Crossover BTVS and Millennium. What if the girl on the James Marsters episode of millennium hadn't really broken Eric's neck? Just, say, injured him a little. And he decides to start up a new life in Sunnydale? Well wonder no more...
New Recruit
Riley was on patrol with the Initiative's new recruit, Eric. Clearly he was a man with military experience, but unwilling to talk about his past. Riley accepted - he'd heard that this one had been in the Gulf war, and war was never easy on a guy. The Initiative was something different from the army, perhaps not easier, but then a change was as good as a rest, wasn't it?
Eric looked confident enough in his new role. Sure, he'd reacted with disbelief at first, everyone did. But once he'd seen the hostiles for himself, he'd known Walsh was telling the truth. And after having trained with Eric himself, Riley knew that he was easily strong and fit enough for the Initiative.
"So, where should we be looking for these hostiles?" asked Eric. Riley gestured towards the graveyard. "You have to be kidding, right?" Eric's voice was uncertain, wondering if Riley was winding him up.
"Nope, there are more here than anywhere else in this town." Riley told him matter-of-factly. "I guess everyone has their traditions or whatever. Va... hostiles, graveyards, and let's face it, where else have they got to run to?"
"Good point." Then they hopped the wall and were in the graveyard.
Spike listened to the footsteps approaching, and exhaled the cigarette smoke slowly, before inhaling the night air through his nose. He was somewhat surprised to detect that these were humans headed this way. Well, it was either the Slayer's lot, or just some damned idiots... or both, knowing what the Slayer's friends were like. Either way, it looked like Spike would be seeing some action tonight.
He peered out from behind the gravestone. Two youngish men in army get up? Odd. Both human, heavily armed, but without stakes or axes or anything that looked like it could actually cause him harm - clearly they *were* idiots. Right, well a meal was a meal, time to go play with the food.
"Evening," he greeted them, stepping out about a metre in front of them. He waited until they adjusted their eyes to focus on him. It wasn't that dark, surely - there was even a moon out tonight. He paused again to look at the shorter one, who looked strangely familiar - a face resembling one he'd seen a long time ago. Interesting.
"Hostile," muttered the bulky one, before looking closely at him, back to his friend, and back to Spike again. Well that was one of the *least* insulting things he'd ever been called. Didn't the army train people to come up with decent insults?
"Me? Hostile?" asked Spike. "What makes you think that? You're the ones with the big guns pointed at me." But they weren't listening.
"How is this possible?" asked the shorter one, stepping forwards. One more step and you're dead, soldier boy. "What *are* you?" Spike frowned; usually he had to turn to game-face before questions like that started.
"Eric, step back, it's some kind of a trick," the other said. This did nothing to lessen Spikes frown, he was sure he'd remember if he'd played a trick on them. He'd be laughing by now, it seemed to have dragged them this far away from their boot camp.
"I can handle it, Riley," said Eric, "I want to know why he's got my face."
"Got your *face*?" Spike almost laughed. "If I had your face it'd be torn off your body by now." Riley just looked at him, wide eyed.
"Not like that - you're his exact double! Don't tell me you didn't notice. Your sort's meant to have pretty good night vision, right?"
"Right, and I can see perfectly, he's nothing like me. Let's see - khaki? I don't think so. The hairs a good few shades darker than the bleach I used on mine, and he's got a bloody suntan for god's sakes. Plus, he's a yank."
"Yeah, but apart from that, you look exactly like me." Eric said. "Even I can see that. Aren't there *any* mirrors in this town?"
"I've not seen myself in a mirror for over a hundred years, mate." Spike told him, trying to recall if he did actually look like that. If so, it wasn't too bad, at least he wasn't being compared to the big brickfaced pillock.
"Related?" suggested Riley. "You're his long lost twin hostile or something?"
"Not likely," said Spike, "I never had any brothers. Plus, I killed my parents along with most of my extended family after I was turned."
"My god," said Eric, and Spike grinned at the shock in his eyes. Safe to say they didn't share personalities at least.
"It's what they do." Riley informed him grimly. Well, maybe he wasn't *entirely* clueless after all. Even though he was in a graveyard, in Sunnydale, in the middle of the night.
"I know, but still..."
