*****

Spike was trapped at Rupert Giles place for several more hours until the sun went down. Xander was at work. The Slayer and the Witches were in class. So that left the Watcher.

And research.

Spike sighed. He *hated* doing research. Dusty tomes and muttering watchers were not exactly his favorite things to be trapped in a telly-less apartment with. He was more of a watch soaps all day, slaughter demons all night kinda guy. But with the box broke he was left with a choice of helping Rupert to do some research the newest demon to hit the Hellmouth, or watch the paint peel from the ceiling. After the past two hours, Spike was beginning to think that he should have chosen to watch the bleeding paint.

With a low throaty growl of frustration and boredom, Spike shoved the moldy old book away from him and stood up. Rupert glanced up at him in mild confusion and radiated an air of intellectual distraction. Spike rolled his eyes.

"That's it. I'm taking a break. Nice spot of steamy blood should do me right. All this book work is bad for me eyesight, need something more exciting to read. Got any good girlie rags lying around here Watcher?"

Spike smirked at the slightly flustered look that crossed Rupert's face as his proper English manners were subjected to his own lack there of.

"Right. A... a break would be good and... and *no*, no trashy magazines here, Spike. I... I'm afraid you'll have to... to just look elsewhere for that sort of sordid entertainment."

With a soft chuckle, the bleached blonde vampire wandered into the kitchen. He pulled his personal mug from the cupboard and then yanked open the refrigerator door. He rummaged a bit before locating the container of pigs blood that Rupert stored in there just for him. Pouring a mug full, he snapped the lid back on the container and stuffed it back into the refrigerator. He then reached up and opened the cupboard door that contained the box of Wheat-a-bix just as Rupert called out to him from the other room.

"Spike. Would you be so kind as to put on the kettle? I think I'd like some tea."

He turned his head to answer and grabbed the box without looking.

"What? I'm your bloody maid now Watcher? Your servant to make you tea?"

Without paying much attention, he turned back and dumped a bunch of the power into his mug of blood. Putting the box on the counter, he turned and walked to the microwave. Opening the door, he slid the mug in and set the timer.

"Spike. I... I'm not asking you to do anything difficult or... or dangerous. Just put on the kettle. I'll make the tea when it whistles."

"Oh bloody hell, Rupert. Where's the damn thing anyway?"

Spike banged around in the kitchen making a significant amount of noise, banging cupboard doors and grumbling loudly. Suddenly, the microwave dinged and his tirade was cut off midstream. Sauntering over to the machine, Spike hit the button that would open the door and snatched out his mug.

Lovely wonderful warmth washed over his hands and he smiled a rare smile of pleasure. He allowed himself to indulge in that glowing sensation for a whole three seconds before lifting the full mug to his mouth and gulping it all down. After the blood was gone, Spike made a face and glared at the mug. It had tasted funny. Spike swallowed against the aftertaste and wondered if the bloody git had decided to play a trick on him and get something icky like lizard blood or something.

His contemplation was halted when a grumbling frowning Rupert entered the kitchen at that point, muttering darkly under his breath about stubborn rude vampires with no manners. Spike grinned. He loved to tug on Rupert's chain.

When the Watcher's complaints were cut off with a gasp, Spike turned around to see what had startled the man. The stiffly formal man was easy to frustrate, annoy and embarrass, but it took quite a bit to make him truly shocked or frightened. And anything that did could usually be boiled down into two little words. 'Oh shit.' Spike wondered what nasty thing had set off Rupert's shit-o-meter this time.

The vampire watched as the Watcher walked over to the counter and picked up his Wheat-a-bix.

"Spike? Di... did you do anything with this?"

Spike frowned. Was this a trick question?

"What? The Wheat-a-bix? Same as always. Put it in my drink. Why?"

Rupert went pale. Spike began to worry.

"Spike. This is *not* Wheat-a-bix. *That* is the Wheat-a-bix!"

Spike followed the Watcher's hand to see where it was pointing. There, up on the top self of the cupboard sat the box of Wheat-a-bix. Spike blinked twice. Nope. It was still up there. Then, he turned wide eyes on the similarly sized box in Rupert's hand.

"Then what the bloody hell did I put in my drink?"

The Watcher sighed a long suffering sigh and put the box down on the counter.

"*That* is powdered T'rothin Demon Bone. It's a... a spell component that Willow needs. She asked me to store it since it seems that Tara has a... an allergy to it."

Spike blinked. His mind was a swirl with rushing emotions. Sort of a heady combination of curiosity and amusement.

