Instead of doing one big chapter every month or so, I've decided to try and post a chapter snippet whenever possible. Hopefully this means I can write more as it occurs to me.

I'm still reading and loving your reviews, as well as noting the things you all are mentioning.

Much loff to all, and I hope this next segment is to your liking! :)

Title: Not Myself

Author: BAS1630 (a.k.a Rachel)

Pairing: None as yet. Main character is going to be Spike.

Rating: Hmmmm.... I always suck at guessing this... My guess would be
anything from PG-13 to R. I doubt very much that it'll be NC-17, since
there's no graphic sex going to be depicted (sowwy).

Category: Humor, Hopefully Action later on... maybe even Romance....?? ;-)

Completed: No, WIP.

Feedback: Yes, please!!!! However, please RR but be somewhat gentle. As I read somewhere once, flames will be used to toast my stash of smores. :)

Warnings: Um, spoilers for early Season 5 Angel, I guess.

Summary: It's obviously AU, so if the characters seem a tad OOC...
that's my excuse! :)

Notes: I collect quotes like a pack rat, so if you think you might recognize something... you just might. ;) The majority of it is really mine though... I swear!!


"Rachel?"

"Do I look like a bleedin' sitcom harlot?"

Fred looked her over. "Well..." she mused.

At Spike's look she hurriedly buried herself back into the name book she was presently perusing.

"Sarah?"

Spike appeared to think about it for a moment. "No. Only Sarahs I've known have been right bitches."

"Then I think we've found it," Angel quipped.

The woman currently practicing walking with heels in the Hyperion lobby rewarded him with a dazzling smile and an obscene gesture.

"What about if you spelled it S-A-R-A? I know for a fact that some of them are nice."

"No."

"Kim?"

"No."

"How about Kimbrelle? That's more exotic-sounding."

"It's still Kim, innit?"

"Erin?"

"No."

"Canon?"

"I don't think so."

"Carissa?"

"No."

"Bridget?" Angel suggested for once.

Spike tossed him a look of disdain in mid-step. "Not a chance, you Mick."

"Charisse?" Fred continued.

"Will you stop going through the bleedin' Cs already?"

She flipped around more. "Katie?"

"Not going to happen."

"Diana?"

"God, no."

Angel sighed and crossed his arms. Having Spike agree to an alias was proving to be an even fiercer battle then getting her to leave the bathroom.

And then it hit him.

Angel's head shot up. "Billie." He stated.

Everyone looked at him curiously, but Fred flipped through the book in her lap.

"It's here. Billie can be a name for women despite it being derived from William. It means strength and determination."

She looked at Spike hopefully. "English." She baited.

Spike gave a half shrug as she put her arms out to help balance another turn. Clearly she wasn't necessarily pleased as to the individual who had thought of it. "S'alright, I suppoOO..."

Having turned on her heel too fast for her legs to follow, she had inadvertently twisted one too much in front of the other, and was proceeding to tumble face-first to the ground.

Out of instinct Angel darted forward, and caught her before she hit the floor.

She steadied herself for a moment with Angel's shoulders and pushed him away roughly as she stood and regained her balance. All the while she muttered a stream of oaths that Angel detected were half directed at him, and half at the sick sadist who had invented heels.

"I think I've seen this movie." Lorne whispered to Wesley, but not low enough to be undetected by vamp hearing. Spike shot daggers at the two of them and Gunn on the Lobby's circular couch.

"I know why she's here," Spike indicated Fred. "And he's here because he's a twisted git who exists merely to get his rocks off by watching me suffer." She indicated Angel.

"But don't you all have a better place to be?"

"No." The three chorused.

"Fantastic." She sneered. "The only thing missing for you wankers is the popcorn."

"Oh no, we've got that covered." Gunn produced and waved a small packet that had been tucked away in his briefcase.

Spike glared at him through slitted eyes before flailing her arms slightly as she swayed dangerously. Angel started to take a step forward, but decided against it as she cast him an come-any-closer-and-I'll-play-hackey-sack-with-your-spleen look.

"You're getting much better at that." Fred tried an encouraging tone.

"Fabulous. Just what any ex master-vampire longs to hear. He's mastered women's footwear."

Spike sighed and gingerly walked to a stool and sat down. Dressed semi-conservatively in a black tank top and sweats, she took off Fred's heels and tossed them into the awaiting bag on the counter with audible disdain.

"Why you girls go to such extremes to torment your bodies is beyond me." Her eyes gave off a wicked gleam. "Then where's the fun it in for us blokes?"

"Alright, Spike." Angel ignored her. "As much as I dread saying it, since we've dealt with the last couple of..." he glanced at the bag of heels "...details, I think we better get going."

Spike tightened her ponytail (which previously had been the subject of an intense debate between Spike and Fred. Spike had wanted to shave all the long locks off, but Fred had adamantly insisted that they would attract less attention with the hair untouched. A ponytail was the eventual compromise) and sighed as she pulled on regular walking shoes.

"Alright," She replied, surprisingly upbeat as she hopped off the stool. "Let's get this bitch over with."

"Ever the romantic." Angel felt himself sneer.


"The lessons that you taught me, I learned were never true. Now I find myself in question...(They point the finger at me again)...Guilty by association...(You point the finger at me again)..."


"...but she'd be a whole lot prettier, if she smiled once in a while...'cause even her smile looks like a frown. She's seen her share of devils in this angel town..."

