Buffy and Angel knocked on Spike's door an hour earlier than normal sunset. The weather had turned stormy that afternoon and with the sunlight gone Angel was impatient to get there and check that Spike had their plan all sorted out.
"Maybe he's not home yet?" Buffy asked.
Angel was about to knock again when Spike unbolted and opened the door for them. He had a towel over his head. "You're early. I said come at sunset. I'm not ready." He was still in his work clothes, and was still wearing his glasses, but had a towel around his shoulders and was drying his head with a second towel. "Oh," he stopped, realising why Angel had not entered. "Come in, Angel."
Angel entered and Buffy followed.
Spike pulled the towel away from his head and grinned. "Never done that before. Inviting a vampire in."
"Thanks blondie," Angel said ruffling Spike's newly bleached hair. "Means a lot to me."
"Hey, no touching!" Spike reminded him, "Tryin' to keep it together here," although he didn't seem nearly as anxious in Angel's presence as he had earlier. "But does it… does it look okay?"
They both looked at Spike. Buffy's feelings welled up inside at the sight of his platinum head. It was a little piece of her familiar Spike that she had thought was gone forever.
"I had to wash it off sooner than I wanted. It was burning my head," Spike explained. "Never had to worry much about that as a vampire. Holy water, sure, but peroxide? Not so much with the burning. At least I can look in the mirror now. That's a plus."
"The colour's good," Angel told him. "You need more product."
"I told you I'm not finished yet," Spike retorted. "But I've prepared this." He rifled through his work satchel and took out a several folded sheets of paper.
Buffy grabbed the sheets. "What is this?" she looked at the notes written in flowing cursive lettering – she'd always found it strange that Spike had such beautiful handwriting. "Is this a script? You've written yourself a script?"
"I don't want to screw this up," Spike explained.
"Can I read it?" Buffy jumped onto the sofa again and got comfy as Spike handed his script to her. "Wow, this is detailed. You've put a lot of work in. There's curses and everything in here. It sounds just like the old Spike!"
"Yeah. I really managed to get inside his head," Spike was sarcastic. Buffy caught his eye and fell silent, remembering the things he'd said to her earlier.
"Spike," Angel got his attention from across the room. Spike seemed okay, almost cheery even, but he thought it was best he didn't get too close. "I can't tell you how bad I feel about letting this happen. If your plan doesn't work, it's not your fault, okay? If I have to, I will kill every last one of those demons. I mean it. There's no way I'm letting you get hurt over this."
"That's sweet, Angel. Blood and mayhem. Just what I want. But it won't come to that. I know I can do this. I don't want to, but I can. There's just one other thing I need. Did you bring my coat?"
"Yeah, here you go." Angel threw the bundle to him.
"Thanks," Spike fumbled with it. "I'll be back shortly. Angel?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't make yourself too comfortable. Just because I invited you in doesn't mean you should make yourself at home." He disappeared into the bathroom.
"This whole plan is ridiculous. I can't believe he penned a script. Let me see that."
Buffy handed it to Angel. "It's not bad. Sounds just like Spike. But I don't see that dorky little William pulling off the role, and the happily-ever-after ending… I'm not feeling it. I don't think it's believable."
"Not bad," Angel laughed as he read Spike's witty dialogue. "But how come I don't get more than two lines?"
They heard the bathroom door open and the figure of Spike walked carefully into the room. He was wearing his old clothes, the black jeans and shirt, the boots, and shrugging his trademark coat into place.
Buffy clapped her hand over her mouth. She was speechless. It was a sight she had never expected to see again.
Angel walked a little closer and studied his appearance. "Not bad. Not bad at all. How did you get the skin tone so… " Angel leaned closer examining Spike's neck. Spike had always been so pale as a vampire.
"Er… did I overdo the powder?" Spike asked, backing away from Angel warily.
"No. Just right. You look good. Really good. Boy it sure is crazy how much I've missed you." Angel grinned. He couldn't help himself. He grabbed Spike's shoulders in a quick embrace.
"Hey, hey! No touching! No touching! Please stop. Buffy make him stop!"
Buffy was still too shocked by the 'reappearance' of 'Spike' to reply.
"Sorry," Angel backed off. "Your heart's racing. I can feel it. Jeez, I wish you weren't so afraid of me. Isn't there something we can do about that?"
"Spike?" Buffy asked finally getting her voice back. "I feel like you're really back! Is it really you?" She came and stood in front of him, moving closer, enthralled.
Once he had taken several deep breaths to recover from Angel's assult, he straightened and looked at her curiously. "It's still me, Buffy. It's just clothes, hair dye, a bit of makeup… it's all superficial..."
"It's magic," Buffy gushed.
"It may be enough to fool Buffy, but not me, Spike. This'll never work. Not with that stench of human hanging off you. I'm guessing the Tava demons will pick up on it pretty fast."
"I've got it covered Angel. I told you I was prepared. In fact," Spike reached into the pocket of his coat. "Right where I left 'em, see?" He pulled out his lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He lit up and inhaled deeply, but then started coughing violently. "Oh that is disgusting! Living people actually smoke these things? Can't be healthy."
Angel grinned. "First cigarette as a human? Don't make a habit of it, okay?"
"This is your fault, Angel," Spike pointed accusingly at Angel. "You're a terrible influence on me. See what you've driven me to?" He sauntered over to the sofa, sat down and then reached into a shopping bag on the floor and pulled out a beer. He tried to open it. "Oh sodding hell," he swore. "I didn't realise I'd need a bottle opener."
Buffy took the bottle from him and opened it easily in her bare hands and handed it back. "You're welcome."
Spike grabbed the bottle angrily and took a long swig.
"So you're going to cover your scent with the delightful smell of beer and cigarettes?" Angel asked. "That's brilliant. This could actually work."
"Yeah, here's hoping. Let me go over my script again," Spike held his hand out and Angel handed the notes to him.
"Go through enough of those, and maybe you'll be drunk enough not to be afraid of me," Angel commented. "Spike, you know what I think? This is gonna be a fun night!" Angel grinned, giddy with excitement now he was confident things would turn out okay.
"I don't think getting drunk will pose much of a challenge," Spike told him putting the empty beer bottle down. "That's really gone to my head. Right, concentrate," Spike stared at his notes. "Bloody hell!" he panicked. "I can't even read this!"
"Why not?" Buffy asked, worried.
"It's okay. I just…" Spike fumbled, "forgot I need my glasses." He found them and put them on.
Buffy stared. Then laughed. The sight of Spike, in his leather coat and bleached hair wearing those glasses was absurd. It was warping her mind. She sat down next to him and turned his head to face her. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"Let me see you," she said gently. She removed his glasses again, and simply stared into his face with amazement. "It's really you in there."
"Buffy honestly, who else would I be?" Spike asked not unkindly. "The question is, who are you? Lois Lane?" He took his glasses carefully from her hands. "Hey, I… I need those back."
"But you can see well enough, can't you Spike?" Angel asked. "I mean you're not going to be walking into walls… or demons, are you?"
Spike looked up. "People wear those contact lens thingies, don't they? 'Spose I should've got some, but I didn't have time." He took a determined breath. "I'll be okay. Just need to read this over, then I'll put the specs away and we can head out for a spot of Shakespeare in the park – or rather the graveyard."