"Are you trying to tell me that I drank a *demon* with my blood?"

The Watcher took off his glasses and began to polish them.

"Uh... Y... yes. I... I am. You did. Drink a demon, that is."

Spike grinned widely.

"Cool!"

Rupert took a moment to glare at him in angry frustration, but Spike didn't mind. He was too happy about the thought that he had just consumed a demon for a midday snack. His only complaint was that he hadn't been aware of it at the time, so he couldn't savor the moment as he should have. Oh well, there was always next time, right?

The Watcher gave a little snort of derision and waved vague gestures in the air.

"Once again Spike, I think you've failed to... to comprehend the true import of your hasty actions."

Spike raised up one eyebrow in a questioning, but completely unconcerned expression. Rupert returned that look with a glare.

"Th... that powder i... is the main ingredient in a *very* complex spell. A... a spell used for divination."

Spike felt a small frown form on his lips and his brow crinkled up in thought.

"Divination? You mean like Dru's prophetic ramblings? What? I'm gonna find myself talking to inanimate objects and hearing voices in me head now?"

Rupert didn't answer that as he began to pace the length of the small kitchen. He did glance over once or twice, but it was clear he was thinking. When he took off his glasses and began to polish them again, Spike began to get a bit nervous. That was never a good sign.

"That powder is supposed to... to help grant the caster the gift of visions. Who knows what effect it'll have on you in... in such quantities and c... consumed such as it was? I... I dare say that mixing it with blood won't have diluted it th... the way water would, instead, it more than likely made it stronger. Y... you might be in for a bit of a wild ride."

Spike rolled his eyes.

"Great. I'm gonna be as loopy as Dru until this stuff wears itself off then? Lovely."

Turning and stomping out of the kitchen, Spike began rifling through the clutter on the table.

"Where's me damn smokes?"

*****
Part 2:

Shifting aside a legal note pad covered with Rupert's neat handwriting, Spike found the half crushed pack of cigarettes and an almost empty pack of matches. With an exasperated expression of frustrated disapproval, the Watcher shooed him off down the hall. Rolling his eyes, Spike followed the unspoken demand and stomped off in the direction of the bathroom.

He wanted a fag too much to spend time arguing with the overly fussy mortal and since the bathroom was the only room in the flat that Rupert allowed him to smoke, that's where he headed. Opening the door and flicking on the switch to both the overhead light as well as the exhaust fan, Spike dropped the lid on the commode, sat down and jammed a smoke in between his lips.

Frowning as he fumbled with the pack of matches, Spike considered the horrible turns his unlife seemed bent on taking. It was truly unfair. First, his beloved dark princess Dru leaves him for a demon not even worthy enough to lick the bottom of her shoes. Next, he went and got himself experimented on by whacked out mad scientists and their toy soldier-boys. Then, in an effort to avoid becoming a big old pile of ash and dust, he was forced to align himself with his greatest enemy, the Slayer herself. *Now* he drinks a demon down only to find out it was going to turn him into a bleedin' lunatic.

Yep, unlife could really suck sometimes... and not in the good way either.

With a sigh of self-pity, Spike ripped off a match, struck it against the rough sand-paper like area on the back and lit his fag. Taking a deep drag off of it, he was about to shake out the lit match when the small orange flame caught his attention.

//dance with me//

Spike stared at the flame, watching intently as it wavered and jiggled, slowly burning it's way down the length of the pressed cardboard match.

//dance with me Spike, dance with me//

A slow easy smile crossed his lips and he stared unblinking at the warm flame. It traveled further down, gently making it's way to the tips of his fingers where he held the match.

//dance, dance with me//

With easy grace, Spike shifted himself so that he could stand up and then began to sway with the living flame. He watched as the burning orange glow devoured the matchstick, until it touched the tips of his polished fingers. A sharp sudden pain pierced the hazy fog in his mind. With a howl, he dropped the match.

"Bloody hell!"

Vaguely, Spike recognized the sound of hurried footsteps in the background, but he was too busy trying to remember every curse word he'd ever heard to pay too much attention. It was only when a frantic knocking at the door managed to pull him out of his internal bitch- and-moan session that he remembered where he was.

"Spike! Are you all right in there?"

Spike sighed. He briefly wondered if it was a good thing or a bad thing to have someone worry about his welfare. He guessed that it was a good thing, even if it was bloody annoying at times.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just burnt the hell out of me fingertips is all."

"Are you sure? I... I mean..."

Spike rolled his eyes at Rupert's display of concern and reached out to the door and yanked it open.

