Redefining Unlife

Title: Redefining Unlife (working title, it sucks! suggestions welcome)
Author: Rowaine (rowained@yahoo.com)
Rating: PG-13-ish, eventually NC17. Whatever that means on the new rating scale. These first two chapters are sedate enough that my 15 yr old *very* heterosexual son didn't bat an eyelash - he beta'd for me, bless his heart.
Warnings: Since this is Spander - at least technically - there isn't much to warn about. Tales from the Bizaar Spander, but still our boys. Mild Buffy-bashing too, since that's one of my favorite indoor sports. Uh, and some Angel-bashing... cus dammit, I'm still pissed about who wore the amulet thingy. :P
Pairings: Spike/Xander, with hints of others.
Setting: Uh... post S7 BtVS and whatever season it is that Spike gets his body back in AtS.
Summary: Spike comes back to unlife. Things get really strange from there.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never was. Insert sniffling and whining as appropriate.
A/N1: This idea crept up on me and derailed chapter 8 of Labyrinth. Don't fuss please, it's mostly finished and will be posted later this week. Also, please remember that I've never watched the Angel series, so I only have hearsay to go by on the personalities of its characters.


~ Part 1 ~

Unlife had been a blast, Spike reflected from his non-corporeal perch atop Wesley's desk. Really, he'd had fun for over a century, so he couldn't complain about much there. The bedamned soul wasn't one of his best ideas, but he had learnt how to deal with it... eventually. Being burned from the inside out, channeling every molecule of the sun's first rays? Now *that* was a bitch. Still, he figured that it made his soul feel better, paid some back dues for mayhem and slaughter. The demon whined about being forced to pay pennance for acting within its nature, of course, and that wasn't unexpected. After all, most of his difficulties after the soul's appearance stemmed from that particular war - conscience versus instinct, both screaming out their points til he was ready to give himself a labotomy just for a minute's peace.

Shuffling papers slid through his ghostly arse, and only the slight upturn of the former Watcher's lip hinted that it might have been on purpose. Granted, he didn't get a real sense of touch from the strange half-contact, but he did feel something. And the smirking Brit knew how much it bugged him. His transparent lips formed a sneer that once would have made lesser beings cringe. He refused to acknowledge the 'ain't he cute?' whispered from the mousey chit standing behind Wesley.

It really didn't seem fair, this non-life he was currently stuck in. Before the final showdown with the First Evil, his soul had prayed for a chance at heaven, even knowing how slim that chance was. His demon had been prepared to raise untold mischief in whatever hell was reserved for it. But no, he wasn't allowed to rest in paradise *or* suffer in some hell dimension. Instead he was forced to listen to the Fang Gang's inanities, float through board rooms and snack rooms and even that twat Harmony was here to torment him and he couldn't get away or smoke a bloody fag. His silent scream witnessed by the only two AI members who actually gave a damn, Spike cursed the Powers That Be for his transient state. In every language he could remember, thoroughly and with great imagination.

And somewhere out there, the Powers heard his frustration. Recalled his history, both good and bad. Weighed everything on some cosmic scale. Pointed and snickered behind their world-shaking hands.

For what Spike forgot - a fact that even the youngest child could solemnly swear with a straight face and lip quiver - is that, first, the Powers That Be are awesome and mighty, though they rarely interfere unless the balance between good and evil is in danger. But more importantly, the blighters have a wicked sense of humor, and just love to torture those who question their methods.

~ * ~

It wasn't as bright as the last time I died. Sounds and smells slowly returned to his befuddled senses. Bugger this, what've they done to me now? He recognized the Texan's soft, melodic tones, with the Watcher's crisp upper crust accent answering. He couldn't quite follow their words, no matter how hard he concentrated. Something was off with his vision too... like he couldn't open his eyes. And that was just wrong, since he had no eyelids to open.

It took a few minutes for his other senses to register. Not unsurprising, considering how long he'd gone without them. A warm hand rested across his brow, smoothing away the soft curls that naturally fell into his eyes. Another hand, much smaller than the first, was checking for a pulse at his wrist. He had to laugh at that - wouldn't it just be his bleedin luck? To finally be free from the twice-damned limbo only to end up on a mortician's slab. The sound that came out, instead of the expected throaty chuckle, was a rough gargle. And nothing near his own voice.

"Oh dear. Fred, I really believe we should contact Angel at once. Before our rather questionable security staff has a chance to swoop down upon us and transport our guest to one of their... cells."

"Ah... maybe we should skip callin Angel then. He's in one of his meetin's right now. Think we can sneak out the back, maybe get back to my place? This'un's gonna need some attention, Wes."

Throat-clearing and the shuffle of feet. "Well yes, most assuredly. You'll do the honors for *cough* that part, yes?"

