The Definition of a Monster - Part I: Preludes to Possession

Title: Definition of a Monster
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Distribution: Take it just tell me where

The Definition of a Monster

Part I
Preludes to Possession

But passion most dissembles, yet betrays
     Even by its darkness; as the blackest sky
Foretells the heaviest tempest, it displays
     Its workings through the vainly guarded eye
And in whatever aspect it arrays
     Itself, ‘tis still the same hypocrisy:
Coldness or anger, even disdain or hate,
Are masks it often wears, and still too late.

Don Juan, Canto I
Lord Byron

She watched the sunset outside her window, like she does every night. I know she doesn’t appreciate it like she should. She doesn’t prize a sunset for what it is, the signaling of the evening, the moment of the day that most perfectly embodies who and what she is. The point in time that isn’t day, and isn’t night. It’s an evening. Like her. She’s a shining beacon of light, while fighting with a passion that must draw its power from darkness and pain. She is like the world, and life itself that way. Always darkest before the dawn, suffer into truth and all that. I’m not sure someone like her could even exist. I think that perhaps I made her up. Why, you ask? Because she does the impossible. She makes me feel alive. She makes me feel, period. Quite a trick to perform on a dead man with no soul.

"What are you doing?"

What…oh damn…got to thinking and didn’t hear her come out.

"I’m just waiting for you, pet…"

"And why would you be waiting for me?"

"Thought you might like the company tonight."

"And you thought this why? You suddenly think you’re the vampire version of Miss Cleo?"

She got that glimmer in her eyes she always gets when she thinks she’s funny. She’s not really that funny. More like cute. God…just did I just use the word cute? Never even in my bleedin’ inner dialogue do I ever use the word cute.

"No, because I know the rest of the soddin’ Addams Family PTA is out of town. Went to the poof’s to see the cheerleader."

"No, they’re not."

"Yes…they bleedin’ well are. The nibblet told me."

She really can’t lie. She’s gotten better, though. The one she told her mum about being in a band was probably the worst. Girl can’t even carry a tune.

"Dawn told you?"

"Yeah…actually asked me to look out for you while they’re gone. What’s wrong with the cheerleader, and why didn’t you go?"

She hung her head. Damn. I hate it when she does this. Always walks away real fast and tries to play silent, babbling the whole time. It would be endearing if she wasn’t so consistent with it.

"I didn’t want to go."

Lie…

"And why not?"

"I just didn’t feel like it."

"Oh, you’d much rather stay here and take a scenic tour of the glorious cemeteries of Sunnydale instead of road-trippin’ it with your mates to see the supposed love of your life?"

She turned, and jumped back at me. Here we go, this is more like it.

"WHO said he is the love of my life, I don’t remember ever writing that memo, especially not to you…"

"Uhhhhhh….you said it, luv…."

"I never told you that…and nothing’s wrong with Cordelia."

"You told me by your actions, pet. I may be a vampire, but I know love when I see it. It may not have been love with the farmboy, but it was with Angel. Unless you’re writing that off as the foolishness of youth, or a mass hallucination brought about by his massive amount of hairgel, that was the case. Did something change?"

"That’s none of your business, Spike."

Touchy. Good. She’s fun when she’s touchy.

Oh hell. Here’s the stomping off part.

I catch up to her as she plops herself down in the doorway of a mausoleum.

"Hold it a friggin’ sec, woman…let a bloke catch his wind…"

"You don’t breath, Spike…"

"Takes air to talk, though, luv…"

"I don’t think anything could stop you from talking…besides you can’t be out of breath."

Guess she’s right about that. I sit down next to her and pull out one of my silk-cuts.

"So….you never said….if nothing’s wrong with the cheerleader, why’d they run down like gooses with their heads cut off…?"

"Lovely imagery there…and it’s geese…"

"What?"

"The plural of goose is geese, not gooses."

"Fine….why’d the gaggle go, luv?"

"Because…Angelus is back…"

Huh…not what I really wanted to hear, mind you. Always hated the bastard.

"So, what, they thought they’d get out of the line of fire when he comes to play? Some friends you got there…"

"He’s not coming here."

"How can you be sure?"

She turns to me, and she’s almost crying. Sod it all to hell. I can’t stand when she cries.

"I’m not the one he wants."

Sounds pretty damn unbelievable.

" Last time he traded his soul for that lovely set of torture tools, making you suffer was all he cared about."

"I’m not the one he wants…"

Hold on.

"The cheerleader?"

"She did it, Spike. Gave him true happiness."

"Oh…"

"I didn’t think she could really do it. I mean…it’s Cordelia…Queen Bitch of my High School Class…I mean I knew they were getting closer…but god, Cordelia?…"

Well…maybe she was talented. Angelus always liked that thing that Darla did with her tongue…mmmm…probably not what she wants to hear…

She starts crying the buckets now. I can’t say anything. I try, but it doesn’t come out. 120 years of slaughtering the helpless doesn’t prepare you for being Mr. There-There. I reach over and am about to put my arm around her when she’s on me. Leaning in. Crying. Crying in MY arms.

Probably not a good idea to try and do what I really want to do. Christ, what do I say?

"…..there…there…"

She keeps crying. Seems like an hour, but don’t know really how long. I almost think she’s asleep when she looks up at me…

"Spike…"

"Yeah, luv?"

"Why is the door glowing?"

I look behind us, and she’s right. There’s a light coming from under the door. Hmmm….maybe this’ll get the poof off her mind.

"Let’s find out."

I open the door and feel her follow me in. There’s another door at the back of the crypt. The light isn’t coming from under this door. The door itself is glowing.

"Spike…"

"Yeah…"

"I didn’t go because I was afraid."

"Luv, can’t we talk about his later?"

"I didn’t go because I knew if I did, he’d kill me."

Huh?

"Why do you think that, pet? He never could before…"

"Because you were right. You said the day would come….and if I’d have gone today’d be that day."

Me and my big mouth.

"Listen, I was just saying that to get under your skin, you know that…"

"Shut up, Spike. I said you were right. And I hate it."

"No, luv. I wasn’t. You didn’t go, did you?"

"No…I guess I didn’t."

"So what do you think that means?"

I never heard her answer because the door exploded behind me.

Chapter 2

I open my eyes and it’s dark. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust before I realize it’s Spike lying next to me. Wait we’re not in a bed, are we, please tell me we’re not in bed.

No…only a crypt. Jeez, only in my life would that be the lesser of two evils.

I get up and try the door. Won’t budge…

"Spike…Spike get up, and help me…"

I look down, and he’s still out. He should be awake by now. Vamps recovery time is usually as good as mine, and Spike’s is usually better.

"Spike…Spike wake up…"

He doesn’t move. What the hell do I do now? CPR? That’d be useless…how would I even tell if he’s alive? It’s not like he’s going to start breathing again. So I settle on what’s always worked for me with Spike. I hit him.

I punch him three times before he turns back to me in game face. I’m too close. He grips my shoulders and pulls me to him. Damn he’s going to ….kiss me? I feel the fangs run over my lips, as his cool tongue dives into my mouth. Suddenly we’re not lying down. His groin pins my waist to the nearest wall and my tongue tries to cut itself on his teeth. I can feel his power, his need pressing into me like a cold hard rush of rain. God, that feels good….

Wait…this is….Spike.

I kick him between the legs and I know that it had to hurt. Especially in the….condition…he was in.

"What the bleedin’ hell was that for?"

"You kissed me…"

"You sound shocked, pet, but you were a very active participant."

"You stuck your tongue down my throat while you were looking like….like that…"

"So you don’t mind that I kissed you, only that I did it like this."

