Part Two

"Isch iss weally gooh peecha," Spike slurred around a slice of pepperoni which he'd shoved into his mouth.

"Normally we swallow, then talk," Buffy said amusedly.

I swallowed. "Right. Sorry, luv." He glanced at the television set, which had remained on and was now tuned to Comedy Central. "Ooh! South Park!" He assumed a voice that was remarkably similar to that of the characters on the show. "Oh my god, they killed Kenny! You bastards!" Right on schedule, the orange-clad cartoon character exploded.

Buffy realized the sun was going down and stood.

"Where're you going, luv?"

"I have to patrol. You know, my job? The one that the only way I get out of it is if I die?"

"Yes� I thought there was another Slayer."

"She went psycho."

"Oh." He stood as well. "I'm going with you."

"Not to insult you or anything, but� you don't exactly have your vamp strength anymore."

"They don't know that. Almost all of them were scared of me, last I knew." Pulling on his duster, he opened the door. "Well, luv? Coming?"

"You need a stake."

"How about two stakes, a cross, and a watergun full of holy water?" He pulled apart the lapels of his coat, showing her his stash. "I collected when I realized I was human. Didn't feel like being killed mercilessly."

"Sounds about right. Let's go." She buttoned up her coat as they walked into the night together.

They didn't have to go far before they caught up with the rest of the Slayerettes.

The whelp immediately piped up. "Um, Buffy, not to imply that you've suddenly gone insane, but you do realize that this here is Spike that you're walking with?"

"Yeah�"

"Is there a particular reason that you're walking down the street with your arch nemesis? Vampire bad, remember?"

"He came to see me."

"Annnnnnd?"

"He's not a vampire anymore."

"Oh, that's convenient. He's not a vampire anymore. How sweet. What is he now?"

"Human," the former vampire supplied.

Xander took a deep, calming breath to prevent shrieking or doing something that would in other ways embarrass him later. "Human. Okaaay. Anyone mind filling me in here?"

Buffy sighed. "He woke up alive. He came here. He thought it was my fault he was alive. We ate pizza."

He spread the sides of his duster once more, displaying the weaponry. "Some pillock decided to make me be on your side..." He looked pointedly at Xander. "Dammit."

"Nice arsenal," Xander said, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't you be looking at my arsenal."

"Fuck you."

"No thanks. I'm more a fan of the x chromosome..." Spike said, sneering.

Buffy giggled.

Willow rolled her eyes.

"Hey, I thought we were going slaying."

"Yeah� so let's go."

~*~*~*~*~

"Spike?"

"What, pet?"

"We're going shopping."

"What?"

"We're going shopping. A man can't live with one outfit."

"Yes I can."

"You're starting to smell, Spike."

"Bloody hell. Why didn't you tell me that?"

"I was being polite?"

"Let's go."

"Go where?"

"Shopping."

"I thought you didn't want to go shopping."

"I changed my mind. Let's go. Who's paying?"

"You are. Or, indirectly, you are."

"What do you mean indirectly?!"

"We're getting you a job, too. By the way, you need to do something less� evil with your hair."

"What exactly are you saying, sweets?"

"What's your natural color?"

~*~*~*~*~

Spike stood in the middle of his newly-redecorated bedroom. He walked a few steps, plopped down onto the bed, and spread his limbs atop the white down comforter. Stood again. Threw a punch in the air.

Jabbed. Kicked. Punched-

"Spi-oomph!"

"Are you alright? Cor, Slayer, I didn't know you were standing there."

Standing, she leaned against the wall she had hit and rubbed her stomach, grinning. "I guess you kept your vamp strength?"

"Did I� I mean� you�"

"Flew against the wall when you punched me, yes."

"Damn." He said it reverently, flexing my biceps.

"I like your hair better this way." She reached up and brushed a stray lock off my forehead.

"What? You mean you don't like the 'I'm Spike, the sexy undead British guy' look?" He feigned a crestfallen expression. "And all that time, I thought you were hot for my body."

She punched him in the arm. "The 'I'm Spike, the sexy undead British guy' look was nice for awhile. But that look is reserved only for sexy undead British guys. I like it better this color. And without the gel. It's soft." She paused. "The shirt is nice, too. Blue is your color."

"You realize that I'm turning into a twenty-first century version of the 1700s nancyboy I used to be, don't you, luv?"