"Hey, you live on a Hell mouth, that's what you get." Spike said. "No soul, no guilt, and I'm pretty hungry now. I don't care who you think I look like, the only question on my mind is which one of you is going to die first."
"Not gonna happen, bud." Riley replied, and fired the weapon at him. About a million volts of electricity shot through his body, and Spike was instantly floored. He struggled back to his feet before they could fire that at him again. Damn, now they had real weapons in the army? Just his luck. But he wasn't beaten yet.
"Hey!" he called out, holding up his hands. "If you kill me now, I wont be able to tell you what I have to say." Eric looked at Riley, and motioned him to step back. Spike waited until they'd lowered the guns, and then sat up on the table-like gravestone.
"Well?" asked Riley, after a pause in which none of them said anything.
"Well, what?" asked Spike, who was enjoying irritating them.
"Well tell us why you look like him!" he exclaimed, angrily.
"I haven't a clue," said Spike. "And if I did, do you think I'd just tell you like that?"
"I think you'd want to save your sorry ass." Riley said, trying and failing to intimidate Spike.
"I'd have thought you'd be interested in saving yourselves too," said Spike. "This is Sunnydale. It's the graveyard. You don't need me to tell you this place is crawling with vamps."
"Hostiles," corrected Eric, almost automatically.
"Don't tell me what I am," said Spike. "I'm just trying to let you know that a bunch of your *hostiles* are right back there, and if you'd stop letting yourself get distracted by the best looking one, you'd have seen them." They turned, and peered through the darkness.
"I don't see them..." said Riley, turning back, to find that there was another that he couldn't see. Spike was gone. Eric cursed, and ran into the graveyard, trying to guess which way Spike had gone. Riley went the other way, one of them would find him soon enough.
Riley heard the clunk of heavy stone from one of the crypts on his right and ran into it, gun ready. Unfortunately, the five vampires in this crypt were equally ready, and all set upon Riley at once, who managed to zap one before being mauled by the others. "Goodbye, Buffy" he called out silently to the night, as his heart was torn from his chest.
Spike found a hiding place behind a tree, and crouched low to the ground, hearing Eric getting closer with each step. Then he rocked back on his heels a little to gain some comfort, and heard a twig snap. Damn. Eric walked stealthily over to the tree, and when Spike leapt out at him game-faced, dropped his gun. However, he had the presence of mind to wrench a branch from another tree.
"Hey, you know that stick is a lot better weapon than all your fancy artillery." Spike informed the soldier. "You'd do well to remember that."
"I don't know much about who you are, but I know I'm meant to take you in alive." Eric told him. "And why the hell do you look so much like me?"
"I'm hardly likely to bloody tell you if you've got me at the end of a stake." Spike said. "You think I'll just give you the information you need and then let you kill me? Not a chance."
"Look, ok, we'll do this your way." Eric conceded, dropping the branch but staying a safe distance away. "What's your name?"
"Spike."
"What's your real name?" he asked.
"Bugger off, it's none of your business." Spike told him, annoyed. "What's yours?"
"Eric Swan."
"Right, good, so where did your parents come from? Or grandparents? Any London ancestry?" Spike was curious to solve this mystery as well.
"Yeah, my great-great-grandmother was English," he said, "Anne Marsters." Spike's mouth fell open. That was his last name. His surname that he hadn't told anyone in over a century, and Anne had been the baby. The baby, of course! He hadn't bothered to kill her, because she wouldn't have been much of a meal, and nobody had expected her to live anyway. She'd had the whooping cough, and Spike had left her alone. Maybe someone had found her and taken her in, and she'd grown up, married, left London. It all made sense now.
"So you're my baby sister's great-great-grandchild." Spike said. "Pleased to meet you."
"You too. You know, there's a lot to be learned about the past, if we just talked with the hostiles instead of went out to kill them all the time. It could be a massive opportunity. Just think, you're living history!" Bloody hell, now the soldier boy was sounding like a watcher.
"Yeah, that's true, I suppose." Spike agreed, stepping forwards to close the distance between them, face still amiable and disarming. "But then I guess there is a pretty good reason why you *shouldn't* just talk to guys like me all the time."
"Why?" asked Eric, brow knotted in a frown.