I watched as his game face slipped away. I never knew which one was the real face, and which was the mask. I usually prefer the vampires I kill to be in game face. Spike I preferred in his "human" face. Maybe that’s why I haven’t killed him yet. Killed him…I’d just been panicking because I thought he was dead. What’s that about?

"Spike…just shut up, and help me get the door open…"

Spike smiled like he just found out where his mom hid his Christmas presents. Huh…Spike’s mom. Never thought of that concept before.

We pushed on the door. It was stuck. Would NOT budge. So we went back to the tried and true method used by those famous doorknockerdowners Gilligan and the Skipper. (I’m not sure exactly which one I’m supposed to

be in that scenario, but I really don’t think I’m fat enough to be the Skipper.) We took a run at the door, and it opens right as we’re about to hit it. Typical. I fall on my face on the ground outside.

I look up to see something I’d never thought I’d see. At least not in person.

"Uhh….Spike….why is the Eiffel Tower in Sunnydale?…..Spike….?"

I look over and see him looking at me, wide-eyed. Uh-Oh. It’s never good when Spike is speechless.

"What? Do I have dog poop in my hair? What?"

He points behind me. I see a vamp bent over a lady, draining her. I stand up and pull my stake.

"Alright, time to…"

Spike puts his hand on my shoulder. Looking at him, I can tell something’s wrong. I hear the vamp finish.

"Spike, that lady’s dead because you…"

"Look…"

The vamp in front of us drops the body and turns around, his hair pouring over his face. He wears one of those suits with the vest and the pocket watch. He doesn’t see us, or if he does, he doesn’t act like it. Instead, he takes a comb from his pocket and combs the hair back from his face. Oh God…

"Spike…that’s…"

"Me…."

Chapter 3

The sun is finally down. We can move. Spike walks quickly ahead of me like he knows where he’s going. Maybe he does. Obviously he’s been here before.

"Where are you going?"

"What do you mean, luv?"

"I mean, where are you walking. You…the other you…walked the other way."

"I know…"

"So why are you walking this way?"

He turns around. Quiet. Tense. Frustrated. Great. He’s gonna yell.

Then he doesn’t.

"Because…you want to find out what’s going on, right?"

"Yeah…"

"Well…this is obviously Paris. And the way I …the way the other Spike walked is away from the city. Away from anything that’ll tell us what the hell we’re bleedin’ doin’ here."

"You’re not the least bit curious?"

"Sure…but not right now. I mean, he’s obviously not me…I mean I’m me…besides it can’t be me, I’m much better looking than that…"

"Says the man who hasn’t seen himself in a mirror since before the invention of the light bulb."

"I’ve seen pictures…anyway, let’s on with it…"

"What says I have to go with you?"

"Buffy…."

"Yeah…"

"You parlez the francais?"

"…I took 3 years of French…."

"So in other words, no…Well, I do…so c’mon…we’ll get some food in you, and find out what’s going on."

I am kind of hungry so I go with him. We walk about a mile before we come upon a street that has any people on it. Awfully quiet for this time of night.

We step into the nearest café. The man behind the counter looks at us funny. He’s fat, bald, and pasty. Hitting the trifecta on the studliness meter there.

Spike walks up to him and asks him something in French. The man hands him two cups of coffee, and some rolls. We sit down, and I watch the man watching us.

"That guy is major league creepy."

"He’s French, what do you expect?"

"Well, that’s kind of insensitive."

"I’ve got an excuse. I’m British."

"Yeah, right, like that means anything."

"It does."

"Since when?"

"Always has…"

"So why don’t you live in England, then, and get out of my hair…"

"One…because I’m sensitive to your feelings. You couldn’t take it if I moved back to the mother country…"

"Yeah, okay, you go ahead and believe that….and two?"

"British people taste funny."

"What?"

"Something about the food they eat…taints the blood….just never liked the taste."

"So you’re telling me that British food is bad even for vampires?"

"Yeah…" Spike looked up. I turned to see Creepy French guy coming toward us, with a plate in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

"You ordered for me?"

"Yeah, figured you needed a bite."

"Thanks, I guess."

Creepy French guy sets the plate in front of me. Roast beef sandwich. Something I actually liked. How Spike knew that, I have no idea. I’m not sure if I even want to know. Creepy handed the newspaper to Spike.

I took a bite of my sandwich, which was really good.

"Bloody Hell…"

"What?"

"Look at this," he said, handing the newspaper across the table. I heard the bell on the door ring as someone else came in the café.

"I can’t read French, Spike. I thought we established that."

"You can still read numbers, can’t you?"

"Yes…."

"Then take a gander at the date…."

I did. That couldn’t be right. There’s no way.

"This is wrong…I mean…being halfway across the planet…maybe…but this…"

"Look behind you, luv."

I turned. A man stood there talking to Mr. Creepy. He was wearing a black uniform. One I recognized. Oh God. It was true. I turned back to Spike…

"That’s…."

"A member of the bleedin’ SS."

"Then the paper is right?"

"Explains the other me, now doesn’t it?"

"I need some more coffee." I slugged it back. I couldn’t believe it. This was not happening. Not only was I stuck in France with Spike….

I was stuck in France with Spike in 1943.

Chapter 4

Not the way I would have gotten her alone, but hey quality time in Nazi-occupied Paris is better than no time at all, I guess.

She gets the bright idea of trying to find me. The other me. It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence she says, that both of me are here at the same time. I’ll give her that one. Doesn’t seem bloody likely. She asks what I remember about this time, and I have to tell her I remember rot.

"What do you mean you don’t remember anything…."

"I remember some things….I remember it was fun…"

"Fun….World War II was fun…"

"Yeah…blood….mayhem…violence….passion…it’s what life’s about."

"And the millions of people dying…."

"Are you forgetting who you’re talking to, luv….I’m a vampire, not the pope."

Actually, I like it when she forgets.

"Oh yeah…what am I saying…you were probably that guy on Schindler’s List shooting at all the kids in the concentration camp."

All right, that’s enough. I grab her, and turn her around. Time to set the little missie straight.

"Nothing of the sort. I may be a vampire. I may be a monster. But I am not, and never have been disloyal to the crown…"

"So you’re saying you were one of the good guys during World War II? The same good guy who just killed that lady in the cemetery…."

"How do you know she wasn’t a spy?"

Got her there….

"I don’t…but I’m not going to bet on it…"

"All right, so I wasn’t exactly in uniform. Could hardly be getting up at the crack of dawn to do jumping jacks, now could I?"

"So what….what did you do during the war?"

"Dru and I spend most of the war in Marseilles…we couldn’t stay here…."

"Why not…."

"A couple of reasons…I mean you’ve got the Nazi poofters breaking down doors willy nilly…wouldn’t do to have them raid in the middle of the day."

"I guess not….and the other reason…."

"Well, there was a…"

"SPIKE LOOK OUT!"

I turn just in time to have a huge black streak slam into my jaw.

Chapter 5

Okay, here’s my day so far. I find out the love of my life has just turned evil because he found true happiness in the arms of the bitch queen of my high school class. I seek solace in a little vampire slaying only to be sidetracked by your overly friendly neighborhood bleached blonde vampire, and then somehow get transported with said vampire to World War Two France.

And we’ve just gotten attacked by a bear.

Only in my life would this be a typical day.

Spike actually looks scared of the bear. Oh God, Thanksgiving….he IS scared of bears….guess I’d better help him.

I take a running jump and knock the bear off of him. He’s up pretty quickly. Then the bear does something freaky.

He talks.

"I’ve found him…he’s over here…"

Spike and I look at each other. Paddington, he ain’t. Who’s he talking to?

