drusilla said excitedly. “You should 'ave been there.” She looked at him sadly, her last comment projecting disappointment.

Spike grit his teeth, his forbearance running thin. “I’m sure, pet. Now let’s make up for lost time, and go to this bloody House.”

Drusilla blinked. “Why are you all cross with me?” she asked languidly.

“Dru? Remember when you were captured? Remember the bird who tied you up? I want to get to her place. Let’s go, now.”

Drusilla took several steps to follow him out the door, and then looked at the child in her arms. “Can I bring the baby?”

“Leave the girl!” Spike shouted angrily, and Drusilla set the child down gently and hurried after the Slayer.

Spike scrutinized the picture-perfect house in front of them. “And you’re positive this is the right house?” he asked the vampire, watching Lilia and her mother wash dishes in the kitchen.

“Pretty on the outside,” Drusilla explained, “But inside the depths, it’s deliciously 'orrid.” She made a gleeful face at the basement access door.

Understanding blossomed in Spike, who replied “Sure it is, Dru,” and headed towards the door. The two women walked silently down the steps and entered a large room, furnished with sofas, pillows, a stereo, a television set, and a large assortment of chains and knives and torture instruments.

“Slayer?” He wandered up the steps that led into the house, frowning. “Bugger, what’s her name...Amber? Anyone here?”

“'E comes a calling, but someone’s called first, and no one’s 'ome anymore,” Dru sang, dancing to herself. Upstairs she could hear Spike’s voice, calling out the Slayer’s name.

* * * * *

“And you’re sure?”

“Absolutely, Miss Reinhardt. The visions I receive, while in a state of trance, are never incorrect. 100% guarantee.”

“So you say. Now, here’s a situation for you: my informant will arrive shortly with someone she has found, someone who fits the descriptions you gave me last week, answering my request for identification of the two individuals I myself sensed. My informant seems to think it possible that this vampire could be emitting a large amount of energy. I do hope that you have as much confidence as I do in the fact that the man she has found using your descriptions is the correct creature.”

The mage nodded, smiling as confidently as he could manage. He wished Amelia had never found him, because every conversation they had made his position more dangerous. The more lies he told, the more were necessary – it was extremely lucky that he remembered the subjects of the spell he’d worked for Drusilla quite well, because in fact he never had any visions at all and would have been hard pressed to produce the correct solution to Amelia’s problem.

“I desperately hope that, between the two of us, we will be able to deduce what about the two people you detected, the Slayer and the vampire, causes so much energy to be released that it interferes with other spells being performed.”

The mage readily and obsequiously made his agreement known. “And of course, Miss Reinhardt, although I have no concrete idea as to what causes them to release such energy, I have one possible theory.” He paused, selecting his words carefully. “I have heard that body swap spells can, occasionally, produce large amounts of by-product energy...” He hoped he could safely pave the grounds ahead of them.

“Body swap?” repeated Amelia, testing out the idea and not seeming overly enthusiastic about it.

The doorbell rang, and it echoed in the large, empty house. Amelia carefully pushed herself out of her chair and briskly approached the door. “How nice to see you, eight minutes later than expected,” she said stiffly.

Amber growled and waited for an invite.

“What are you waiting for? I can’t tolerate time-wasters.” She smiled briefly and coldly and crossed tot he other end of the room. Amber pushed Buffy through the doorway, then followed herself.

“The owners are dead,” said Buffy with disgust to Amber, knowing full well that they should have both needed to be invited. “Did you kill them?”

Amber grinned; Buffy scrunched up her face and said “Ugh!” with a pronounced feeling.

“Amber,” reprimanded Amelia, “Now is not the time to be flirting with your captive. If you don’t mind, would you focus on your job and haul his ass over here?”

Amber grumbled that she would mind, but she dragged Buffy into the next room regardless.

“It seems that your captive must be the subject of some sort of spell, to command the power he does.” Amelia paused for effect, but Amber jumped at the opportunity to speak.

“Could be. But seriously, let’s get a move on. I got things to do”

Amelia informed the vampire that her silence would be much appreciated, and although Amber made speedy use of her middle finger in announcing her opinion, the vampire’s lips remained pressed together angrily. “Amber, place your captive in the center of the pentagram on the floor,” instructed Amelia.

Wrists tied behind her back, Buffy was shoved to the ground.