Gentle laughter. "Yeah, I'll handle it. You just do yer thing with the magic, an we can bring this'un down to my car. Sure we can handle it better without anyone else findin out."

"Perhaps you are correct. However would we explain..."

The voices trailed off, leaving Spike doubley confused. He felt exhausted, moreso than after Glory or Caleb or... His internal conversation came to a halt as his body slipped completely into unconsciousness.

~ * ~

Something cool and moist brought him back to reality. A wash cloth, he figured, being dabbed along his face and neck. He couldn't understand why he would need to be cleaned up - after months of having no physical form, how would he manage to get dirty? But still, it felt rather pleasant.

He counted two heartbeats in the near vicinity. One set of heavier footsteps - indicating a grown man, most likely. The gentle touch of whomever was wiping his cheeks must surely belong to a woman. As coherent thought returned, he figured them to be the two humans with whom he'd spent the most time recently. Wesley and Fred. Right. Higher brain functions almost up to normal, Captain. He groaned at the thought that, hell forbid, he was channeling Harris' geeky sci-fi shows.

"Shh darlin, yer alright now. Safe an sound, an maybe we can figure out who ya are. If ya'll wouldn't mind wakin up an talkin with us, hmm?"

She has such a pleasant voice. Soothing... almost like the hot cocoa that Joyce used to make. With those little marshmellows. "Mmm..." Not noticing vocal chords rusty from disuse, no other sounds were attempted.

"Oh, OH! Wes, c'mon in here. Think our guest is startin ta come round."

Footsteps drew near, stopping within arm's reach. "What have you found so far?"

"No normal heartbeat, can't feel a pulse. But higher than room temp. Dunno what kind we've found here, but... I don't feel a threat."

"Hmm, indeed. Pardon me if I maintain a bit of vigilance. Better safe than sorry."

"Wesley, y'know what happens to most demons when ya throw holy water on'em. An we already checked with a mirror, member?"

"Even still, there is something... not quite right about-"

"Bloody hell, Watcher, don't ya ever shut up?" His voice was off, but Spike took comfort that at least he had been heard this time. Better than using gestures - and the ever popular two-finger salute.

"I say, that was uncalled for, Miss!" Wesley's indignation rang harshly on the recently revived blond.

Blue eyes slowly opened, confirming his first guess. And if they weren't focusing very well, it could be excused... as some sort of mystical whammy. "Need yer specs renewed, Wes. Been floatin round yer office fer more'n half a year now, an ya can't recognize me?" He watched with growing dread as Fred and Wesley exchanged 'a look'. "What?"

"Dear Lord."

"Oh. My. God."


~ * ~

Half an hour later, Spike felt as if he had a fully functional heart again - if only to allow his blood pressure to hit the danger zone. It had taken a weak-kneed trip to the bathroom and several long minutes staring at his reflection (where, if he resembled a kitten, snarling and hissing at a perceived threat, no one could blame him) to convince the centurian Master vampire of his... altered state.

The following hour centered around answering para-spiritual questions from the Watcher and scientific analytical ones from Fred. Neither of whom found satisfactory responses. The trio exchanged frustrated glares.

"Not like ya can blame me for this, y'know. Didn't ask to be brought back as a ghost. No one could hear me bitchin bout... Oh buggerin fuck, what does it matter." Exasperated, Spike threw himself down onto the couch. He refused to acknowledge the extra bounce in his landing as anything more than good springs.

With a long-suffering sigh, Wesley tried again. "Honestly Spike, neither of us are accusing you of causing this... predicament. It is a matter of some interest, however. In any number of ways."

"That I don't wanna hear right now. Please, Wes." Holding up a slim hand, Spike tried to convey how thoroughly worn out he was. It barely registered that he'd asked nicely. "Fred-girl, think you can whip us up somethin ta eat? Stomach's real empty, like my throat's been cut." His attempt at levity fell flat.

Absently watching the young woman's departure, Wesley sat on an over-stuffed chair opposite the blond. "I... There are no words. I cannot apologize for your return, however *off* you find your present status. It is rather interesting that the Powers brought you back at all, but moreso that they deemed fit to change your entire gender. One might suspect that you..."

"Out with it, Watcher!" Spike was in no mood for 'delicate' turns of phrase.

Light spots of red appeared on Wesley's cheeks, while his voice grew increasingly waspish. "That you might've irritated them somehow. Egged them on, so to speak. But no, surely a Master vampire of your age and experience would know better than to challenge the Powers That Be."

More than a hundred years' acting abilities failed to keep the flush from spreading across the blond's pale features.

"No offense, Spike, but sometimes you can be an utter prat."

