He awoke in rather a lot of pain. It was so excruciating, that he almost passed out again without moving from his bed.

He also had the urge to throw up. Clutching his stomach and groaning, he rolled from the bed, then stumbled to the bathroom, where he promptly emptied his stomach of the previous night's meal and whatever liquor he'd ingested. The mixture of partially-congealed blood and alcohol was vile smelling and set his stomach reeling again, any remnants of food joining the mess in the porcelain bowl. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd gotten physically ill, and now he'd hurled twice in quick succession.

The dry heaves were nearly unbearable. He stayed hovering over the toilet in a prepared-to-puke position for more than ten minutes before he felt save to return to his bed. Even then, his stomach threatened to revolt again. His throat was raw by that point, his stomach muscles aching due to the violent contractions that had been seizing them.

He shuffled slowly back to the bedroom, bare feet cushioned by the soft carpet. He eased back down onto the mattress, then stood up again. The sheets were soaked, and a strong ammonia scent wafted from them.

Then the little wankers inside his skull formed a drumline. His head felt like it was about to explode. Staggering back to the bathroom, he opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed the half-empty bottle of aspirin from the shelf. He filled a glass with water and swallowed the pills, rubbing his face as he closed the medicine cabinet and glanced into the mirror.

He expected to see nothing.

There was a face in the mirror. Instinctively, he spun around and swung a fist, only to connect with empty air. He looked around, then looked in the mirror again.

"What the fuck?!" he exclaimed, puzzled, then cringed at the volume of his voice. He touched the mirror, to make sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. The person in the mirror did the same. He stuck out his tongue, and watched as the man on the glass mimicked him.

He turned, fell to his knees, and began to retch into the toilet once more. The water and the aspirin came bubbling out of his stomach at once and he groaned, laying his forehead against the cool porcelain of the sink after flushing again. He was whimpering by this time, the pain in his abdomen tearing him apart. He rubbed his temples, thankful that the throbbing in his brain had subsided a bit. Then the elephants on his cerebral cortex began to do the rhumba.

It felt like the mother of all hangovers.

Wiping his mouth once more, he stood shakily and took a deep breath, then expelled it.

By the time he realized how horrible he looked, standing in the middle of his bathroom completely naked save for a few splotches of crusted vomit and blood, his eyes red and swollen, he'd thought of someone to blame for his unusual situation.

Slayer.

He had never been surer of anything, as he was that she was the one behind all this. At least, he was as sure as an incurably indecisive� anyone� could be. He placed his fingers tentatively over his sternum. When he felt the steady pulse of a heartbeat, he nearly began weeping bitterly. He'd never wanted to be mortal again. Far from it, in fact. He'd planned on living a long and happy unlife as a vampire, killing and maiming when he had to, feeding when he was hungry. This new development thoroughly screwed up his plans.

His unclean smell was beginning to irritate him. He turned on the shower and stepped beneath the hot water, washing himself off quickly, then shut the water off, dried himself, and threw on some relatively clean clothing. He then took a deep, calming breath, and stepped outside for the first time in more than a century.

That was when he remembered how bright the sun was. He walked by a sporting goods store, grabbing a pair of sunglasses off an outdoor sale rack and tearing the tags off them before setting the shades on the bridge of his nose.

When he was satisfied that sunlight wasn't an issue anymore, his thoughts once more settled on the Slayer and all the beautifully torturous and painful things he was going to do to her when he got his hands on her. He walked stiffly back to his apartment, and once inside, he tossed all his belongings into a black duffel bag and left. He stormed across the street to the parking garage he'd stored his beloved car in, and roared out of Los Angeles.

~*~*~*~*~

It was cold in Sunnydale. Spike shivered, pulling his leather duster more tightly about himself. It'd been a long time since he'd been susceptible to climate change. Last night he could've walked around in the Himalayas during blizzard season wearing only a strategically-placed sock and not felt a thing. Bloody human body temperature. He'd ditched his car in a parking garage, opting to stroll through the moonlit streets of Sunnydale instead of wasting gas.

It'd been four years since he'd left the Hellmouth, one hand on the steering wheel of the DeSoto and the other one clutching Drusilla to him tightly. He assumed that the Slayer was still alive and kicking demon ass, otherwise he'd have gotten a word from the demon underground by now, and Sunnydale would've been swarming with all sorts of beasties. He wasn't going to try violence... in his human state she could certainly kick his ass from here to next Tuesday with one foot tied behind her back and a blindfold securely covering her eyes.

Nice redecoratin', he thought amusedly as he walked by the charred pile of rubble that had once been the high school. Wonder what baddie managed that?

He continued on, stalking purposefully toward 1630 Revello Drive... until he ran into trouble.

The three vampires approached him, and the biggest one, obviously the leader, spoke up, recognition flashing in his eyes. "Spike," he said, lisping slightly around his fangs. "You shouldn't be here."

The bleached-blonde rolled his eyes, assuming a cocky stance with his arms folded and his legs spread. "I do what I please," he retorted.

"You turned on your Sire. You formed an alliance with the Slayer to fight against him. That's unacceptable," the big vampire said. He turned to the vampire on his left, who smelled like he hadn't bathed in ten years. Most likely, he hadn't. "Tony, what do we do to vamps that turn on their Sires?" he asked.