"We're evil." Spike said simply, and then snapped the man's neck, a trick which came considerably more easily to vampires than to humans. It was all in the angle.
New Recruit
Riley was on patrol with the Initiative's new recruit, Eric. Clearly he was a man with military experience, but unwilling to talk about his past. Riley accepted - he'd heard that this one had been in the Gulf war, and war was never easy on a guy. The Initiative was something different from the army, perhaps not easier, but then a change was as good as a rest, wasn't it?
Eric looked confident enough in his new role. Sure, he'd reacted with disbelief at first, everyone did. But once he'd seen the hostiles for himself, he'd known Walsh was telling the truth. And after having trained with Eric himself, Riley knew that he was easily strong and fit enough for the Initiative.
"So, where should we be looking for these hostiles?" asked Eric. Riley gestured towards the graveyard. "You have to be kidding, right?" Eric's voice was uncertain, wondering if Riley was winding him up.
"Nope, there are more here than anywhere else in this town." Riley told him matter-of-factly. "I guess everyone has their traditions or whatever. Va... hostiles, graveyards, and let's face it, where else have they got to run to?"
"Good point." Then they hopped the wall and were in the graveyard.
Spike listened to the footsteps approaching, and exhaled the cigarette smoke slowly, before inhaling the night air through his nose. He was somewhat surprised to detect that these were humans headed this way. Well, it was either the Slayer's lot, or just some damned idiots... or both, knowing what the Slayer's friends were like. Either way, it looked like Spike would be seeing some action tonight.
He peered out from behind the gravestone. Two youngish men in army get up? Odd. Both human, heavily armed, but without stakes or axes or anything that looked like it could actually cause him harm - clearly they *were* idiots. Right, well a meal was a meal, time to go play with the food.
"Evening," he greeted them, stepping out about a metre in front of them. He waited until they adjusted their eyes to focus on him. It wasn't that dark, surely - there was even a moon out tonight. He paused again to look at the shorter one, who looked strangely familiar - a face resembling one he'd seen a long time ago. Interesting.
"Hostile," muttered the bulky one, before looking closely at him, back to his friend, and back to Spike again. Well that was one of the *least* insulting things he'd ever been called. Didn't the army train people to come up with decent insults?
"Me? Hostile?" asked Spike. "What makes you think that? You're the ones with the big guns pointed at me." But they weren't listening.
"How is this possible?" asked the shorter one, stepping forwards. One more step and you're dead, soldier boy. "What *are* you?" Spike frowned; usually he had to turn to game-face before questions like that started.
"Eric, step back, it's some kind of a trick," the other said. This did nothing to lessen Spikes frown, he was sure he'd remember if he'd played a trick on them. He'd be laughing by now, it seemed to have dragged them this far away from their boot camp.
"I can handle it, Riley," said Eric, "I want to know why he's got my face."
"Got your *face*?" Spike almost laughed. "If I had your face it'd be torn off your body by now." Riley just looked at him, wide eyed.
"Not like that - you're his exact double! Don't tell me you didn't notice. Your sort's meant to have pretty good night vision, right?"
"Right, and I can see perfectly, he's nothing like me. Let's see - khaki? I don't think so. The hairs a good few shades darker than the bleach I used on mine, and he's got a bloody suntan for god's sakes. Plus, he's a yank."
"Yeah, but apart from that, you look exactly like me." Eric said. "Even I can see that. Aren't there *any* mirrors in this town?"
"I've not seen myself in a mirror for over a hundred years, mate." Spike told him, trying to recall if he did actually look like that. If so, it wasn't too bad, at least he wasn't being compared to the big brickfaced pillock.
"Related?" suggested Riley. "You're his long lost twin hostile or something?"
"Not likely," said Spike, "I never had any brothers. Plus, I killed my parents along with most of my extended family after I was turned."
"My god," said Eric, and Spike grinned at the shock in his eyes. Safe to say they didn't share personalities at least.
"It's what they do." Riley informed him grimly. Well, maybe he wasn't *entirely* clueless after all. Even though he was in a graveyard, in Sunnydale, in the middle of the night.
"I know, but still..."
"Hey, you live on a Hell mouth, that's what you get." Spike said. "No soul, no guilt, and I'm pretty hungry now. I don't care who you think I look like, the only question on my mind is which one of you is going to die first."