Having no desire to argue the truth, he sniffled pathetically and curled up against the sofa cushions to sulk.

~ * ~

There are some flavors that soothe frazzled nerves regardless of the century, Spike reflected. Hot chocolate being high up on the list, followed closely by chicken noodle soup. The slim Texan offered both with a shy smile, before flopping down beside him to enjoy her own mug of cocoa heaven.

With the lingering taste of his long lost human childhood still on his lips, Spike felt up to tackling his new appearance. "So, ya wouldn't mind me using yer shower, yeh pet? These must be yer duds too. Good of ya to loan me somethin." He barely waited for the woman's stammered 'yes and you're welcome' before racing back toward the bathroom. He had a new body to explore.

He only spared enough attention to passing scenery to know when to dodge or what piece of furniture to avoid. His earlier visit to the small apartment bath had been so full of stunned disbelief that he hadn't taken in his surroundings. Now that he did... well, it was worse than he could've imagined. Fred being the original down-home Southern girl, every inch of her home was covered in antique lace and flowers. His mother might've enjoyed it, but Spike had a difficult time preventing himself from spewing all sorts of disparaging comments. He wasn't comfortable being surrounded by pink and frills, regardless of how feminine his current form was.

The full length mirror hanging from the back of the bathroom door declared exactly how dire his circumstance was. Full breasts, tiny waist, hair long enough to sit on - and dammit, he'd never be able to gel all those curls out! - shapely legs that led up to generous hips and a muscular posterior. Hell, if he'd designed it himself, he couldn't have made a better woman's body. And since he wasn't 'alive' in the strictest sense, there were no worries about those damnedable hormones and monthly bouts of... Yeah, so he'd gotten out lucky, in a way. Then maybe he should just get used to this and have some fun. After all, no one would recognize him now. A perfectly clean slate, right?

'Right then, what's to do with myself... Shower first, make sure all the parts are squeaky clean. Then clothes an make-up an fixin my hair. At least it'll be easier, now that I can use a bleedin mirror. Gonna hafta use a different accent too, maybe, just to make sure there's nothin to clue people off. Feckin hell, hot shower never felt so good before! Wonder if I should shave me legs, or if Fred-girl's got some of that wax stuff.'

He washed his hair twice, luxuriating in the sensation of that glorious mass of white-blond hair that draped down his back in a heavy sheet. Fingering a generous dollop of condition through wet curls, he redirected the spray of water and located a razor. Admittedly, it had been a couple dozen years since he'd last shaved his legs, but there were some things a person just doesn't forget. He counted his blessings that he didn't seem to need to do his armpits also. With only three or four small nicks, he got the task done soon enough, and turned to rinse the conditioner out of his hair.

'Could get used to this. Curves an paddin an plenty of interestin things ta play with, an no one ta slap me fer doin so.'

A quick scrub with a squishy sponge and soft-scented herbal soap left his skin tingling, just in time for the water temperature to drop rather suddenly. He squeaked, slapped the dial to off, and hopped out onto the floor mat. He silently admitted that he should've been paying more attention to how long he'd been under the hot water - apartment complexes were notorious for having boiler quirks. Spotting a fluffy *pink* towel on the wall rack, he began to dry himself, once more taking the opportunity to examine himself in the mirror.

More natural colored hair, still whiter than blond should really be, fell to the dimple above his buttocks, spilling in loose curls from a natural off-center part. It would be awkward in a fight, perhaps, but he wanted to wait before cutting it off. He still had the sharp cheekbones, but they were tempered by a slender nose, gently arched eyebrows, and rounded chin to give his face an overall effect of striking beauty. Blue eyes remained as bright as ever, good. His neck was neither long nor short, a perfect length for his frame. Shoulders and collar bones were delicate, upper arms showed only a hint at the strength they possessed, and the flat plane of his stomach was slightly concave. All combined to make him appear like a weak mortal woman - deceptive, but he added that to the positive column.

On impluse, he tried to shift into gameface. His eyes turned to dark amber and tiny fangs appeared above full red lips, but the normal shifting of muscle and bone never happened. Not knowing what to make of this development, he went back to his careful inspection.

Slim hands and delicate fingers he'd already gotten used to. He thought them to be well-shaped, but... with what could he compare them? Most of his muscles seemed to be in his thighs - better for running, but it left him unsettled. How was he to fight? He made a note to practice kickboxing at some point. At the end of either leg was a tiny foot, and here he finally felt the shock setting in. His feet had never been overly large, but now, these were the size of a young girl's! Exactly how short was he? Shaking his head, he determined to complete his exam before locating a tape measure.