"Last I knew, we killed them..." Tony replied gleefully, scratching his stomach. "What do you think, Mike?"

The short vampire on the right of the big one thought for a minute. "Great idea, Tony."

Tony grinned. "Looks like the Hellmouth will be short one obnoxious master..." he chuckled.

"Now, wait just a bloody minute, you daft lummox!" Spike protested as the trio of vampires advanced on him. "Aren't you forgettin' who sired you, Dameon?" he asked.

"Dameon, he has a point."

"Shut up, Tony. Okay, so you have a point. We wouldn't want to stoop to your level." They walked off.

Good. Got rid of them� Spike sighed, relieved that he hadn't become kibbles for his former minions, continuing on his trek to the Slayer's house.

She obviously hadn't been expecting him, because a teenaged girl he didn't recognize answered the door when he knocked, instead of the well-armed cavalry. He smirked when he realized she was making moon-eyes at him.

"Hi. Are you a friend of Buffy's?"

"You could say that. I need to speak with her." Breezing past her, he walked into the living room. The Slayer was watching television, but when she saw Spike she was instantaneously on guard. She whipped out a stake and pressed it to his chest, backing him into a wall and immobilizing him. He was pinned between a... hard place and a pointy thing. And attached to the pointy thing was an incredibly agitated-looking Slayer.

"Dawn! Why did you invite him in?!"

"I didn't. He just� walked past me when I opened the door."

Turning her attention towards her unwelcome guest, she asked, "What are you doing in my living room, Spike?"

"Nice to see you too, luv. I promise I won't hurt a hair on the niblet's head. By the way, who's the niblet? You can lose the stake. I want some answers."

She pulled back, her eyes wary. "Depends on the questions. That's my little sister." She pulled him to the couch, sitting him down on it and standing before him, stake still clasped.

"Question number one: why did I wake up in a sweat-soaked bed when vampires don't sweat? Question number two: why did I throw up, then look in the mirror and see myself? Question number three: why do I only need sunglasses and sunscreen as protection when I'm outside during the day? And whaa-you have a sister? You didn't have a sister the last time I was here."

"It's a long story. I'll tell you about it sometime. Meanwhile, back to the questions. What are you talking about, Spike?" She looked positively flummoxed, and if he hadn't been so irritated, Spike would've chuckled.

"Why the bloody hell am I human, Slayer?" He was becoming exasperated.

"By human, do you mean non-vampire? As in with a soul?" He took her hand in his own, placed it on his chest, and held it there. Her eyes widened.

"That is the concept."

"I... I have no idea."

"Well, if this isn't your fault, whose is it?" The bleached-blond man was scowling now. Apparently she hadn't been the cause of his re-humanization.

"Someone with a twisted sense of humor?" she snickered. "I mean, first I'm sworn to kill you and dance in your dust - " Spike winced at the image, " - and then I'm sworn to protect you." She thought for a moment.

"Maybe we should call Giles."

"Do you think he'd know who did this to me?"

A giggle erupted from her mouth. "No, but he'd probably get a kick out of it too."

Throwing my hands up into the air, he said resignedly, "Angel said you wouldn't be able to help me." That, of course, had been a huge lie. He hadn't been about to flaunt his humanity in his Sire's face, although now that he thought about it... nah. He'd been too brassed off to even think about visiting the poofter and his little entourage, let alone stop by for a nice cuppa.

"Oh, and he can? What's so special about a vampire with a soul, that he thinks he has the solution to everything?" She glowered. Apparently her ex, Mr. Shag-Me-And-I'll-Go-Completely-Psychotic-And-Try-To-Kill-Your-Loved-Ones was a touchy subject. Who knew?

"I could just go get turned again�"

"No. You. Will. Not." She poked me in the chest, each word punctuated by her finger jabbing me.

"Why the hell not? I was perfectly happy being undead. Had a lot more friends than when I was alive."

"Look, the human Spike is annoying enough. I don't think I could deal with the vampire Spike being around again." She looked at me and stuck her tongue out.

He sighed. "Am I that bad, luv?"

"Well� no. I think maybe it's just� that� umm� it'sjustthatyou'reirresistablysexy." Did I say that?

Did she say that?

"Oh. Um� I'll be going now. I'm staying at the mansion, if you think of anything."

"Uh� Spike?"

"What?"

"The mansion� it doesn't exist anymore."

"Come again?"

"They tore it down. I guess some dark madman was running around there naked with blood on his face a couple of years ago�"

"Angel."

She nodded. "You could� stay here? In mom's room?"

"Doesn't your mum stay there, luv?"

"Mom is� she died. A year ago."

"I'm sorry."

"So was everyone else." Her eyes misted over slightly, and she must've realized that she was telling the man who had once been her mortal enemy about her mother's death, she decided to change the subject. She abruptly stood. "Hungry?"

"Well, my stomach has been vibrating loudly for the past few hours, if that's any indication, luv."

"What do you want?"

"Something good. I haven't eaten real food in an incredibly long time, so�"

"Pizza it is, then."

Author's Note: Phew. Now that I'm done rewriting the first chapter of this lovely little repost, I think I'll retire to the fainting couch to eat Milano cookies and read a trashy romance novel, dreaming of my prince charming who hasn't made an appearance into my life yet, darn him. And remember, feedback makes the world go round.

Send Feedback
Next Part
R to NC-17