Suddenly Spike is on the ground again. There’s an arrow sticking out of his back. What now?

I turn and see several guys in black running toward us, holding up crosses. Fat lot of good that’ll do them. That may hurt Spike, but I use crosses as weapons. Crosses can’t hurt me.

I’m on the ground before I realize something. Bears? Bears can hurt me.

Spike is up, but he can’t do anything. The crosses have him stuck. I can throw the bear off, but I can see Spike wants me to wait. Guess we’ll see what this is about…

A woman in a dark blue dress walks between the guys with the crosses. Her hair looks funny. Maybe it’s because I’m looking at it upside down.

"I’m sorry for the inconvenience…" she says in a very polished English accent.

Spike laughs. "No worries…we get this all the time, don’t we, luv?""

Funny.

I see something in Spike’s eyes. He smiles down at me. God, this bear has got some funk.

"Luv, you know something…this lady reminds me of our friend Rupert."

I realize he’s right. Watchers.

"Yes, well, I’m sorry, but it was necessary. You two have quite the reputation. And it appears that your lady friend’s skills have been sorely underestimated."

Us two? People think of us as a couple?

Spike nods…

"You are William Sumner, aka William the Bloody, aka Spike?"

Spike looks at me and shrugs…I nod…go with it.

"Yeah, what of it…"

"We have an offer for you and Drusilla, here…"

Whoa…they think I’m Drusilla…I look at Spike. He’s about to break down laughing but he holds it.

"…uh…yeah…Dru, my darling…we want to hear this, right?…Just nod, honeykins…"

He is so going to get it for this. I nod.

"Yeah, Okay….what’s the offer."

"We want you to kill the Slayer."

Chapter 6

Watchers have got us flanked. Crosses in front, and were-bear in back. Were-bear, God, where’d they get such?

I look over at Buffy, and she’s still silent. I figure we better make sure we’re on the same page here.

"Dru, isn’t it nice to be around fellow BRITS again…I mean…especially now…all the Krauts hopping around…too bad you’ve got that problem with your throat, right?"

She digs a quick elbow into my ribs. That’s my girl.

We stop at an intersection.

The lady watcher turns to us. "It’ll be just a moment. We’ve had to arrange for special transportation for the two of you given the circumstances…"

"Sure…sure," I say. "Could Dru and I have a word alone for a second?"

"Of course."

They step away. The boys with the crosses and the crossbows are still eyeing me. The were-bear looks to be a small red-headed man now. Hmmm…big things in small packages.

I turn around and look at Buffy. She’s got that glow in her eyes. God I love that. So green.

I take a good look at her. She looks damn good. Too good. I take off my duster and put it around her.

"What’s that for?" she whispers.

"Because luv, you’re supposed to be British, not Britney. And while it may look quite smart in 2001, pierced navels aren’t really the rage these days."

"So…I’m a craaaazy vampire, remember. I talk to dolls and speak like some reject from Mary Poppins…what’s a pierced navel?."

I look hard at her. She gets it.

"Oh…you just don’t want anybody looking at it."

"Damn right I don’t."

After sitting in the back of a cargo truck for about twenty minutes, the lady watcher leads us into a meeting room in the basement of the Louvre. I look around. There are works by Vermeer, Picasso, Monet….all hidden away from the Nazis, I expect.

Everyone leaves the room except for Buffy, me, and the lady watcher.

"Taking a bit of chance, aren’t you, pet? I mean, what’s to keep me and the missus from taking a quick bite?" Well, there’s my chip, but she doesn’t know that.

"A show of good faith. We have a genuine offer, and I would understand if you would be reluctant to believe the Council of Watchers."

"You said something about killing the Slayer…now why would you want to do that?"

"Because…Spike…the Slayer has gone rogue. She has allied herself with forces that we here at the Council find …truly evil…"

"Vampires?"

"No…a Slayer would never ally herself with a vampire…"

Buffy suddenly starts coughing….I have to catch myself to stop from laughing.

"But the Council would…"

"At this instance…the Council considers it the lesser of two evils."

Buffy suddenly pipes up with the worst British accent I’ve every heard… "Oh, Dolly, dolly, dolly, dolly…Spike is lesser…definitely lesser…"

She sounds like Julia Child on speed.

"And you need my help for?"

"We’ve already sent six of our own operatives after her. They’ve come back in various pieces."

"Yeah…so…"

"So you have killed a Slayer. In one on one combat, in fact. Only vampire ever known to do it. We need you to kill this one."

"And what do I get out of it?"

"You get to kill another Slayer."

I look at Buffy. "No go. I’m through killing Slayers."

"We’re sorry to hear that….Mr. Sumner…may I call you Mr. Sumner…may I perhaps appeal to another part of you?"

"And which part will that be, lov?"

"You are British, yes…"

"Yes…"

"Take a look at these," she says, and plops down a folder in front of me and Buffy. I open it. God, that’s appalling…even to me.

"What…" Buffy starts, then catches herself, and begins to speak like that fat cook again. "Whot is this?"

I jab her in the side.

"The experiments the Slayer is involved in for the Nazis. Hitler has a serious interest in the occult. So far the Slayer is his top prize. But this…this indicates that she is helping him to perform experiments on humans…trying to genetically engineer vampire soldiers who can survive in the daytime…"

"The Allies won’t stand a chance…."

"No," said the watcher. "They won’t."

"The rest of these pictures, are what then," I ask, looking at what appear to be personnel files.

"They are the subjects of the experiments…or at least suspected subjects. Culled from the ranks of concentration camps, and from Germany’s own populace. Anyone with any trace of magical otherworldliness is subject to various forms of torture in order to further their experiments."

I look through the file, and stop at the last picture. It couldn’t be.

"Who is this?" I ask, showing the picture to the Watcher.

"That…is the wife of our were-bear, Joseph. She was taken during the first wave of German assaults on its own Jewish people."

I show the picture to Buffy…her jaw drops…

"Her name?" I ask….

"Sarah Rosenberg."

Buffy looks at me, and then says in her normal voice…. "We’ll do it."

Chapter 7

The watcher looks at me like she swallowed a bird. She turns to Spike….

"What is going on here? You are William the Bloody, aren’t you?"

"I am…"

"But she..this…she’s American…"

I smile. Finally I can talk.

"I’m not Drusilla."

"You’re not? Then who are you?"

"I’m Buffy."

She stood up and walked over to look at one of the paintings….she was shaking, but not in that freaky way, but in a way that made her look like she was thinking real hard. She took a pair of glasses out of her pocket, began to clean them. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and put them on. Wonder where I’ve seen that maneuver before…

"And you’re a vampire, as well…"

"No, I’m not…"

She looks at Spike. He shakes his head.

"Nope, she’s not a vampire. Next guess…"

"Demon?"

I smile. Usually everyone knows who I am. This is kind of fun. "Nope. Want to phone a friend?"

"What? You want to ring someone?"

"No, do you…never mind.." Okay. So maybe it wasn’t that funny.

Spike nudges me. "It’ll be funny in another 60 years, pet."

"I know, I’m just ahead of my time…huh…literally."

The lady walks around the table and looks me over like I’m about to bite her…I don’t like it so ..

"Boo!" I yell, and she jumps back.

"Sorry," I say, "Spike must be rubbing off on me…"

"I am?…."

"I didn’t say it was a good thing."

"But what I saw you do when you attacked Joseph…no human can do that…"

"She can….c’mon, think about it woman…girl…around vampires…extraordinary strength and agility…"

"You’re saying she’s a slayer? That’s impossible. There can be only one slayer at a time."