"See? I'm fine ya poof! I just..."

Spike trailed off with a whisper as he turned his head and looked at the Watcher. Rupert's face was in perfect focus. Spike could recognize every color and he could trace every sharp edged line and shape. It was everything else in the world that suddenly went hazy and fuzzy edged. It was as if Rupert was at the center of everything, clear and concise he was stuck in the middle of rippling waves of distortion and disruption. It reminded Spike of the ripples in a pond when you throw a stone into it. It was vaguely nauseating and he felt a mild wash of vertigo descend upon him.

"Spike? W... what is it? You... um, are looking at me oddly. Are you... okay?"

Even the Watchers voice sounded odd to Spike's ears. It echoed hollowly with a metallic tinge to it and the sounds seemed distorted somehow, almost as if the words had come from far away instead of two feet in front of him.

"Uh, Watcher? I think your mojo demon-powder has decided to kick in."

Spike noted the flash of worried concern that washed across Rupert's face. It amused him slightly, but no scathing retort came to mind. Instead, all he could think of was that the mortal probably understood a bit about losing one's mind better than he'd first considered. After all, didn't the man technically have a split personality? One named Rupert, and the other called Ripper? That thought gave him a splendid idea.

"Hey Watcher? Why don't'cha let old Ripper out to play with me, huh? We'd have a grand time. Ripper and me could be good mates, go out and kick us some demon arse. 'S a good idea, right?"

Rupert frowned.

"No Spike. That's *not* a good idea. Let's not discuss Ripper, shall we?"

Spike pouted and turned away... only to face the mirror. A mirror which dutifully reflected everything in the bathroom. Everything but Spike. He pouted harder.

"I miss me reflection. I'm a good demon. Why should everybody but me get to enjoy such luscious beauty? 'S not fair, I tell ya."

He heard Rupert make a slight strangling noise and grinned.

"Look. J... just put out your smoke and we'll get you back to the living room. You can try and rest on the sofa."

With a shrug, Spike took a last pull off of his fag and then turned on the facet. To his delight, the running water sounded like wind chimes. He ran the cigarette under the musical water to snub out the burning embers and tossed it into the trash can. Turning, he found himself looking at Rupert again. And just as before, that odd distortion effect took place. Idly, Spike wondered if it was due to the aura of magick that the Watcher radiated that was causing the effect or if it was purely due to the powdered T'rothin Demon Bone he'd consumed.

Magickal Watcher properties aside, Spike couldn't stop his bemused grin from growing when Rupert reached out to hold his arm and gently led him back to the living room. The short journey was interesting in that the shadows had deepened and the puddles of light had grown brighter. Colors seemed much more intense and the very air he moved through seemed thick, almost soupy. In Spike's opinion, the small flat had never looked better.

Once in the main living room, Rupert guided him over to the sofa and carefully pushed him down on the cushions. He had a brief moment of disorientation as the room rushed around him and the sofa seemed to sink under him as if trying to draw him into the fabric, trapping him in a world of fluffy stuffing. Then suddenly, everything snapped back into place.

Bemused, Spike let his eyes roam around the room. He finally decided that the weird distortion that seemed to follow Rupert *was* due to his magickal abilities as certain, seemingly plain objects scattered about the room had that same-self quality. The bookcase alone practically shimmered and vibrated in his vision.

It was finally the Watcher's voice that broke him from his absorbed study of the row upon row of spell books. Turning his head, he could clearly see the curiosity and the hunger for knowledge in Rupert's face. He grinned.

"Back with me then? Good. I... I was wondering, um... just *how* th... the powder was effecting you. I mean, I know how it's supposed to work if one follows the spell correctly, but..."

Spike chuckled.

"It's actually not *that* bad. I can see magick now. Before, I could just sort of sense it, ya know? But now, I can *see* it. It makes... uh... waves of some sort. Both you and the bookcase give these waves off the strongest though. Colors are bright and cheery. And fire likes me."

Spike watched Rupert's eyebrows raise up at that those statements and smirked.

"Yeah. Guess I *do* sound a bit like Dru now, don't I? Only difference is *I* don't have a doll to talk too."

//yes you do Spike//

A muted shiver of surprise rolled through him and he turned his head slowly to the side. Sitting propped in the over-stuffed easy chair on the far side of the room sat Miss Edith, Dru's porcelain doll. Spike remembered clearly the day that Dru had killed a small blonde headed child for that doll. And now, here she was, sitting in Rupert's living room.

"Dru? Princess, where are you luv?"