"Just don't fall in love with anyone named Cecily, okay, Spike?"

"Alright lu-hey, how did you know about her?" Spike asked, perplexed.

"Oh, come on. After six years of slaying, don't you think I would've been able to wrestle the Watcher's Diaries away from Giles?" She put on what she apparently thought was her dry, dusty, old British guy look and quoted in a horrible accent, "William Bradford, AKA 'William the Bloody', was born on July 18th, 1874. Sired by the Crazed One - I can only assume that's Drusilla - he murdered all his acquaintances and his family almost immediately� all except one woman. A Miss-"

"Cecily Addams."

She continued. "After traveling the countryside with his companions, Darla, Angelus, and Drusilla, for five decades, he suddenly left the group and adopted a fetish for torturing his victims mercilessly with railroad spikes before feeding on them, thus receiving the nickname 'Spike.' After becoming reunited with Darla, Angelus, and Drusilla thirty years later, the four undead moved to Romania, where Angelus was cursed with a soul by gypsies. The remaining three vampires remained in Romania for another ten years before relocating to Prague, where they stayed until the early nineteen-sixties. During this decade, William the Bloody and his companion, Drusilla, crossed the Atlantic and took up housing in the United States, feeding off the free love movement. They discovered the still cursed Angelus' location and followed him in secrecy until the autumn of 1996, when they made their whereabouts known in Sunnydale, California after joining a militant vampire society called the Order of Teraka. William the Bloody, murderer of two Slayers, was, however, unable to kill the Slayer - " she arched her brow, smirking, " - that was located in Sunnydale, and after two years of unsuccessful planning during which Angelus lost his soul and then was re-cursed, he moved to Los Angeles, where he resides to this day."

"I'm impressed, luv. You memorized all this about lil' ol' me?" He adopted an accent that was far worse than her British, as he did an impression of a Southern belle.

"Your Southern accent is about as good as my British librarian." She smacked the back of his head softly. "Giles made me memorize all the info on all the big bads."

He grinned. "So I really was the Big Bad, eh?"

"You were a baddie, yes..." She paused, then smiled evilly. "It didn't make me scared of you, though. Even Angel was a bigger badass than you when he was evil. I admit, I was a leedle bit scared of him when he was Mr. Carpe-Me-And-I'll-Go-Completely-Psychotic-And-Try-To-Kill-Your-Loved-Ones ."

"But you weren't scared of me." He tried to appear disappointed, but inwardly he was incredibly proud of her. Either that, or disgusted with his demon.

"What, you want I should prove this to you? I'll beat your ass so hard that you won't be able to sit down for a week."

"Go ahead and try."

"Wanna fight?" She was in a playful fighting stance, her fists raised, bouncing lightly on her toes. "C'mon. Put up your dukes."

He stripped off his new, dark blue shirt and faced her. Glancing about the room, he commented, "Maybe we should go where there's less furniture to break."

"Right. Put your shirt back on. We're going to the Magic Box."

"Where?"

"You'll see."

He replaced his shirt and, donning his sunglasses, followed her out the front door and onto the street. They walked for a couple of minutes until he noticed the small store with the plate-glass windows in the front. The bell rang as they walked inside, and Buffy nodded to a brunette who stood behind the counter, fondling the money. The two blondes made their way to the back of the shop, entering a room that had previously been used for storage, but had been remodeled and was filled with all the training equipment a Slayer could possibly need.

They moved everything to one side of the room, and then Spike stripped his shirt off again. He looked down at his chest and frowned. "I really need a tan," he quipped.

"Well, not to point out the obvious, but you have been dead for a long time. Now let's get it on."

She threw the first punch. He blocked it, and returned with an elbow to the ribs. She winced, but didn't cry out. She kicked his legs out from under him and flipped over his prone body, so that her feet were at his head. He grabbed her feet and yanked. She fell on her face.

Rolling to her feet, she stood panting and tense. She jabbed at his nose, but he caught her fist and flipped her onto her back again. She stood again. Punched him in the stomach. Hard. While he was doubled over, she kicked him in the head. He fell over, clutching his stomach and wailing loudly.

She crouched down by his side and asked, genuinely concerned, "Are you alright?"

He pounced.

Within a few seconds, he had her partially pinned beneath him, his weight holding her to the floor. He reached for the blunt, plastic practice stake that she had been holding and tapped her on the chest with it.