I smile. "I wish that was the case. It usually is…but it’s not like a law or anything…"

"But you were defending Spike…defending a vampire…"

Spike touches my hand, and says, "Luv, we might as well spill the whole kit and kaboodle…well almost," he says tapping his head. I get it. No chippie talk.

I look at the lady. She’s still staring at me like I’m nuts. You’d think I’d get used to it.

"Okay…what did you say your name was?"

"Elena…"

"Elena, here’s the scoop. We’re…" I turn and look at Spike… "I can’t believe I’m saying this. I feel so Ah-nuld…"

"You feel what?" she asks.

"Out with it, luv. They’re probably our best chance of getting back."

"Okay." I look at her and smile. "I’m from the future…God, how hokey does that sound?"

"You’re….from the future…"

"Yeah, when me and Spike got up this morning it was March 23rd, 200…"

"It was the 25th , pet…"

"Was not…"

"Damn well was, Nibblet’s birthday is day after tomorrow…"

"I know when my sister’s birthday is…"

"Well, obviously not…"

"Spike…she may hang on your every word, but she’s my…"

Elena clears her throat pretty loudly…

"You were saying….it was what year?"

"2002."

"And you got here how?’

"We don’t know."

"You don’t know."

"No…we don’t know…didn’t I just say that?"

"And you expect me to believe…you’re a slayer from the future…working with a vampire…and that it’s possible to have more than one slayer at once…and you know this how…"

"Well, I died once."

"Twice, pet."

"Yeah…twice… thanks for reminding me, Spike. It’s a habit I’m not fond of."

"You’ve died…twice…" asked Elena. "Actually dead…"

"Oh yeah, pet," said Spike. "Last time we had a tombstone and everything…"

"And another slayer was called each time?"

"Just the first time. I guess it used it up."

"So you know the new slayer, then?"

"Yeah, Kendra. I knew her."

"Knew as in past tense…"

Nothing gets by this lady. "Yeah…she’s dead…or wait..she’s not born yet…but she will be born…and be dead...anyway yeah…"

"And did you kill Kendra, Spike?"

"Me, no…"

"Who did?"

"Drusilla,"

"So you do know Drusilla…."

"Oh yeah. Crazy bitch."

"And another slayer was called…"

"Yeah….Faith…"

"You knew her as well…"

"Yeah. Wish I didn’t."

"Why is that?"

Spike stood up and lit a cigarette. "You’re not the only ones ever to have a rogue slayer problem, pet."

"So you killed Faith?" she asked Spike.

"No, he didn’t. I stabbed her in the gut, put her in a coma. She’s in prison now."

"One slayer fighting another…why?"

"She had poisoned Angel. It was the only way to save him…"

"Angel? You don’t mean Angelus…"

"Not painting a great picture for yourself, here, luv," said Spike.

I realized he was right. I guess I’d better leave out that whole part about telling the Council to kiss my cute ass. Or the fact that Angel lost his soul ‘cause I had sex with him. Probably wouldn’t go over too well.

"How do I know you’re not the rogue slayer…cavorting with vampires…"

That’s it.

"Listen, lady…Spike may be a vampire, but he’s done more good in the past three years than you can maybe do in a lifetime. I don’t know if that balances the scales with all the bad he’s done, but believe me lady…he’s paid his dues…"

I look at Spike. He’s just staring at me. Got I hate it when he does that. Makes him look all….nice.

"And what sort of dues would those be?" she asked.

"He put his life on the line against a hellgod…he was willing to die for me, and you think I’m not going to trust him?"

"A Hellgod?…"

"Glory…"

"Glorificus, pet."

"Yeah, Glorificus."

"You fought Glorificus…together…and lived?’

"Well, I died…"

"But she got better," said Spike.

I smile. "Yeah…I got better."

"Just a moment. I’ll be right back…I need to make a call…" She walked out of the room in a hurry. I could hear the door lock from the other side.

I turn around and Spike’s right behind me. "You really mean what you said to her?"

God he’s giving me the quiet voice. He only gives me the quiet voice when he’s threatening to kill me or trying to kiss me. I hate the quiet voice. It makes him so…human. Everytime he uses it, I get so…I don’t know how to act when he does that. He’s used it more and more since Glory. It’s almost his normal speaking voice these days. He knows I hate it. Knows what it does. God, I love it.

"You know I did…"

"You never told me…"

"Did I have to? I haven’t staked you, yet, have I?"

"You never could, pet…"

I think about that for a second. Could I have? I threaten him all the time…he knows it’s an empty threat, and always has been. Why, though?

Before I can figure it out, Elena comes back in.

"Please, " she says. "Sit down."

Both of us sit down, as a butler brings in a tray with tea on it. A butler. Wow. He’s even stuffier than Giles.

She looks like she’s waiting for us to say something…so I do.

"So do you believe us?"

"Yes….I do. You were immune to the crosses that my men used…plus, I’ve just had confirmation that Spike was seen across the city not five minutes ago…and since he is obviously sitting here….that leads to one conclusion…"

"Is it that obvious?" I ask. "I mean, I’d understand if you didn’t believe us, it just…"

"Has your watcher ever told you…you do have a watcher, don’t you?"

"Yes, I have a watcher, thank you for asking…" I say. I feel like I’m in kindergarten.

"Has your watcher ever used the term ‘Occisor Regina’?"

"He’s never talked about my ….that’s disgusting…"

"Pet…it’s Latin…and I’m not sure about that modifier, by the way…"

"You….know Latin?’

"I’m quite the educated vampire, if I do say so myself."

"Okay, smarty-pants. What’s it mean?"

"Slayer Queen," said Spike. "Pretty much describes you, I’d say."

I start to blush. How embarrassing is this? How does he do that?

I turn back and look at Elena. "No…no he hasn’t…"

"We all thought it was a myth…"

"You, of all people, didn’t believe a myth?" asked Spike. "You’ve got two myths standing right in front of you, and another one waiting outside like a rabid Winnie the Pooh…"

"Yes, well…it was written of…but was only supposed to happen every five thousand years…"

"What was supposed to happen?" I ask.

"There will be a slayer who cannot be killed. One who can fight the evil of vampires at its very core…."

"And you think that’s me?"

"William here…and his grand-sire Angelus….are considered two of the most dangerous vampires ever to exist….yet you talk of them as if they are allies…as if you have converted them."

"It’s not a religion, woman Buffy’s not Jesus."

"Thanks…I think."

"No problem. You watcher types try to make it all complicated. There’s a very simple reason I help Buffy."

Here it comes…the part I hate and love hearing at the same time. More love than hate, lately. I’m getting used to it. And he never gets tired of saying it.

"And what reason would that be?"

"I love her…"

"You…"

"He loves me. Get used to the idea." I turn and smile at him. "I have."

"But you’re a vampire…"

"So? Cor, I get tired of having this argument…thought I was through with it…"

I look at the watcher. She’s genuinely confused. Not that I blame her.

"So do you still want us to help? I mean, c’mon. We’ve got to be a better choice than the Spike of this time…and Drusilla? You don’t want that ho anywhere near you, trust me."

"You still want to help us?"

"Hell, yes, woman," says Spike. "We’ve got an interest."

"And what would that be?"

"That’s our business," I say. "You want our help or not?"

"Yes…yes, of course."

"Fine. You get talking to all the smart guys in tweed pants back in England, see if they can figure out a way to get us back. We’ll go after the slayer. And you can tell…Joseph…we’ll get his wife back, too."

"I’m afraid that isn’t quite the plan…"

"Screw your plan, missie," says Spike. "Buffy doesn’t take orders from the Council."

"You don’t?"

Spike just grins. "She is the Queen, after all."

Chapter 8

I’ve never been much of one for monkey suits. Not that I don’t look good in them. I’m sure I do. It’s just damn hard to get your tie right when you can’t see yourself in a mirror.