//Dru isn't here Spike. only I could come//

Spike's attention returned back to the doll. He noticed for the first time that he could see through her to the chair beyond. Her image wavered slightly as if a heat wave from the desert floor stood between them. Vaguely, as if from a far far distance, he heard Rupert talking to him.

"Spike? Dru is here? Where?"

"No. Not Dru, Miss Edith. She's Dru's doll. She talks to Dru all the time. Tells her things. Prophecies."

Spike felt the Watcher stiffen up in shock at what he had said, but he didn't pay him any mind. He was too busy watching Miss Edith. The doll didn't move, she just sat there on the chair, watching him with her dark glass eyes.

"Where Spike. Where is Miss Edith now?"

He raised his hand to point at the chair on the far side of the room and noticed that the air felt sluggish and warm. Thick and wet, as if he were floating in invisible blood that surrounded him and supported him. He giggled.

//it's time Spike//

"Yes pet. I know."

//are you ready?//

"As I'll ever be, I guess."

With a dizzy wash of swirling color and light, Rupert's flat disappeared only to be replaced by a glowing grey void. Everything felt soft and fuzzy as it the world had been swathed in warm soft grey velvet. He himself couldn't find the energy or will to move, so he just laid back and relaxed. He floated in softness and comfort until he realized that he was alone.

"Pet? Where are you? I can't find you anywhere. Where am I?"

//sshhhh... I'm here. it's okay. We're in the heart of a star//

"Why? Why are we here? What's going to happen?"

//you are here to look and listen... and remember. I am just a familiar voice in the void. nothing more, nothing less//

Suddenly, from off to the left somewhere, four giant jelly beans came walking past him, arm in arm. They were singing an old battle song that he remembered hearing some time in his past. He wasn't quite sure where or when, only that he'd still been with his Sire at that point in time. The giant singing jelly beans did a synchronized little dance step and then turned to walk off once more. As they were leaving, Spike noted that they were dragging a woven rope net behind them. There was something inside the net, but it was squirming, so it was hard to tell who, or even what it was.

"What's with the jelly beans? What's that they have with them?"

//they have caught themselves a snack. one that is spicy with magick and ripe with lust//

"Red? The jelly beans have the Witch?"

//yes//

Spike felt himself begin to struggle out of the lassitude that laid over his mind. He knew he had to help the witch, even if he wasn't quite sure why. He knew that there was a reason, even if it eluded him at the moment. All he was sure of was that if he didn't help her, that it would cause no end of trouble for him later on.

//sshhh... it's all right. don't fight it. there is more to see//

Suddenly, off to his right, a lightening of the grayness drew his attention. He turned his head to see and noticed a shimmer in the air. Slowly, two figures became more and more visible and solid until they were as easy to see as the giant jelly beans. He recognized them instantly with a startled gasp. It was his Sire and... Xander!

At first, the thing that grabbed his attention the hardest was, oddly enough, not his Sire, but the mortal boy. Xander seemed to fluctuate between the obnoxious Hawaiian shirt wearing young man, a battle hardened soldier in US Army fatigues and, strange as it may seem, a laughing hyena. It was almost beautiful how one form would melt and then flow into another. He had no real clue what it meant, but it was interesting to say the least.

"What's with Xander?"

//he is more than he seems. more than one soul lives inside of that child//

Then, without warning, Angelus reached out and touched Xander. That didn't stop the young man from constantly switching forms, but it *did* render them both naked.

Spike gasped in pleasure at seeing his Sire's naked body after so long. He was just as magnificent and desirable now as he had been a century ago. Long missed lust stirred in his veins and he wished he could just reach out and caress that beautiful expanse of pale skin.

Then something happened that caused his mental gears to grind to a painful halt.

His Sire pulled Xander into his arms and they began to kiss. It didn't seem to phase Angelus that Xander kept flipping from young boy to battle scared veteran to furry animal. He just kept holding and rubbing and petting the Xander-thing in his arms. Finally, they fell down onto the ground together and began to have wild and kinky sex.

Spike felt his emotions begin to go on a roller coaster ride. On the one hand, it was hot freaky circus sex and he enjoyed watching it happen before his wide staring eyes. On the other hand, that was *his* Sire and he always felt irrational jealousy no matter *who* Angelus was with. On the other hand, that was *Xander* he was with and Spike had a burning desire to run straight to Anya and tell her all the sordid detail just to enjoy the mess when her head exploded in angry vengeance. On the other hand, he found himself curious as all hell about how and why the young man kept switching forms. That thing about more than one soul was... as disturbing as it was intriguing.