"I win, luv."

"This time."

They both realized that he was lying atop her, his thighs gripping one of hers, at about the same time. Then the realization that the sparring was quickly evolving into something far more primal came to them. He scrambled off her. She stood, brushing off her black leather pants.

"You're bleeding." She turned and fetched a cloth from the first aid kit, wet it with warm water, and walked back to him. She began dabbing the gash on his forehead gently, wiping the blood away. The cloth was soon tinged pink.

"You don't have to do this, luv."

"I was always taught that if you make a mess, you clean it up. I put this gash in your forehead, I'm going to fix it. What the�"

"What is it?"

"It's healing. Really fast."

He touched his forehead. There was nothing there. No gash, no holes, nothing. He was amazed.

"Oh, great. So whoever decided to make me human decided to turn me into Superman instead?!"

"Can you fly?"

"I don't think so luv. I'm just immortal."

"Oh. That's� interesting. Now I think we should tell Giles about this."

"Why? Still funny?"

"No, just� weird."

~*~*~*~*~

"Giles?" Buffy called as they entered the Englishman's apartment.

"Oh, hello Buffy. And� Spike." He grabbed his crossbow and stood, the bolt aimed at his chest.

"Drop the weapon, Watcher. I'm not a vampire."

He looked confused. Buffy clarified. "Spike woke up human, then came here to blame me. He's been staying in mom's room, on account of the mansion being torn down. He decided it wasn't my fault, but he's still here for some strange reason. Aaaanyway, we were sparring today�"

"You sparred with a mere mortal?"

"I was getting to that. He could still hold his own against me. He won, Giles. And when I was cleaning a cut on his forehead, it healed within minutes of when I gave it to him."

"I'm immortal, mate."

"A� are you sure, Buffy?"

"Notice the utter absence of fangs. And the appearance of a tan. The lack of black clothing and nail polish are clues, too."

"Good Lord."

"That's what I thought too. Somebody decided that Spike here," she tilted her head in my direction, "would be better off fighting the forces of evil with the rest of us instead of fighting the forces of good."

"Do you mind if I do a few tests, then, Spike?" the Watcher asked.

"As long as it doesn't involve probing."

Buffy snickered.

Ten minutes later, he was in the Watcher's basement, dressed in a pair of nylon shorts. He hooked the former vampire up to a heart monitor and had him run on a treadmill. Sporadically, he'd up the speed or the incline, until Spike was running at the fastest pace on the steepest incline the exercise machine could handle.

"Amazing. His heartbeat hasn't accelerated at all."

He slowed the treadmill until the younger man could get off without hurting himself, directing him to the weight bench. Soon he was lifting all the weights he could find, plus two cinder blocks, a full can of paint, and the Slayer. Easily.

After about an hour of such tests, it was confirmed. "Spike, you're superhuman."

"Duh." The Slayer rolled her eyes. "Hasn't he been telling you this for the past hour and a half?"

"Well� I� I wanted to be s-sure." The Watcher was flustered. Caught in his own stupidity.

He turned to leave but Spike stopped him. "Erm� Rupert?"

"Yes, Spike?"

"If it isn't too much trouble� do you have any positions open at the Magic Box? I'm through with stealing my goods."

"I'll see what I can do. But Anya is very overprotective of her job there." He left, walking slowly up the stairs as he shook his head in amazement.

"Spike?"

"What, luv?"

"I was wondering� since you're no longer evil, would you like to help me patrol?"

"Haven't I been doing that?" He thought about the few times he'd accompanied her, mostly sitting back on a headstone and taunting the baddie she was fighting and letting her do all the work.

"Actively?"

"Right. Sure. I'll be the Slayer's bodyguard." I practiced my menacing stance. "How's this?" I asked, slipping my sunglasses back on.

She burst out laughing. "Hilarious!"

"What's so funny?"

"You... you look more like a surfer than a bodyguard, Spike..." She was rolling on the floor, clutching her stomach.

"Oh. Yeah. I'd better get dressed, eh luv?"

"For starters."

Author's Note: Ack! Blech! Yuck! Gak! Nyaagh! I need to stop revisiting my old stuff before it kills me. As our beloved vampire would say, "Someone put a stake in me." Anyway, I'm pretty much completely re-writing this thing from square one, because before I started to re-write, it, frankly, sucked. Your luck, here, then.

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