I was nervous. Didn’t know why. Yes I did. I was taking Buffy out on the town. Sure, we had to kill a slayer while we were out, but if the two of us couldn’t make a date out of that, who could?

I was still jerkin’ about with the tie when she walked in. She was wearing red, a red that reminded me of nothing so much as blood fresh from the neck. I know that’s why she wore it. She’ll deny it, but she likes to play it dark. She wears leather more than she wears lace, but she’s not a bad girl. No, not naughty at all.

Like I said before, she’s a bad liar.

She reaches up and helps me with the tie.

"Looking good, Billy-boy."

"Feeling good, Buffy."

She smiles a coy smile, and steps back so I can see her.

"What do you think?"

I can’t think much. All the blood has left my brain and gone to more southern latitudes. The dress is slit up the side far enough to let you know that you want to see farther, and the neckline …the neckline makes me lick my lips.

"You like…?"

She knows I do. So confident. Well…

"It’ll do," I say, trying to make my face look as unimpressed as possible.

"Uh huh," she says, nodding her head slowly. She knows I’m lying.

"Pet…"

"Yeah…"

"Not to be picky…but where are you gonna keep a stake in that outfit…?"

"No stake…knife…slayer, not vampire, ya know…"

"Yeah…well, where’s the knife?"

She walks toward the door, twirling her purse. She stops at the door, and puts one leg behind her so I can see up the line of her stockings. If I wasn’t damned already, it would be the final proof in my mind that there was a God.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?"

I look up. She’s laughing.

"You coming…?"

Oh, she’s not playing fair. Wants to lead her puppy on a string.

"Not yet, pet…but we’ll see where the night takes us…"

The party’s one of those weird affairs they threw in Europe in those days. Half state affair, half bacchanalia. Nazi officers with whores on their arms. Businessmen and their wives who’d be home by ten while their husbands went out and met yet more whores…

Between the prostitutes and the quislings, 70% of the people in the room had sold their souls in one way or another. Looking around I could tell I wasn’t the only one in the room without a soul to sell.

"C’mon," said Buffy. "Let’s mingle…"

"Are you forgetting something, luv? You don’t speak French or German…"

"Well, you can translate, right?"

"If I must…"

"Then we mingle…"

An officer whose insignia indicates he’s with the Luftwaffe approaches us.

<Hello…I’m William, and this is Elizabeth…>

<Charmed, I’m sure. You are very lovely, dear.>

<I’m afraid she doesn’t speak German…or French for that manner….she’s…> Damn, what language won’t he know?….<…Icelandic.>

<Ah…Icelandic?…I’d heard that the women there were beautiful. Now I have proof…come, dear, come, I’ve just the thing for you, > he says, taking her arm…

She looks at me, panicked.

I stifle a laugh, and nod. <I’m sure she does. >

I follow them over to the buffet and watch while she is forced to down some. The look on her face is worth the whining I’m going to hear later.

She makes like she has to go to the loo, and grabs me on the way by.

"Very funny, mister."

"It’s just cod, luv…"

"Fixed in what? Plutonium?"

"Don’t know love, never wanted to."

"Well, just for that, you’re going to have to dance."

"Dance?" I ask. This could be good.

"Well, we can’t exactly mingle, now can we? Not with you changing the subtitles like that…"

She leads me onto the floor, and the band starts to play something I would swear, if I didn’t know better, was "April in Paris."

She pulls me close and we start to dance. I don’t really know how she wants this to go…

"Spike, dancing usually involves moving…"

So I move.

The feel of her body against mine is something I’ve longed for. Now it’s not only happening, she’s pulling me closer.

I smell the vanilla in her hair, and take a deep breath, absorbing the feel of her skin. Her hair spills down over the open back of her dress, and I let the back of my hand follow it down her spine.

I feel her gasp.

This is such a bleedin’ good night.

We don’t say anything. For once, she’s letting me let go of myself, and do what I want to with her. Right at the moment, dancing is perfect. Dancing is lovely.

I find myself humming the words to the song. A song I’m sure is before its time. But then again, so are we.

As the song ends, the last line is "What have you done to my heart?"

I don’t have to ask her. I know.

She looks up at me, and I can feel her go on tip-toes to kiss me. Pulling her to me, the kiss lasts for seconds…or hours, I don’t know which. I don’t even smell the cod.

I let her down, and she smiles up at me, a finger running along my jaw. Then I can see her glance at something behind me.

"Spike, this slayer…"

"Simone, luv…"

"Simone…she’s a red-head, right? Tall?"

"Yeah…."

"She just walked in…"

"Guess playtime’s over then…"

As I turn, Buffy quickly pulls me back around, and pulls my head down into her shoulder.

"What’s wrong, pet?"

"They’re walking past…look and you’ll see what’s wrong…"

The slayer walks by me, all pomp and circumstance. The little man with the little mustache walks behind her, another lady on his arm.

"It’s Hitler, pet….this IS 1943…"

"Not him….her…"

I take a closer look at the lady on his arm. She smiles as she turns. I was right about this place when we got here. Another whore.

"Now, do you see what I mean?" asks Buffy.

"Yeah….guess, this calls for a little improvisation."

Taking Buffy by the hand, I walk up to the little dictator. The woman beside him smiles.

"So good to see you, William…Have you met Adolf?"

"No….I can’t say that I have, Darla."

Chapter 9

This is way too Indiana Jones. I’m standing here talking to Hitler. And the evil blonde beside him. Should have figured Darla for a Nazi. Too bad I don’t have a grail diary to get autographed.

"Hello, Darla," I say snottily.

"Spike…who is this? And where’s Dru…?"

I look at him. "Uhh….Dru and I are taking a little break. I wanted to, you know, shop around."

"You…shop around? Dru finally wise up and leave you?"

I see the anger in his eyes. I reach over and squeeze his hand. Not yet.

"…uh….yeah…well….this is Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth….she looks tasty, Spike…"

"She knows, ducks. Does the lil’ field marshal here?"

"He knows all the important things, don’t you, honeybunch ?" she says, rubbing Hitler’s head like he’s a four year old.

<Eva, who are these people?>

"Eva?" asks Spike…"He thinks you’re Eva Braun."

"I am Eva Braun," says Darla. "Didn’t you know? See my picture in the paper?"

"I’m not much of one for the social pages, dear."

"No, you never were…." She walks around behind me. "So…what’s her story…?"

"She knows the score…If she’s a good little dolly, I’m considering keeping her around for a while…"

"Are you ready for that, little girl?" asks Darla, leaning in and whispering in my ear. "Are you ready to lose your soul?"

"Were you?" I ask.

"Me…I never had much of a soul to lose…"

"Darla…" says Spike….

Darla looks up to see Simone walking toward us. The way she walks bugs me. It’s like she carries her stake in her ass.

"Eva, the Führer would like you and your friend to join him at his table."

Darla nods, and Simone quickly turns around and heads back to the table. She doesn’t like Darla and it shows. Hey, a point for Simone.

"She doesn’t care that you’re a vampire? Or is she just that stupid?" I ask….

"She knows…but she won’t tell anybody…"

"Why not?" asks Spike. "Seems just the little piece of info little Dolfie would love….why not just tell him? He’d get off on it."

"Because…"

"Because why, ducks?"

"You don’t need to worry about it…"

"Well, at least explain why the Slayer doesn’t tell him. I mean, is she a loose end here?"

"No…especially not that you’re here…"

"I don’t get it," I say…

"You wouldn’t. I just keep reminding her…" she says, running her hand along Spike’s neck, "that I’ve seen Slayers killed…and if she crosses me, I’ll make sure she doesn’t do it again. Spike being here just makes that threat that much more real….thank you, Spike…"

"You’re welcome, pet."