Then Spike blinked. How many hands did he think he had, anyway? With a smirk, he settled in to watch the free sex show only to have it fade out of sight.

"Hey! I was enjoying that vision!"

//-giggle- yes. I know. there is more to see Spike//

A noise from off to the left this time caught his attention. Turning his head to see what weirdness would assault him this time, he watched as the Slayer and her latest boyfriend Riley walked over. He was just about to complain that he had enough of the Slayer when he *wasn't* stoned off his arse and that he didn't think it was fair to be forced to hallucinate her as well when he finally noticed her outfit. Or, more precisely, her lack of one.

Ginning, Spike watched as a completely naked Buffy walked hand in hand with a black leather clad Riley. The ex-commando was wearing the tightest black leather pants that Spike had ever seen as well as a thick black leather band around his right arm. Buffy wore only a black leather collar around her neck.

Spike shifted his Sire induced erection into a more comfortable position. First a vision of his naked Sire topping an equally naked Xander and now it was time for the Slayer S&M scene. This seeing things and hearing voices deal wasn't as bad as he first thought.

Mentally prepared for a wild and kinky bondage scene, Spike felt cheated and confused when Buffy suddenly morphed into a fluffy blonde poodle. His jaw dropped open in angered surprise.

"What the bloody hell?"

//sshhh... watch//

He was about to give Miss Edith a sharp retort when Riley suddenly pulled out a bright red hoop. The ex-commando held it out in front of him at arms length while a gapping Spike watched entranced as the Slayer-poodle jumped through it. Smiling, Riley bent down and ruffled her curls and cooed softly. Then, he handed her a small milk-bone shaped treat to eat. The Buffy-dog scarfed it down in one bite.

Dazed and confused, Spike watched as Riley led the poodle which was Buffy through an increasingly complex series of leaps and jumps, all the while cooing at her and giving her milk-bone rewards for her efforts. Spike found himself growling at the scene in disgust. Yes, he'd always wanted the Slayer to be brought low and humiliated, but this was too much. Riley didn't even seem to respect the power she wielded and he wasn't worthy enough to bring the Slayer to such a state. He truly felt it should've been *him* to hold the hoop she was jumping through.

Spike was distracted from his dark musings when the grey formless world around him began to quiver and shake. Vaguely, in the distance, he heard voices that he knew he should recognize, but they were so far off. He had half a mind to find out what it was, but he had trouble focusing.

//sshhh... it's okay Spike. You can go back to them now. they worry for You//

"How? How do I get out of here."

//follow the river//

"What river?"

But even as he asked, Riley and Buffy faded away to be replaced by a river of sparkling metallic black. He stared at it for a moment until he realized that it was made up from that new bottle of nail polish that he had bought. He walked through the thick moist air over to the river of Goth Girl brand black nail polish formula #6. Just as he arrived at the bank of the river, a simple rowboat materialized. Carefully, he climbed aboard and set the oars in their locks.

Easily, Spike settled into the rhythm of rowing even though he hadn't had to do this for many decades. He was enjoying the lazy trip when suddenly the boat was caught in the river's current and began to move swiftly down stream. A wash of dizziness and vertigo rolled over him and for a brief moment he wondered if he was going to be sick. Then suddenly, he felt as if he'd been slammed down against the ground hard. His whole body jolted with the harsh impact.

When he opened his eyes, he found that he was once again in Rupert's living room and that he was sprawled across the sofa. The Watcher was staring down at him with frightened concern etched into his face and the strange aura that had surrounded him earlier had faded until it was almost gone.

"Wha?... What the bloody hell happened Watcher?"

Relief flooded Rupert's face in gratifying amounts until the Watcher was able to lock his emotions down under strict control again.

"Y...you, um... fainted. Then you began t... to talk about... well, some very bizarre things."

Spike grunted in acknowledgment and then struggled to push himself into a sitting position. Glancing around, he noticed that it was now dark outside and that the entire Scooby Gang was here. They were all staring at him in a strange mixture of curiosity and worry.

He sighed and raised shaking hands to his now throbbing head. He could feel the beginnings of a major hangover starting to make itself known.

"Spike? D... do you remember anything of what you... saw?"

Spike looked up into the tired face still hovering over him and couldn't quite repress the wince.

"Yeah. Yeah I do, mate."

Spike gestured for Rupert to sit down on the sofa even as he shifted his feet and legs off of it and back onto the floor.

"You might as well get comfy. This story might take a while..."

End