Chapter 4
William munched on a cheeto, then reached for another.
"These really are quite tasty," he said, sounding like a little British kid who'd just had his first Skittle. "What did you say these were called again?"
Clem glanced over at his friend and frowned; the expression creating forty new wrinkles on his already creased face. "Che-e-e-to-o-es," he said. "Hey, are you feeling okay?"
The demon walked over to his friend who was sitting in a worn, but comfortable recliner positioned in front of the television and placed a palm on the vampire's forehead. "Nope. Cold. But, I have to say it, Spike. You're acting weeeeei-r-r-duh!"
William looked up at Clem, the worst case of elephantiasis he'd ever seen. Such a strange looking fellow, though friendly enough. And it was funny that he kept calling him "Spike." No, as far as William was concerned he wasn't the weird one here. Quite the opposite.
Things had been off-kilter ever since he'd awoken–no, before that–ever since the girl...
William swallowed hard at the thought of her. Who was she? He hadn't even caught her name. He recalled the way she'd touched him–everywhere–the previous night, the things she'd done to him, and the things he had done back....
He shifted in his chair with discomfort as his tight black jeans suddenly grew tighter and placed the bag of cheetos in his lap, hiding the little, no make that large appendage, that had made a starring debut in last night's 'play'. To his horror, it seemed to want to do an encore. His head hung low with embarrassment.
Down boy! Not now!
Unaware of the vampire's 'problem', Clem shrugged and walked back to canvas folding chair where he'd been sitting. "Maybe your freaky behavior has something to do with a certain girl you've been seeing, eh?"
William's head shot up, his eyes wide. "You know her?"
"Well, duh, I was just at her house last week. I mean 'hello' you brought me there."
"You know where she lives?"
Clem stood up, hands on his hips and stared at the vampire in disbelief. "Okay, now you're really scaring me."
"This girl," William said, excited, "blonde hair, comely..."
"Uhh, yeah..."
"Her name," he sounded breathless, "please, what is her name?"
"Oh, c'mon, Spike. I don't know what going on with you. Maybe it has something to do with Buffy. Maybe not but..."
"Her name is Buffy?" The would-be poet's mind raced. Buffy, fluffy, puffy, stuffy, muffy, wuffy...
This could be tough, but he'd have to work with it.
"Geesh!" Clem shook his head and started for the door. "I'd better go and talk to her. Maybe she's got a clue as to what your problem is."
William sprang to his feet. "I'm going with you." He rushed for the door and started to open it, but Clem stopped him.
"Whoa, aren't you forgetting something?"
William stared at him, blank.
"Uh, blanket. Don't wanna go all, smoke and ashes now do ya..."
Still blank.
"Never mind." Clem steered the vampire back to his chair. "You. Stay. Here. I'm getting the Slayer."
"The Slayer?"
"You know…Buffy."
"She's called the Slayer?" How odd, but strangely appropriate after last night.
Clem let out a loud exhale, then went over to the t.v. "Look, I'll put on "Clueless" for you. You can watch it while you're waiting. It's my favorite..."
* * *
Buffy stared out from behind the counter of the Double Meat Palace with a searching, fairy-tale-princess-trapped-in-a-tower look, that seemed to scream "Oh Spike, take me away from here!"
Of course he'd offered, a few weeks back. And of course she'd turned him down, but...
God, she was an idiot!
She sighed for like the twelfth time in the last five minutes before being rudely interrupted from her deep thoughts by, of all things, a customer.
"Uh, excuse me, Miss? I've been like standing here for a while now," said a squat man with a bald head and bushy eyebrows. He waved his hand in front of Buffy's face as one would to a blind person.
Buffy started, blinked hard then focused on the customer. "Oh I'm sooo sorry. Didn't see ya there."
"Hmmph!" the man said, eyeing her with irritation.
"What would you like to order?" Buffy the Double Meat Palace worker asked.
"I'd like a–"
Just then the door went "bing, bong" signaling the arrival of another customer. Buffy looked up.
"Clem!"
"Hey, Buffy!" The demon sauntered up to the counter.
"What brings you here?"
"Well, I–"
"Excuse me," said the bushy-browed man. "But I was here first."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Buffy apologized, then took care of his order. When he'd finally stomped out of the DMP with his bag full of greasy goodies, Buffy turned her attention back to Clem who was patiently waiting on the side.
"So, what's up?" she asked.
"Well," Clem said, "I thought you might be able to tell me."
She shot him a quizzical look. "Excuse me?"
"It's Spike. Something's really strange about him lately."
Buffy nodded. "Yeah, I think I know what you mean..."
"You've noticed it too?"
"Mmmhmm." Er, lovemaking reminiscent of Riley? That gentle, you're the first woman I've ever been with kind of thing. Yeah, she'd noticed it.
"Yeah, well he's been acting really bizarre lately–not himself. I mean he even asked me what a cheeto was! And the way he was talking–the accent–all "Masterpiece Theater" or something! I mean what gives?"
"I don't know. But you're right...there is something different about him."
"It's like he's pulling a Sibyl–you know–split personality. Almost like he's somebody else. So I was thinking, maybe this has something to do with..."
"Yes?"
"Something to do with...you know...you and him...and...what's been going on between you two..."
Buffy frowned. "You know about that?"
"Yeah, he kind of mentioned it one night, but don't worry, you're secret's safe with me."
"Thanks," she said, still frowning.
"Anyway, I was thinking–maybe you should go and talk to him later."
"Sure." The furrow between her brows now appeared permanent. "I'll stop by the crypt after I finish my shift."
* * *
He felt wonderfully numb–but what the hell was wrong with his legs?
Spike tried to stand, staggered, then sat back down. His feet were heavy; his head light.
He'd never been so completely and totally drunk in all his life. And now the party was over and the remaining guests were filtering out. He had to leave.
"Are you all right, William?" the host, a man named Douglas asked. "Should I arrange a ride?"
"N-no. I'll be fine," Spike replied, rising to his feet. He swayed a bit, steadied himself on the arm of the chair he'd been sitting on, then managed a smiled. "See?"
Douglas looked doubtful. "I don't know..."
A woman approached them. "What's wrong with him?" she asked.
"Sloshed, I'm afraid," Douglas replied.
"Oh dear. I've never seen William behave quite this way before," she commented. "And earlier...I'm afraid he had poor Cecily near tears. She left in a terrible hurry not long after he spoke with her."
"Hm."
"S-s-serves the little bint right!" Spike sneered.
The woman's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
"Sloshed, I'm afraid," Douglas said again. He led Spike to the foyer. "Are you sure I can't arrange a ride for you, William?"
"Abso-lu-tely." Spike replied, his gaze glazed but steady. He grabbed his coat from the servant, shrugged it on, then stumbled out the door and into the streets.
On the way home, he paused at a familiar dark alley and looked around. It was empty.
But this is the place...where...Dru...
"Bloody hell!" He glanced at his watch and realized that it was after midnight. Stunned, he leaned against a brick wall, catching his breath.
Had history just been changed tonight? He straightened, then headed for home. He thought of Buffy, and of being a vampire, and of Sunnydale. Would he ever go back? And what the hell had happened to him, anyway?
He was definitely human, and yet...strangely soulless. Was it possible?
His head started to hurt as the effects of the alcohol he'd consumed that night waned.
Can't think.
He quickened his pace and felt his heart start to hammer as he realized that it was late, he was drunk and–
Oh bugger, Mother's going to kill me...