It’s all I can do to reach up and rip her arm off. I want to kill her, right here, right now. But I don’t even know if I can…I mean, if she dies now, how is Angel going to kill her later? And why is she pissing me off so much…she never had this much effect on me before.

God damn it. I’m jealous.

I see Spike can tell, and he steps back.

"Yeah, well…it’s been nice seeing you, Darla. But the little lady and me, we’re going to go home…"

"So early?"

"Yeah…you know…a little grunt and tuggle…a little bleeding…"

"C’mon, Spike" I say. "Let’s stay. We can always do that later. Unless you think you won’t be…up for it later?"

He doesn’t think it’s funny.

"Please do join us, Spike…I want to hear all about how Dru left you," says Darla as she turns to join Hitler at the table.

Spike grabs me by the shoulders.

"Are you daft, woman? Darla will see through this…"

"How? Darla never was quick on the uptake. It’s not like I’m pretending to be Drusilla or anything…and besides, we couldn’t just come here and stake Simone. We’ve got to find out where they’re keeping Sarah and the others…"

"Are you sure, pet? I mean, we don’t even know if she’s related."

Oh, right we don’t.

"Spike… she looks just like Willow. And her name’s Rosenburg…it’s probably her grandmother."

"I know, dear. But how do we know she doesn’t go on to live a merry happy life in flippin’ New Jersey?"

" I kind of want to make sure of that, you know…I kind of like having my best friend as actually existing…"

I see him take a deep breath.

"You’re right, luv."

"I am…I mean, yeah…of course, I am. Tell me again why I’m right."

"Listen, luv…I don’t want to take any chances here. If the wicca isn’t around….then you’re not around…" He says, taking my hand.

"No…I guess not…"

"But it still doesn’t do me any good if you go and get killed here…now…"

"No…but hey, Elena said they couldn’t kill me…that I’d come back again…"

‘Yeah, well…like I said, you’re not Jesus, pet. And even if you were, he still got nailed to the cross."

His hand brushes a hair off my forehead. He’s using the quiet voice again.

"….and luv, as impressive as the whole Lucy Lazarus bit is…it still hurts…"

"I know…"

"We don’t know for sure that you’ll come back either. Like the watcher said, it could be just a myth."

"I thought you were the one who believed in myths," I say, looking up into his eyes. How do eyes get that blue?

"I do. But this…you’ll understand if I hedge my bets…c’mon…if we’re going to do this, we can’t keep her waiting."

He turns to walk away. I keep hold of his hand, turning him back around.

"Spike?"

"Yes?"

"Do you believe in happy endings?"

He laughs a little laugh, and smiles.

"I’m starting to, pet. I’m starting to."

Chapter 10

I like to think of myself as a realist. I really am a monster. I know that. But I'm only one kind of monster. To my mind, there are at least two kinds. I'm your "boogey-man" kind of monster. The kind that attacks people on the moors in those old Gothic stories, the kind that children imagine is lying in wait for them under their beds. The kind your mum warned you about. I'm the predator in the jungle who'll rip your throat out at any second. But I'm okay with that.

Because it's natural. I'm a part of nature, her little reminder for all you humans who think you're at the top of the food chain. The sad part is, as natural as I'd like to think vampires are, we aren't. We don't reproduce like other animals do. We were once a different animal, created through some cockeyed bastardization of metagenesis. We don't show up in mirrors. We can't even go out in the soddin' daylight. But most of all, we're different from other animals in that we enjoy our killing.

I realize now that couching that joy that I took in nightly tearing the throats from young lovelies and stupid gits as "evil" was a lie. I was lying to myself to think that I was truly evil. I was only doing was came naturally, seeking food the only way that I could. The joy I took in it…while being vicious and cruel…was not ignorant joy. I knew what I was doing. Knew it was wrong. But it was the only real joy I had in my life, the thrill of the fight, the hunt, the kill. The only way that most vampires think they can live. I've learned differently in the last few years. I've learned that I don't have to kill to feel alive. I don't have to make things as dead as I am to feel joy. I just have to look at the girl sitting across from me at the table.

Which brings us to the other kind of monster. The bastard sitting next to her. Adolf God-damn Hitler. I figure I killed a person a night every night for a hundred years. That still doesn't come close to him. 6 million people in less than 10 years. Children, even. He's that other kind of monster. The willing monster, the ones who even with a soul treat the pain and suffering of others as tools for their amusement. Pedophiles, rapists, the kind that impose their will on others weaker than they. Who are deader in soul than I am in body. This thing sitting across from me, who decided his idea of right was the only one…who decided to play God, picking and choosing who lived and died. Like I said before, I always thought of myself as being part of nature, killing indiscriminately. He was anything but indiscriminate in his killing. He didn't kill for food. His weren't crimes of passion. He killed in the end, because he wanted to. Now that's the very definition of a monster, innit?

For the first time tonight, I'm thankful that Buffy can't understand German. He thinks he's amusing her with some story of a child and a lampshade Goebbels made for him. If she could understand him, I'm sure that story about him having only one testicle would be true enough by the end of the night. He actually thinks this will

work with her. I can tell by the hand he's reaching toward her leg. The hand I won't let touch her…

<Hey, Dolfie….the lady doesn't understand German. And in any case, she's not interested.>

Buffy hears the tone in my voice, and looks up at me, concerned. She looks down quickly, and I can see that she's trying to maneuver his attaché case under the table. I get it, might have a location on the Wicca's grandmother. But that can wait. Right now, I need to make sure the little dictator knows the score.

He wipes his hand across his forehead, swiping his hair across with it.

Great, not only was a he a genocidal bastard, he was a misogynist genocidal bastard.

Hitler sat back, smiling as though he had just opened a Christmas cracker. Damn. Maybe I gave him some ammunition.

<Ah, so this is the woman you love. I apologize. I was to understand you were involved with a "Drusilla"? I thought this girl to be only a dalliance.>

"Since when, Spike" asked Darla as she approached the table. Damn. Forgot all about her. That's what I get for letting the midget get to me.

"Speaking of bottled blondes…you did know she was an aeroplane blonde didn't you, Dolfie? Painted all nice on top, but she still has a black bo.."

"Since when what?" asked Buffy angrily. I can see she doesn't like being left out of the conversation.

Simone came and sat down next to me. I quickly look at her, and measure where she's keeping her stake, then back at Buffy.

"She wants to know how you and I met, pet. Don't you, Darla?"

"Sure…when you met," purred Darla in that dockside trollop voice of hers.

"Oh, that," smiled Buffy. "He tried to kill me."

"You tried to kill her. Why didn't you?" asked Simone.

"Yeah, Spike," grinned Buffy. "I'd like to hear this one. Tell us…"

I look across into her green eyes. When I tell her I'm drowning in her, it's moments like these that I'm talking about. I feel like I could get washed over by the colour of her eyes, smothered in the smell of her. The intensity of everything increases. She wants to hear the truth. And I want to tell her.

"To be honest…I don't know."

"You don't know?" asked Darla. "C'mon,Spike…spit it out…"

"Spit it out, Spike," said Buffy evenly.

"Because…she excited me…I actually felt myself breathing hard…."

"Are you sure that's what was hard?" laughed Darla…

"Shut up!" snapped Buffy. "Let him talk…"

Darla looked over at Buffy in a way that didn't say good news. Buffy knew she was a vampire, but wasn't acting scared of her. Darla may have the brain of a syphilis-ridden whore, but even she's got instincts.

"Spike?"