He'd saved the most interesting parts for last, of course. Breasts and arse and pubic region - his fascination with women's bodies over the years had given him above average knowledge of their relative measurements. And if he was any judge, he had a double handful of 34C. Not too shabby, and not big enough to be grossly out of proportion either. His bum was tight and well-rounded, jiggling just a little when he bounced. And at the apex of his thighs nested a dark golden triangle of tight curls that hid pink, pink lips and a larger than average nub of nerves. Part of him wanted nothing more than to spend some quality time getting to know this aspect of his changed form, but logic won out.

Tossing the damp towel across the shower rod, he redressed in the simple blue t-shirt and grey stretch knit pants he'd been loaned. Finger-combing his hair was somewhat difficult, although it would've been worse had he forgotten to use conditioner. He chose to ignore the hair drier lying on the vanity. Not finding a new toothbrush, that chore was skipped as well. With nothing further to be accomplished by hiding behind closed doors, he crimped a few last curls into submission and went to rejoin his hosts.

"Ah, much better. Feel like a whole new person now, thanks Tex." Smile firmly pasted on, he took note of the humans' positions. A quick scenting told him two things: first, that his senses weren't as strong as usual, and second, that what little he could smell held no fear or murderous rage. It would have to be enough for now.

Fred jumped at his voice, having been lost in thought (nothing unusual there). The Watcher, however, was taking mental notes of his every move.

"Right. Ok then, neither of ya knows what happened or if I can get my real body back then, yeh?" At their head shakes, he sighed softly. "Fine, will just have ta deal. Got plans for me, or am I free to go?"

This got a reaction, as it was designed to do. The young woman jumped up and tripped to his side. "Ya don't hafta go or anythin, really! Why, you could stay here long as ya like."

"Quite right. Or you could share my home, if it would make you more comfortable. Spike, rest assured that we will not kick you to the curb." Over the years, Wesley's speech patterns had loosened up a bit, but when faced with something as daunting as a sex change, he seemed to revert back to form. "It would be prudent to inform Angel of this development-"

"Now hold on there, Watcher! Peaches never wanted me around, spent years thinkin up new an interestin ways of gettin rid o' me, he did. Can't think of anythin good ta come from spreadin the word bout this. Just... give me a few days to get used to myself, an I'll be outa yer hair, yeh?"

Another 'look' exchanged, Fred took up the task of convincing her surprise guest. "Surely it'll take more'n a few days, Spike. From the look of ya, this seems to be a fully genetic alteration. Like you've never been a man. That's gonna take some gettin used to, an yer welcome to stay here. I'll help however I can."

Even with such a generous invitation, Spike didn't feel comfortable hanging around. Still, he couldn't bring himself to worry the chit either. An earlier question popped into his thoughts, derailing his need to quickly get away. "Fred-girl, how tall are ya?"

She blinked, a partial frown forming between her brows. "Uh... 5'5", last time I went to the doctor's office."

With her standing so close, Spike did a bit of mental math. They weren't quite at eye level with each other, so he must be an inch or two shorter than the brunet. And more curvy as well - it felt as if his tits were stretching the seams of his shirt. His creative invectives echoed throughout the room. Causing Fred to blush prettily, while Wesley took careful notes.

"Right then, I'm short, got great knockers an a fine arse, an the effin Powers That Bite turned me into a woman. What say you two help me come up with a name an history, maybe papers to keep me outa trouble, yeh?"

He wanted to scream at them to stop doing the silent exchange thing, every time he said something that worried them.

Finally coming to some sort of conclusion, Wesley shifted his attention back on the blond. "We'll do what we can, which is much more than most underground counterfeit agencies. However, please do not feel as if you must leave immediately. There may well be a reason for your return to a tangible form, and as such, it would be wise to remain nearby."

Spike watched the man take a deep breath in preparation for more arguments. Determined to forestall the new tirade, he stepped in with his own. "Wes, have you ever been burned alive? Exploded into millions of tiny pieces? Think I've done my part for the Powers, at least for awhile. Can't hurt anythin for me to take a holiday."

Fred nodded agreement, which countered the Watcher's objections. "Sure does, darlin. If ya wanna take a few weeks to stretch yer legs an all, I don't see how it could hurt anythin. Yer still welcome here for as long as ya like, an with the company's credit cards we'll hafta go shoppin. You've got... more up top than me, so none of my underthings'll fit ya."

"Ah, that's my cue to leave. Fred, Spike, please call if you have need of me." So saying, Wesley made a hasty departure. He had suffered through enough shopping sprees with Cordelia to fear ever stepping foot into a mall again, regardless of who his companions were.

Snickering, Spike grinned over at his hostess. "Well then, Fred-girl, where do you suggest we start?"

The shy brunet studied her guest, head to toe, before making the most logical pronouncement. "Shoes. Ain't no way yer gonna be able ta keep mine on."