Amelia removed her business-suit jacket and carefully laid it across the arm of a chair. Amelia closed her eyes, and Buffy immediately felt like someone very, very strong was pressing down on her shoulders and holding down her legs, inhibiting any movement. Suddenly she noticed something cold and thin snaking its way up one arm. Her mind was instantly filled with images of everything terrible that fit the description, until she actually saw the cedar-colored tendril. There were many of them, working together to bind her in place, and each of them looked like a piece of the hardwood floor that had been pinched and twisted until it rose out of the ground like a serpentine vine with wood-grain.

Amelia gestured with her hands, and suddenly Buffy was engulfed in a sinister violet light, and her peroxide-bleached hair glowed fluorescent purple, leaping out unnaturally from its shadowy surroundings.

The real estate agent began a prideful oration. “A demon informed me his crossing into this dimension was hindered by an inordinately large source of psychic energy, within the city. With my own Vision I realized that the greatest source of power emanated from two individuals, you and your acquaintance. No vampire, no matter how powerful or how old - ” she gazed smugly at Buffy, “Can naturally possess this much power, let alone a little teenage girl like the Slayer.”

“Hey!” interrupted an indignant Buffy, but the psychic ignored her interjection.

What has the Slayer got to do with this? wondered Amber. I don’t get why Amelia’s interested in the Slayer, anyway. She seems to be interested in the power that comes from the swap, which involves Spike and Buffy. How does the Slayer fit into this?

“There must be some magical aid, some spell or something similar, causing this effect. And as Amber assures me that attempting to goad you to speak will be an entire waste of my time, I’ve resigned myself to doing this in a more difficult, more entertaining way.

“Reverse all enchantments!,” Amelia pronounced, eyeing the restrained subject of the spell with somewhat repressed glee.

The air around Buffy thrummed with energy as Amelia’s psychic powers set to work. Buffy felt her skin stretch as the air currents pushed and pulled on it, and she began to panic as she realized she was roped to the bottom of a whirlpool of vicious winds, completely helpless.
Suddenly the winds ceased to press inwards on Buffy, but rather exploded outwards, sending a large ripple through the air of the room. A shockwave snapped in Amelia’s ears just as she was catapulted backwards into an antique table. Amber cackled, but instantly began coughing instead as soon as Amelia’s gaze turned on her.

Amelia’s face had the expression of a religious zealot who has been brutally disillusioned. “What does this mean?” she asked anyone who was willing to answer.

“Means ya fucked up?” suggested Amber to brightly.

The mage spoke. “It means – I believe it means that the spell focuses on others than just this one person. Perhaps, the girl you detected, the one I identified to be the Slayer, is needed, in addition to the vampire?”

“How is it that you have all the answers?” Amelia inquired rhetorically and turned back to Buffy. Occupied with raising her arms to work her magic, she was unaware of the mage’s uncomfortable shrug or his surreptitious exiting of the house. “Reveal!” she shouted, the her frustration somewhat deteriorating her composure.

The air swirled around Buffy once more, and although it was rough and tore at her bloodless cheeks, she felt increasingly less strained and tense, as if she were climbing down from a very tall, precarious place, each second lessening the distance she could fall.

* * * * *

Spike ran out of Amber’s house and into the street, looking left and right and realizing he had no clue which direction would take him to Buffy. All he had to go off of was what the small girl had told him: Amber had left with the white-haired vampire, and taken him somewhere, with his hands tied. “Fuck!”

In his anger he kicked the door of a nearby car, denting the shiny blue metal and setting off the car alarm. “BLOODY FUCKING HELL!”

A light turned on in the house across the street, shortly followed by the house’s porch light. A middle-aged woman with curlers in her hair opened the door and pointed Spike out to her husband, who seemed to be dialing something on the phone.

The cops would get him, and he’d get Buffy in the police records. It would take even longer to find her and rescue her, and it might be too late, and it would be his fault. Suddenly the atmosphere tried to suffocate him, pressing inwards and twisting and turning him upside down, and the husband and wife across the street stared in shock as the blonde woman who’d tried to jack their car disappeared into thin, albeit swirling, air.

* * * * *

With a thud and a long string of expletives, the Slayer landed on the floor beside the blonde vampire.

Energy sparked between them and the force-field around Buffy shattered under the penetration of Spike and Buffy sparks. “Spike...” Buffy said, sitting up and reaching towards him.

A curious frown on her face, Amelia pushed her hands in opposite directions, causing the pair of blondes to slide away from each other and crash into walls at opposite ends of the room. Amber winced at the obviously painful collision.