I can see Buffy is still waiting for my answer…I don't have time to think of a lie.

"Because," I said. "It didn't feel like fighting…it felt like….like…"

"Like what?" asked Darla…

"Foreplay" said Buffy. "It felt like foreplay." She smiles as she says it. Not like she thinks it's a bad memory. Not a bad memory at all.

I could feel Simone gripping her stake beside me.

"And so it was, WASN'T IT, DEAR?" I say, hoping Buffy realizes that sharetime needs to be over before they get the chance to put two and two together. I should have said killing, not fighting. Darla may not have caught it, but something tells me Simone did.

<Did you say she fought you?> asks Hitler.

Oh, bollocks. The midget awakens.

"Whatever gave you that idea, Herr William?" he says…"I apologize. It's a little game I like to play, to see just how stupid people think I am…"

Well, I can tell him right now, he's a lot stupider in my opinion than he thinks.

"So…Miss Elizabeth, is it…you and Herr William fought?"

"More than once," she says cautiously.

"And you survived…you must be formidable…especially for a girl so…slight…"

"I do okay," says Buffy nervously.

"Perhaps, then Herr William, you'd be interested in a little wager?"

"What did you have in mind, Dolfie?"

"Your Elizabeth versus my Simone…"

I look at her. It makes sense. She nods. She knows I can't kill her, not with the chip in my head. She was always going to have to be the one to do it. I can see it hurts, but she accepts it. She feels dirty, I can tell.

"All right," I say…."What are the terms?"

He smiles. He thinks because Simone is the Slayer, this will be a cake-walk. Shows what he knows.

"The terms are these, Herr William. If my Simone wins, I not only acquire your services…I acquire those of Miss Elizabeth as well…in whatever manner I see fit…"

Buffy looks over at him like he's nuts. What am I saying, he is nuts.

"Sounds fair as far as I go…but I can't speak for the lady. Sounds like pretty heavy punishment if she loses."

"It's okay," said Buffy. She's planning on winning anyway, let the little twerp dream, I guess.

"And what do I get if she wins?" I ask.

He reaches down into the attaché case and pulls out a small wooden box. "The contents of this box…which I assure you, you would be interested in…"

"What is it?" asks Buffy.

"Something I was going to give to Eva…or Darla, as you call her. But it is still mine to give…"

He pushes the box toward me.

I slowly open it. When I see what's inside, I quickly nod and shut the case.

"Done….with one condition," I say.

"What is it?" asks Hitler.

"You don't get her if she loses. This fight…it's to the death…"

Chapter 11

The first swing she takes is pretty weak. Either she's taking it easy on me, or she's afraid to lose. Probably taking it easy on me. I can't do this if she does that.

"That all you got?" I ask.

"You do not know what I am…" said Simone…

"Sure I do," I say, smiling. "You're a skanky Nazi ho who just happens to be a Slayer," I say, and hit her back. She flies into the back wall.

I hear Spike laugh behind me, and Darla gasp…

"You…she's a Slayer.." Darla says…

"And…" says Spike.

"You brought a Slayer here?"

I grin at Spike's response. "Well, YOU brought one…"

Simone catches me good in the gut. Pay attention to what you're doing, Buffy.

I look up at her. She's younger than me, and taller. But I can tell she's scared. Anyone would be. I know I was scared as hell the first time I fought someone I really thought could kill me. Of course, he didn't. He fell in love with me instead. Somehow I don't think Simone's going to be that lucky.

I roll and take her legs out.

"So, tell me, Simone…"

"What?!" she yells.

"Why are you a Nazi? I mean…I get Darla…I expect it from Darla…and well, Hitler…Hitler's gotta be a Nazi…I mean if he's not a Nazi, who's a Nazi?"

She takes another swing at me, and I catch her in an armlock, and start punching while I talk to her.

"I mean really, Simone. You're better than this. You're the Slayer."

She manages to flip me over, and looks down at me… "The same reason you're with Spike…"

"And what's that," I ask, waiting for her to attack.

"Because I enjoy it," she says, and I see her go for the knife she has hidden in the small of her back. Too bad for her I already had my hand on mine. I slash her as she goes by, and some of her blood drenches my arm.

She gets up holding the wound, looking down at it, like it's some kind of impossibility.

"Believe it, honey," I say. "It's not the first time I've done it."

"You….you talk too much," she yells and catches me in the chin with the hilt of her knife. Before I know it, we're on the ground and she's on top of me.

Okay, not a situation I foresaw, but hey, I've been in worse. I look over at Spike. He rolls his eyes, like he's getting impatient with me. Glad one of us isn't afraid I'm going to die. But then again, I'm this Slayer Queen, aren't I? Not supposed to be able to die….wonder if anyone gave the memo to Simone. If not, too bad for her.

I knee her in the crotch and flip her off of me.

"That wasn't very ladylike," she says.

"Sue me…besides come into the 21st…wait, sorry…that's wrong…"

"Whar are you talking about?" she says…

"Nothing…just come and get it…." As I say it, I realize I've said it before. It's what I said to Faith right before I stabbed her in the gut. That was different, though. Faith is better than Simone. Faith had a chance to kill me. Simone…only has a chance to die. And I think she knows it.

"All right," she says. She's telegraphing her moves. I can see her coming. She knows she's going to die, and she wants it. The death wish Spike told me about. This is it.

So I grant her wish She tries a right cross to my face but she never connects. I'm below her, backhanding the knife across her stomach. Things come out I don't want to know about. I feel myself start to heave.

I look up and Spike, and catch myself. He nods at me, telling me it was the right thing to do, that I had to. I know he's right, but it doesn't make me feel any better. It makes me feel even worse when I look down at Simone, and see she's still alive.

She tries to say something, and I lean down to hear.

"They…they have my father," she whispers. "Save him…"

I look back at her eyes as they go dead. Oh …no….. I just killed her, and she was only doing this because…

"AAAAAAAAAAAArgh," I look up and see Spike on the floor in pain. Above him I see Drusilla.

"Bad Boy," she says, the knife she's holding dripping blood. Spike's blood.

"Buffy" yells Spike. "Behind you!"

It's too late. I feel the cold hand grip my neck and lift me off of the ground. I don't have to turn around to know who it is…I can tell by the voice…

"Well, well…look at this little cutie…"

Chapter 12

Not again. And definitely not like this.

He'll kill her. I know he will. He's me. A pathetic love besotted fool who deserves to die. But not one to hesitate. So I do the one thing I know will stop him before he starts.

"Dru, dear," I say, grabbing her by the wrist and folding myself behind her. "Do be a doll, and be a good hostage."

He laughs. "What do you think you're doing, mate? That's Drusilla. She's no shrinking violet, her. She'll kill you."

"But I'm you, William Percy Eugene…" I say, enunciating each name…

His eyes go empty. No one's called me that since I was ten years old, a human ten at that.

He lightens his grip enough on Buffy for her to kick him in the underarm, and run to my side. He's still on the floor and I look to make sure Darla's keeping her distance. She is. She may be dim, but she was always big on survival.

Buffy looks at me with that `I'm so funny' glint in her eye. "Percy Eugene?" she asks.

"Oh, just get the case, BUFFY…"

She runs behind the table, and grabs the case. Hitler has his hand on it, and doesn't look like he wants to give it up. Not a smart move.

"I'm going to remember this," she says, and backhands him to the floor. "Fondly." She hops back over the table, and is soon back at my side, where she belongs.

"What are you going to do, mate? Door's behind me…and if you are me, you know I'm not going to let you pass…" he says.