~ * ~

Long practice had immured the Master vampire to such shopping excursions as the Summers girls and their cohorts would take. He had often been dragged along by Dawn as a travelling companion, packhorse, and guaranteed source of honest opinions. (She learned quickly never to ask if a skirt made her butt look fat, even before she had filled out fully.)

Shopping with Fred was nothing like the estrogen rushes of his previous experience, however, and Spike found himself having more innocent fun than he could recall since his distant childhood. They collected a diverse assortment, everything a grown woman might need for a month-long vacation. Both thankful for delivery services, the duo still found themselves heavily burdened by overflowing bags well before the stores closed.

He reflected that, just maybe, his time spent as chaperone and carrier for a gaggle of teenaged girls had given him an edge. Otherwise, the sheer amount of accessories and absolute necessities would have had him running, screaming for the hills, well before they stopped for lunch.

What was perhaps the most startling discovery - at least to Spike - was that he had some resistance to daylight. Nothing close to human norm, granted, but he didn't burst into flames like the past century either. Fred suggested that he had the constitution of a photosensative albino now, a guess that made as much sense as anything he could come up with. Still, he was grateful to the clouds that mostly covered the summer sun. It would take practice not to dive for shelter.

Stumbling back into the Texan's apartment, sacks flew in all directions as both exhausted shoppers flopped onto the couch.

"Not a bad bit o' damage there, Fred-girl."

One eyelid fluttered open, closing only after a half-hearted attempt at a glare. "Not my best work. I'm no Queen C, sorry. But think we covered the major parts." Her last words broke off on a yawn. "Whatcha wanna eat for dinner? Gotta list by the phone of delivery places."

Spike thought for less than five seconds, settling on Italian. "Might as well check to see if this new immunity o' mine covers garlic too, yeh?"

That settled, they collapsed into a doze while waiting for food to arrive.


~ Part 2 ~

It had been odd, sleeping through the nighttime hours. But after their active day of mall-hopping, Spike figured they both deserved the rest. He was only somewhat shocked when the brunet offered to share her bed, but fatigue and the lure of soft pillows led him to accept without delay.

The sounds of someone singing in the shower woke him, and if he flinched at the diffused sunlight coming through layers of lace curtains, he figured he was entitled. It'd get easier. Eventually.

This new body would take some getting used to, after all. Much to his disgust, he'd found the previous day that he actually had to use the toilet to relieve bladder and... other functions. It was a small price to pay for his new tolerance to sun, holy relics, and other anti-vampire devices. But holding a grudge was one of his best talents, and he began storing up complaints to dump on the Powers, if he ever had the opportunity.

All he had really been able to confirm was that he was neither human nor undead. His heart beat at an incredibly slow pace, but beat it did. He held a temperature of 90 degrees, a blood pressure of 60/35, and appeared to need solid food on a regular basis. Yet he still had superior senses, a sun allergy, and was much stronger and faster than humans tended to be. He refused to decide if he was happy to accept the odd cross between species.

Before long, the constant sound of running water brought back the distasteful urge of his bladder demanding to be emptied. He forced himself out of bed just as the shower cut off, slipping into fluffy purple monster feet - a horrific sight, but they felt wonderful to scuff around in - and was waiting in front of the door just as Fred stepped out, still fluff-drying her hair.

"Oh, g'mornin darlin! Didn't mean ta wake ya." Her voice still gravelly, the brunet smiled through her towel.

Thinking how much she reminded him of Dawn, with her layers of innocence hiding such strength and intellegence, Spike greeted her with a grin of his own. "No worries, luv. Just need the loo for a bit."

Fred had found it vastly entertaining, the first time he'd been forced to utilize the facilities. She didn't laugh or tease, but he could see humor brightening her hazel eyes. A soothing friend to have, he'd decided, and gave himself over to the warmth of her company.

All of his toiletries had been placed neatly on the left side of the vanity, ready for use. One of his favorite stops the previous day had been to a salon, where several ladies had tinted and snipped, buffed and polished, and generally made him feel like a queen. A comparison he refused to look at too closely. The overall effect was well worth it, however he wanted to look at things. A quick peak at the mirror showed that, while mussed from sleep, his hair held golden highlights in random chunks that looked more natural than his white-blond had done. His fingernails - which he'd not bothered to notice at all the day before - were smooth and shaped, coated in deep crimson polish. All he would need this morning was a light application of make-up and fresh clothes.

Part of his subconscious screamed at his ease in accepting such mundane *female* thoughts, but he quickly stiffled it. His lot had changed, and without knowing how to get back to his masculine form he would have to make do. Besides, there were a few interesting perks that went along with being a woman.