“Fascinating...” murmured Amelia. “Their auras are crossed...” She watched as energy arced between the two, across the several hundred feet of the large room. “Mage,” she called out, “It now seems entirely possible that your suggestion of a body swap could prove to be...” she silenced as she became aware that the mage was no longer in the room. Clapping her hands, she caused the walls to grow tendrils, which reached out to bind the two captives’ limbs. Sighing, Amelia’s fashionable heels clicked out of the room in search for the mage. Amber’s eyes were trained on her boss as the woman exited.

“Buffy! You alright, Buffy?” Spike shouted across the room, thrashing against his bonds.

Buffy nodded, and slouched against the wall, resigned to her fate as a captive of an evil, obsessive-compulsive real estate saleswoman.

Spike watched her sink back into the tendrils. “Buffy, don’t – ” he began, but a small hand clamped over his mouth.

“Shut up, you cross-dressing moron,” hissed a female voice. An offended Spike mumbled against the hand, but its owner took no notice. “These rope things are just made out of plaster and wallpaper, only they stretch to your body, so the captive can’t break loose.” Spike heard snapping and crackling and the sound of falling plaster dust, and Amber’s voice returned in his ear. “Now get lost before that bitch gets back, or you’ll have blown your chance at escape.” Spike’s gaze drifted over to Buffy, and Amber groaned. “Forget the fucking girl!” she growled.

Spike frowned, and then turned to the female vampire. “Love to, only without her I can never get my own body back...which would be a pity.” He brought his face, with a sexy smirk, closer to Amber’s, completely forgetting for a moment that he was in Buffy’s body.

Amber, however, took a tense and unnecessary inhalation, as she stepped the smallest bit backwards, and then shook her head to clear it.

“Now, be a good girl and go keep watch, would you?” Amber nodded quickly and hurried away. Spike rushed over to Buffy and snapped the plaster tendrils, helping her stand. As soon as she held her own weight, Buffy’s knees buckled, so Spike pulled one of her arms over his shoulders and let her lean on them as they hobbled towards the door.

Amber counted to thirty after Buffy and Spike slowly crossed the threshold of the front door, and then shouted, “Amelia! The captives, they’re escaping, come quickly!” Amelia’s heels clicked furiously across the room and onto the front walkway, but Spike managed to hotwire a car, and drove off before she could catch up.

Spike broke every speed limit he’d ever heard of until he entered urban L.A. He pulled over into an empty space, parking haphazardly, and he and a very exhausted Buffy scrambled out of the car.

“How much money have you got, Slayer?”

“Two dollars, why?”

“I’ve got three cents, so looks like taxis are out of the question. And looks like you’re hardly up to walking. We’re taking the bloody bus.”

* * * * *

Dead tired, and in some cases simply dead, Buffy and Spike collapsed on their bed. Buffy yawned loudly, and Spike smirked and stuck his finger in her mouth. “I’m tired,” she defended herself, grinning. “All that weird magic-y stuff took something out of me...Like maybe motor control of my legs.”

“Then sleep.”

“We need to talk,” she replied.

Spike stared at her, clearly about to counter with some smart-ass response, but then he changed his mind. “Bugger, we’ll talk in the morning. Just get some sleep.”

She let herself fall backwards onto the pillow. Spike pulled the covers over her body and lay down next to her. Smiling lethargically, Buffy cuddled up close to Spike and within one minute was asleep.

“That bird...She acted quite strange, don’t you think, Slayer?”

“I don’t think about birds,” Buffy mumbled sleepily.

“I wonder what her story is. She seems familiar, but I don’t think we’ve ever met. I just can’t figure out what she wants, or even whose side she’s on.”

“Whose side is anybody on, Spike? Definitely not on you,” she said decisively, into his shoulder.

As little as he understood what Buffy had meant her point to be, he definitely felt she had one. Whose side was anybody on? He and the Slayer had been mortal enemies, but now they were clearly on the same side.

Buffy, as the Chosen One, was on the side of good. But was Spike? He was supposed to be an evil vampire. He still wanted to kill, and cared nothing for morality or laws.

Whose side was he on, anyway? Dru or Buffy’s? He didn’t want to decide, he much preferred ambivalence.

Satisfied with his decision to be officially undecided, Spike joined Buffy in sleep, and dreamt of Buffy, of Slayers, and of a small, copper-haired girl who had sunk so deeply in his memory he’d all but forgotten her.


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