I smile. "Well, I am you, mate. But I'm older and wiser," I say. There's a loud crack as I twist Dru's neck in my hands. She falls to my feet. He drops to his knees like I knew he would. I reach back and grab the box off of the table, and signal for Buffy it's time to go. I smile at Darla as I walk past her. I open the door for Buffy, and before I shut it, I can't resist one last parting shot…

"And I have much better taste in women…"

We barely make it out of Paris, between the SS and my former minions. The watcher lady manages to get us to London right as the sun's rising.

Buffy and I sleep the day away, and wake just after tea. Elena is showing the contents of the case to her fellow watchers. I don't know what interests them more, the case, the Slayer Queen, or a vampire who isn't going to kill them. They have us ensconced in some drafty room on the upper floor of the British Museum. There are a lot of
large windows, but no direct sunlight. For once I actually have a view of London in the daytime. I think Buffy can tell it's appreciated. Between the tea and the sights, we're keeping busy. I almost cry when I try to point out the church I went to as a child. It's been destroyed by the blitz. That and a lot of other places I liked. Even some I didn't.

I'm trying to show Buffy the proper use of honey when there's a knock on the door. Buffy answers it, and I can tell it's not Elena.

"Can I help you?" she says….

"Yes…yes I think so, " says a polished English voice. Almost sounds stentorian.

She steps back, and lets him in. Smiling, she tries to play the host. "Hi, I'm Buffy, and this is…"

"Billy," he says. Something about the voice.

I stand up and stare at him…he's old, probably 75, and wearing a uniform that says he's important. But I don't know him…

"Billy," he says… "they told me and I didn't believe them…but it really is you." He hugs me, then quickly pulls away. I can tell he wasn't expecting me to be cold.

I look in his eyes, and see an older, paler reflection of my own. I look down at his uniform, and see the badge that says "Sumner". Finally it dawns on me…

"Hello, Morris…"

"Mother told us you were dead."

"I am."

I can see Buffy wants to know what's going on. She's craning her neck like she does when she wants me to do something, like she's a sled-dog trying to pull an explanation out with her teeth. I personally have much better uses for her teeth.

"Buffy," I say, guiding my hand behind her shoulder and facing her toward the man, "this is my little brother, Morris. He was 11 when I was turned."

I can see the surprise on her face. I don't blame her. No doubt the closes thing to my family she thought she'd ever meet is Drusilla or Angel. But this…this was my human family.

To be honest, I didn't know how to act. I haven't seen Morris since I was human, and it had been two years at that when I was turned.

"So…you're in the army, then?" I say. Small talk is better than nothing, but I'm an absolute prat at small talk. Better than going into what I know he wants to talk about.

"Yes…yes, I'm in intelligence. They brought me the information you obtained…and they said you got it from Hitler himself…and so I demanded to know the name of the person who obtained it…and it took a lot to find out, I tell you…but when they told me…I didn't believe them. I had to come"

"I understand, Morris. But you shouldn't of. I'm dead. I should remain that way."

"How is it…except for the abominable hair, you look the same…"

"Tell him, Spike," says Buffy. I look at her, trying to make her back off.

"Oh, don't you even try that, buddy," she says. "You never let me get away with it with my sister, this time the shoe's on the other foot. Tell him."

"Tell me what…"

I look at him. "You say you're in intelligence."

"Yes…"

"So you consider yourself an intelligent man…"

"I took honors at Cambridge…"

"Cambridge, really? Good for you…"

"Spike…"

"Why does she call you Spike…"

"It's my nomme de guerre, mate…"

"Huh?" asks Buffy… "I thought it was your nickname…"

"That's nickname in French, luv…"

"You know I don't speak French…."

"Well, I wasn't talking to you, now was I, pet?"

"No, but you could at least talk so I …"

"Excuse me," says Morris. "You were saying?"

I put an arm on each shoulder. "Morris….I'm a vampire."

He looks over at Buffy, who's nodding enthusiastically in affirmation.

"I don't believe you," he says.

"Believe this," I say, and shift into game face.

Surprisingly, he is non-plussed. Gotta admire that stone faced British reserve. But he's not that reserved.

"Still shaking your knee like you did when you were little, Morris? Trying to keep from peeing your pants?"

I shift back as he steps away.

"He won't hurt you," says Buffy, taking his hand. "Touch him…he's cold…but he's nice," she says, smiling at me.

"Take that back…"

"No," she laughs. "You two, sit…talk…catch up…this is probably the only chance you'll get…Spike, I'm going to see what Elena found out on where they're keeping Willow's grandmother and…"

"And what, luv?"

"I'll be back," she says. A lie of omission is still a lie, pet. And you can't lie to me.

I look at Morris, and he stares back at me. For lack of anything better to do, I reach out and ruffle what's left of his hair like I used to do when he was little. That breaks the ice.

We sit and talk for what must be hours. He tells me about his life, and even shows me pictures of the little grand-nibblets. Tells me what happened to my two sisters, and where they are now, tries to convince me to go see them. I convince him that wouldn't be a good idea. He asks why, and I tell him about my life. All of it. He's a military man, I figure he can take it. I tell him every little detail from the blood and death, to the chip, to Buffy. He sits and listens.
I can almost imagine I'm reading him Kipling, and tucking him into bed, like I did all those years ago.

"So…you love her…"

"More…more than I can express…"

"And you were never one to be at a loss for words, were you, Billy. I read some of your poems you know…"

"Bloody awful" we say simultaneously, and laugh.

"So what are you going to do?" he asks.

I look at him, and decide. "I'm going to ask you a favor, brother."

"Anything."

"I need you to find someone….something, actually, and give him this." I go to the desk window at write out a short note, and hand it to him.

He looks down at it, and laughs. "Are you sure they'll understand this?"

"They will. They're even more cryptic than I am, believe me…"

Air raid sirens blare in the distance.

"All right," he says. "I should be going. War calls you know…"

"Yeah, guess it does."

I walk him to the door, and he turns and hugs me.

"I love you, Billy…we all do…even if you're a god-damned bloodsucker," he laughs.

I feel a tear creep out of my eye. Quickly wiping it, I nod at him.

"I love you, too, Morris." Two years ago, I wouldn't have been able to say that. Wouldn't have been able to feel that, and if I did, I wouldn't admit it. God damn you, Buffy Summers, you've made me a poof.

"And your lady friend, Billy…take care of her. She cares, I can tell, despite what you say…"

"Taking care of her's all I think about, mate…"

Buffy comes in about 15 minutes after Morris leaves. I'm standing at the window, looking out as the searchlights comb the sky. It's dark, darker than I can ever remember London being. You can actually see the stars. She leans into me, and we look out together into the darkened streets.

"How was your brother…?" she asks…

"He's…quite the man. I'm proud of him…"

"And how are you?" she asks.

"Worried…"

"About what?"

"I don't know how to get you back, luv…"

"I know…it's okay…"

"No…no it's not…it's not enough…I never do enough…"

She looks up at me, confused.

"What is this about? Is this about Glory?"

"No…no…it's everything…you deserve more than I'm able to do…"

"Spike…I've never asked you to do anything. You just won't leave," she jokes.

"It's not funny, pet. My brother Morris…he has a family he looks after…takes care of their every need…and you…I can't even keep you from dying…"

"Spike…I'm not your responsibility…"

"Yes, you bleedin' well are…you and Dawn both are…I made you a promise…and I've not kept it…"

"Spike, " she says, reaching up to brush my face… "You've done more than I could ever expect…more than I hoped for…"

"But it's not enough," I say, and reach out and grab her throat. I catch her in a sleeper hold, and lower her to the ground. The chip does nothing. A sign I'm right, or so I'd like to believe.

"I'm sorry, Buffy. But it's not enough."

On to Part II: The Anarchy of Deep Water

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