Hair fluffed back into shape, face done lightly, and other business taken care of, Spike joined his friend in the living room to explore his purchases. They hadn't had the energy to hang everything up the night before, so quite a few pieces would be wrinkled today. That left him with half as many options, but he was fine wearing stretch knit and lycra - two fabrics that moved with him and didn't ride into his new cracks and crevices. Fred had chosen light shorts and a pullover top, which he decided would do nicely. So with a nod in her direction, Spike took his choices and went to dress.

One of the most extravegant purchases they had made - and one that Fred swore would be justified - was in top quality silk and satin underthings. And as tetchy as they were to put on, Spike had quickly found how much help a good bra was, when sporting his new darling twins. Long experience at removing said delicacies from his past lady loves gave him an edge in putting them on, and soon enough he was preening in front of the dresser mirror, wearing a matched set of silver satin bra and high cut panties.

He had to admit, he looked luscious. His feminine face twisted into a leer, and he burst out laughing at himself - the expression might look natural on his masculine face, but it was ridiculous on a woman's.

Time to move things along. Pulling a dark red top over his head, it stretched lovingly across his chest. He allowed a minute to enjoy the sensativity of his larger nipples, watching them pebble through layers of material. Next he donned simple white bobby socks, muttering about his diminuitive feet. It took a few minutes to get the stretch denim capris pants into place. He was unfamiliar with how they should fit, but the overall effect was... comfortable and attractive, showing off his assets nicely while allowing him full range of movement. His mood flipflopped once more when he went to put on sneakers - even kids had larger feet than size 5!

Dressed and mostly awake, his stomach began making noises of its displeasure at being ignored for so long. He returned to the living room, following the faint scents of cinnamon and coffee. "Oi Fred-girl, yer a lifesaver!"

She smiled from the counter, where she was spreading icing on cinnamon rolls, a fresh pot of coffee nearby. "Figured ya might be hungry, seein how much ya inhaled yesterday."

With enthusiasm normally only found in teen boys, the two women put away a full plate of rolls and numerous cups of caffeine. Sugar and coffee brought their energy levels way past norm, so that when Wesley arrived, he found them fairly bouncing off the walls - removing tags and folding or hanging their purchases, giggling about various people they'd seen the previous day, and sharing general gossip of common acquaintences.

"Good morning, ladies," Wesley began. He was forced to dodge a high heeled sandal for his unconscious slip. "My apologies, Spike. Regardless of the striking picture you make, I shall attempt to remember that you are, at least mentally, a man." He spoiled the effect of his apology by grinning at the blond. The matching sandal pelted him on the shoulder. "Er, yes. Moving along, I have the paperwork you requested yesterday. Have you chosen a name yet?"

In actuality, the shoppers had spent little time discussing women's names. Spike dregged up a memory from... his human self (and that, too, had gotten easier - enough that he wondered if his soul and demon had merged, or just been sedated), stating the name as a question, "Ashleigh Joanna Wilkes. Sounds British enough, right?"

The former Watcher's eyebrow rose, trying to place what might be important about the name. His questions were interrupted by Fred, who cut down the wordcount with, "It's pretty. Didja know someone called that?"

With a shake of golden curls, Spike gave only a partial explanation. "Member when me an one of my mates were doin the rounds one year, hearin the debutantes makin their plans for weddin's an babies an the like. One homely bint said she liked the name, if she had a daughter. I liked it enough that the memory stuck." He shrugged thin shoulders, and let them think that was the entire tale.

Wesley looked like he was about to ask further questions, but Fred once again saved her friend. "Well whatever the reason, it suits ya just fine. Now ya'll sit yerselves down an fill out forms while I make tea, yeah?"

Outnumbered, Wesley found himself sitting and holding out papers and a pen. He had spent the earlier part of the morning making use of his contacts to arrange a visa, passport, and educational background, so that all Spike had to do was fill in the specifics of his name, occupation, and place and date of birth. He eagerly read through that information, curious to see what information the vampire would use - it had long been a weekend hobby for Watchers-in-training to research the human lives of the Scourge of Europe, but little could be confirmed.

"Don't getcher hopes up, Watcher. Nothin on there bout Victorian England. An no, that's not my real birthdate or anywhere I used ta live." Smirking, Spike handed back the completed forms, pocketing the pen - it was quite nice, and might be useful. "Sides, wouldn't help if I told ya my life story. You'd never know if I was tellin the truth, an I'd get bored quick an bite ya."

Soft laughter floated over the blond's shoulder, where Fred stood with tea and sandwiches. "Wes, you should know by now, it ain't polite ta ask a lady bout her age." And if Spike didn't try very hard to retaliate, he chalked it up to gratitude at the generous hospitality of his hostess.