"Not gonna happen, bud." Riley replied, and fired the weapon at him. About a million volts of electricity shot through his body, and Spike was instantly floored. He struggled back to his feet before they could fire that at him again. Damn, now they had real weapons in the army? Just his luck. But he wasn't beaten yet.
"Hey!" he called out, holding up his hands. "If you kill me now, I wont be able to tell you what I have to say." Eric looked at Riley, and motioned him to step back. Spike waited until they'd lowered the guns, and then sat up on the table-like gravestone.
"Well?" asked Riley, after a pause in which none of them said anything.
"Well, what?" asked Spike, who was enjoying irritating them.
"Well tell us why you look like him!" he exclaimed, angrily.
"I haven't a clue," said Spike. "And if I did, do you think I'd just tell you like that?"
"I think you'd want to save your sorry ass." Riley said, trying and failing to intimidate Spike.
"I'd have thought you'd be interested in saving yourselves too," said Spike. "This is Sunnydale. It's the graveyard. You don't need me to tell you this place is crawling with vamps."
"Hostiles," corrected Eric, almost automatically.
"Don't tell me what I am," said Spike. "I'm just trying to let you know that a bunch of your *hostiles* are right back there, and if you'd stop letting yourself get distracted by the best looking one, you'd have seen them." They turned, and peered through the darkness.
"I don't see them..." said Riley, turning back, to find that there was another that he couldn't see. Spike was gone. Eric cursed, and ran into the graveyard, trying to guess which way Spike had gone. Riley went the other way, one of them would find him soon enough.
Riley heard the clunk of heavy stone from one of the crypts on his right and ran into it, gun ready. Unfortunately, the five vampires in this crypt were equally ready, and all set upon Riley at once, who managed to zap one before being mauled by the others. "Goodbye, Buffy" he called out silently to the night, as his heart was torn from his chest.
Spike found a hiding place behind a tree, and crouched low to the ground, hearing Eric getting closer with each step. Then he rocked back on his heels a little to gain some comfort, and heard a twig snap. Damn. Eric walked stealthily over to the tree, and when Spike leapt out at him game-faced, dropped his gun. However, he had the presence of mind to wrench a branch from another tree.
"Hey, you know that stick is a lot better weapon than all your fancy artillery." Spike informed the soldier. "You'd do well to remember that."
"I don't know much about who you are, but I know I'm meant to take you in alive." Eric told him. "And why the hell do you look so much like me?"
"I'm hardly likely to bloody tell you if you've got me at the end of a stake." Spike said. "You think I'll just give you the information you need and then let you kill me? Not a chance."
"Look, ok, we'll do this your way." Eric conceded, dropping the branch but staying a safe distance away. "What's your name?"
"Spike."
"What's your real name?" he asked.
"Bugger off, it's none of your business." Spike told him, annoyed. "What's yours?"
"Eric Swan."
"Right, good, so where did your parents come from? Or grandparents? Any London ancestry?" Spike was curious to solve this mystery as well.
"Yeah, my great-great-grandmother was English," he said, "Anne Marsters." Spike's mouth fell open. That was his last name. His surname that he hadn't told anyone in over a century, and Anne had been the baby. The baby, of course! He hadn't bothered to kill her, because she wouldn't have been much of a meal, and nobody had expected her to live anyway. She'd had the whooping cough, and Spike had left her alone. Maybe someone had found her and taken her in, and she'd grown up, married, left London. It all made sense now.
"So you're my baby sister's great-great-grandchild." Spike said. "Pleased to meet you."
"You too. You know, there's a lot to be learned about the past, if we just talked with the hostiles instead of went out to kill them all the time. It could be a massive opportunity. Just think, you're living history!" Bloody hell, now the soldier boy was sounding like a watcher.
"Yeah, that's true, I suppose." Spike agreed, stepping forwards to close the distance between them, face still amiable and disarming. "But then I guess there is a pretty good reason why you *shouldn't* just talk to guys like me all the time."
"Why?" asked Eric, brow knotted in a frown.
"We're evil." Spike said simply, and then snapped the man's neck, a trick which came considerably more easily to vampires than to humans. It was all in the angle.