"...I wanna run away, never say goodbye. I wanna know the truth, instead of wondering why. I wanna know the answers... no more lies..."

"...Everything's gonna be all right. Rockabye, rockabye. Everything's gonna be all right, rockabye..."

"...Never say goooodddddbbbbyyyyyeeeee!"

Angel reached forward and flicked the radio off. "That's enough." Even if Spike wouldn't let him listen to the type of music he enjoyed, he still wasn't going to let her win the radio war by listening to what she insisted passed for music.

Especially if it was going to be another hour before they hit Santa Clarita.

She glared at him. "I like it."

"Really not caring. Plus it's just screaming. Had enough of that in my lifetime."

"It's only Linkin Park, you ponce." She snorted. "You wouldn't know hardcore if it bit you on your fat arse, Ms. Dainty. Which would also be considered such, as if you would know... eunuch."

"Keep talking Spike, and I just might change my mind about helping to get you back." In an uncharacteristic mood he wiggled the convertible's steering wheel to cause the car to swerve as if bracing for a U-turn to help make his point.

Seemingly unphased, she attempted to polish her nails against herself and held out a hand to admire them as if she had accomplished something in the pointless act. Through the corner of his vision he watched her tilt her head and grin.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I've seen the way you've been looking at me, Angel. At the office. At the hotel. Now."

She smirked and peered at him sideways. "You think I'm hot."

Angel whirled and faced her, not paying attention and nearly ramming the Ford Focus in front of them.

"What? You're insane. That's... what?!"

"Yeah. You said that already." She preened triumphantly as she made a show of crossing her legs, which were now clad in a snugger denim.

"You're disgusting."

"Maybe, but either way I float your boat. I wager you've had several fantasies already of taking this hot and tight body and shagging it rotten."

Angel could have sworn he felt the bile rise as he shook his head emphatically to chase out the images that had been placed there. "Ugh." Was all he could manage to gag.

"Oh please, Angel. I know you better than you know yourself."

"Is that a fact?" Angel asked dryly.

"It is. I'm always two steps ahead of where your mind goes. And trust me, as of late it's been in some very nasty and dirty places."

"No, it really hasn't. And no, you really don't." Angel nearly spat.

"Oh, yes it has and yes... I am. In fact, I know what you're thinking right now."

Angel remained silent, but Spike rambled on in a borderline gleeful manner.

"You're thinking: 'he thinks he knows me, huh? We'll just see about that.'"

Angel continued his silence, but the compulsive scratching at his neck indicated he was more than likely still listening.

Spike continued, "Now you're thinking: Oh wait, I haven't thought of anything new yet. Oh God, I can't let on that he knows me, think of something think of something think of anything that Spike wouldn't suspect me thinking! I can't prove the fact that he knows me too damn bloody well!'"

The silence remained, and Angel quit scratching at his neck and slouched in his seat.

Spike gave a toothy and knowing smile. "Just admit it, mate."

"Okay, fine!" Angel snapped. "Your bo... this form you have isn't terrible to look at. But that doesn't mean that I've been thinking what you're saying I've been thinking. Just because you've known me for over a century, don't presume that means you know me!"

Spike threw her head back and gave an abrupt but powerful laugh in a way that reminded Angel uncomfortably of her male form.

"Cor, you're a twisted one ain't you? You're so bleeding confused, it's almost enough to make me feel sorry for you. Almost."

"Like you're one to talk." Angel sneered. He gave a pointed look at Spike's new ensemble- which included a different tank top that was red, low-rising, and left little to the imagination. "If anything you want me to think that way. You're dressed like a common streetwalker."

"That's whore, grandpa. And I may be a great many things, but common ain't one of them. Anyway, you're just jealous that I still know who I am- even when I'm in the wrong skin. Plus... it was your little brainy bird that suggested I dress like this in the first place."

If Angel had any dignity left, he probably would have let his jaw drop.

"Fred? My Fred suggested that you dress like that?"

"One, she's not yours, and two, yup. Said that with my looks it be more convincing if I dressed more... provocatively."

She dragged out and rolled the last word, and Angel felt himself grinding his teeth with the thought that it was merely to annoy him. It worked.

"Well, it's not believable. Nobody's going to believe that I let my wife dress like a tramp. You're not dressing like that while we're at this place."

"Whatever you say, Fuehrer. Oh wait... no...We're not really married, I've never listened to you before, and I'm not about to start now just because I don't have balls." She shifted uncomfortably at her poor word choice. "You know what I mean."

After a moment she realized that Angel was studying her intently, as if trying to remember something.

"What?" She said.

"That hair thing."

Spike brought her hands up to check her super-tight bun, which was stilly securely fastened.

"What of it?"

"You copied it from Buffy, didn't you?" Angel smirked.

"No." This time it was Spike's turn to slouch.

"Yes, you did."

"Did not. Shut up."

"Did too."

"Get stuffed."

"You're a freak."

"You want me."

"Okay, I think that's enough conversation."

Angel flicked the radio and turned it to his Easy Listening station, knowing full well that Spike was seconds away from ticking it back to the Punk Rock.

"After two days in the desert sun, my skin began to turn red. After three days in the desert fun..."

"...I don't want to think...don't make me care. I wanna melt in with the group, I need the balls..."

"...you see I've been through the desert on a horse with no name, it felt good to be out of the rain. In the desert you can remember your name...'cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain. La, la..."

"...DRUG ME DRUG ME DRUG ME DRUG ME DRUG ME..."

"...La la la la la la la la la la la..."