Half an hour later, their meal was finished and Wesley found himself being ushered toward the door.

"Really, I can stay longer. There's nothing at the office which currently needs my attention."

Patting him on the shoulder (while simultaneously pushing him closer to the door), Fred urged him, "Only Ashleigh's ID! What if somethin happens today, like we're in a wreck, an the paramedics can't find emergency contacts for her?"

The pair from Angel Investigations went on to bicker good naturedly, while Spike slipped into thought. Without much consideration, he'd used the same people as his last fake ID. And months spent snooping through personel files gave him accurate information. But had he really listed Harris as his top contact? Oh fer fuckin' shite!

~ * ~

After finally getting the nosy Watcher out of the apartment, 'the girls' spent a pleasant afternoon making sure all their purchases fit with proper undergarments. Spike found himself having... fun. Simple, unbloody fun with the shy woman who'd quickly become a friend. Such uncomplicated companionship was rare, and he treasured every moment of it. He made a mental note to find the perfect 'thank you' gift, even as a muted demon voice snarled at the sentiment.

That evening, Wesley once again knocked at the door, bearing dinner and a manila envelope.

"Inside, you should find everything that would count as standard identification for a young lady of your assumed years. I included two types of our corporate credit cards, since so many places insist upon such things as proof of one's existance." Wesley paused to sneer his opinion at this development. "Please do try not to send us into financial debt. Both cards have a decent limit, but as they are connected to the law firm they can also be used to track your movements."

"Ah, gotcha." Blue eyes widened as he saw the generous balances provided on the cards, along with a checking account under his new name, travelers cheques, and a local library card. From the mass of paperwork in his lap, Spike found a whole new life. Memberships at a gym and dojo, frequent buyer cards at two grocery stores and assorted boutiques, as well as 'older' cards from England that would allow him easy access to university libraries and events, and even the odd bus pass for both London and L.A. "Very thorough, Wes. Spend alot of time creatin false identities, eh? Bet yer in charge of witness protection too."

Though his voice was teasing, the Watcher answered with a straight face, "Actually, yes. That is one of my primary duties of late." His assertion was backed up by Fred's frantic headnods.

"Right then. So I'm all set... think I'll take a few days ta figure out where ta go. Wanna see a bit o' the world, stretch me legs an all." Spike drifted off, once again remembering that he would be doing so alone for the first time. It sent conflicting emotions through his mind - pleasure at not having to bend to someone else's wishes, and a sharp melancholy, knowing that he would have no one to share his discoveries with.

Gentle fingers squeezed his hand, bringing him out of his thoughts. "Hun, ya don't hafta go so soon. Nor by yerself. I've got time off comin, if ya want comp'ny."

He gave Fred a one-armed hug, but was quick to turn her down. "Somethin I gotta do by myself, y'know? Sides, there's some folks who... deserve ta know I'm back."

"But Angel is not one of those?" Wesley couldn't understand why a childe would wish to keep his presence from his sire. It simply did not add up to all the details from the Watcher's journals.

"No, he bloody well isn't! Wes, you've done alot for me, an I can't say thank ya enough, but ya don't understand a bit bout what's tween me an the great poof." Taking a deep breath, Spike tried to calm himself. He couldn't explain everything, but if it got the Watcher to hold his tongue it would be worth trying. "The souled bugger you know is *not* my sire, no more than I'm my mum's boy. It goes beyond that - Angel didn't get his soul like I did, his was a curse, meant to constantly torture him. What little's left of Angelus under all that hair gel is bloodthirsty nuts. My sire was, ok bloodthirsty is a good start, but he was cunning an fox-smart, an he'd give anythin for his family. Angel-" the name sneered with distaste "- don't give a rat's arse bout his kin or clan. He's so wrapped up tryin to kill demons for the bloody Powers, he can't see that we're still family to'im."

Spike ran out of steam, deflating against the cushions. He waved off Wesley's sympathetic hand, and even moved away from Fred's comforting hug. "Not gonna tell ya more. It's hard for a human ta get it. Can ya imagine yer folks dumped ya at an orphanage when yer only ten, twelve years old? Old enough ta know what's goin on, but can't really take care o' yerself yet? Think about it, but don't ask me. An ya better not go ta him either! Fuckin Angel, blew all chances of ever makin things right."

Wesley's face was a mix of concern, confusion, and barely supressed anger. He tried to process the Power's warrior that he'd been working with for years in relation to the parental figure Spike described, who abandoned his children to the wolves only to benefit his own pitiful conflicting personalities. Absently, he leant back in his seat as the emotional blond ran from the room, barely seeing the glare sent his way by his coworker.

"Well done, Wes. Ya should know better by now, upsettin a woman who's already in a bad spot." Fred's tone full of censure, she followed her friend into the bedroom, tossing one final remark over her shoulder. "I'm sure ya can find yer own way out, cantcha?"

She didn't wait to hear the door click shut.

~ * ~

"C'mon hun, he didn't mean it that way. Ya can't spend the rest of the day in there anyway. I've only got the one potty, an pretty soon I'll hafta bust open that door." She held her breath, trying to catch the tiniest sounds as a clue to how her friend was feeling. Hearing nothing, Fred moved on. "Let's find a big ol' atlas, yeah? See where all ya might wanna visit. Bet I've got some more cocoa, an we can fix popcorn or somethin." Yes, she knew she was floundering, but it'd been an awfully long time since she'd had a close female friend. "Least ya can do is come out here an let me cry *with* ya! It's what's sposed ta happen, dammit."

Her voice caught on a ragged breath, Fred missed the bathroom door cracking open. The blond was about as messed up as she'd sounded, and the two women gravitated toward each other. Mutual hugs and damp shoulders, with the promise of chocolate - one of the secrets to surviving hormone surges.

~ * ~

"Dunno what happened, Freddie. One minute everthin's fine, an the next all I wanna do is bawl me eyes out."

Soft chuckling and a warm hand on his arm, the brunet reassured with quiet words, "Welcome to the wonderful world of women's emotions. Sure ya'll get used to'em soon enough. Ya shoulda seen Wes' face! He was so lost, not knowin what he'd said or how ta fix things."

Surrounded by chocolate of various types, soft drinks and munchies, and the soothing presence of his friend, Spike let himself be calmed. "Yeh, guess it shouldn't be much of a surprise, right? Spent enough time around women, with Dru an the Slayer an all her girly friends. Next thing ya know, I'll be raggin with the rest of ya."

A sharp look crossed Fred's face, and she briefly tightened her hold on the pale arm. "Sweetie, that might happen too. Ya've got all the other female parts in place, an with havin to pee an all... hate ta say it, but it looks like yer a fully functional woman."

Spike groaned. Loudly and with great expression. "That's not nice, Fred! Cus if I start a cycle, that means some bloke could knock me up, don't it?"

"Well," she began with laughter in her tone, "not if ya can keep yer legs crossed."

The purely girlish whine that followed caused Fred's laughter to erupt.

~ * ~

In a grand show of wisdom, Wesley didn't return for another visit that week. Left to their own devices, Fred and the newly-named Ashleigh covered all sorts of topics - mostly designed to complete the blond's sketchy knowledge of what being a woman entailed. She adapted quickly, which came as little surprise to either woman. After all, the Master vampire had learned to adapt to numerous changes in his 125 plus years, and his *mind* had not been altered. Memories and experiences remained to assist in this new crisis, a fact he found more comforting than almost anything else, second only to Fred's stable presence.

What took the most time, in Ashleigh/Spike's opinion, was learning how to respond to the feminine gender pronouns and titles of address. Every time someone called him 'Miss', he felt like searching the area for an appropriate target. The hardest part of incorporating his body's changes was in thinking about himself as a 'her' - as Ashleigh, instead of Spike. The juggling identities made his head ache.

By the middle of his second week as a woman, Fred had taken to calling him Leigh. Somehow, that made things easier. And Leigh was determined to move on to his vacation.

"Freddie, ya don't understand. I *have to* go ta London. Gotta let a coupla folks know I'm back, an what's happened. They might not like me much, but they're the closest I've got ta family these days, y'know?"

Hearing the resignation in her friend's voice, the brunet could only offer soft murmurs of comfort. "Whatever ya need, hun. Want me ta go with ya? I can take off as long as I need-"

"I want ya to, really really want it, but... this has ta be done - just me." Leigh felt torn between depression at her expected reception, and deep warmth around her heart from the love of her friend. "I know where ta call if things get hairy, yeh? Gotcha cell number memorized an written in a dozen places."

"If yer sure, darlin. Just so's ya know."

"Yeh, I know."

And another round of tears was exchanged. Followed by frantic calls to airlines and hotels, making reservations for Lady Wilkes to finally make a return trip to her homeland.

~ * ~

A/N2: Even with the handy-dandy excuse of magic and/or vengence demons, I've rarely seen transgender fics in this fandom. Pity that - they're so much fun! Winter M's got one in progress now that's pretty interesting called 'The Mutare Possibilitas' I think, and Scorpio has a couple - 'Feminine Perspective' and 'A Son of Cain, A Daughter of Lilith' (that'd be more fun if she'd FINISH them)... but alas, that's all I've found in my Spander-centric BtVS fanfic absorption. If anyone knows of others, please send me urls!