Disclaimer: All the vampires are Joss Whedon's, not mine.

Thanks so much for the reviews thus far!


*******************************
Chapter 2
*******************************
 
Brrr, Buffy thought sleepily. Why does it feel so cold this morning? She opened one eye and noticed it was still very dark. What time is it? She looked around, but where she expected to see a clock radio she saw only a guttering candle. She sat up and took in the stone walls around her. What am I doing in Spike’s crypt? She looked all around but didn’t see any sign of the vampire anywhere. Then she looked down and yelled, “What the hell?”
 
Where she expected to see her yummy sushi pajamas, she saw instead a pale expanse of skin leading down to a clearly male set of body parts. She let out another yelp of surprise, then realized that her voice was deep and British. She scrambled out of the bed, looking all around. “Spike? Is this some kind of trick?” There was no answer. She looked down again and recognized Spike’s body – Lord knows she had seen every inch of it in the abandoned house that night. She ran her hands over her face to find Spike’s bladelike cheekbones and a head topped with Spike’s curly hair. Another body swap? How the hell did this happen? She had a vague memory of some weird sensation – was that just the previous night? Was this a spell? Had Willow gone off the wagon? With a gasp she realized that there was a strong likelihood that Spike was now inhabiting her body. What mischief could he be getting up to in her body? I gotta get home. Like now.
 
Buffy hunted around the untidy space and came up with a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. She started to look for underwear, then remembered, oh yeah, he goes commando. She pulled on the clothes and located some socks and his Doc Martens. She stormed up the stairs and across the crypt, thinking, he is so dead if he does something bizarre to my body. She yanked open the door of the crypt and was about to stomp out the door when she felt an excruciating pain in her arm. She looked down and jumped backward in alarm as she realized that her arm was on fire. ”OW!” she yelled. She threw herself on the ground and rolled until the flames went out, then surveyed the smoldering flesh. Oh yeah. Spike’s body equals Spike’s sunlight allergy. Fuck, this hurts.
 
Buffy shut the crypt door and sat down in Spike’s armchair, nursing her burn. She noticed a bottle of whiskey on the floor next to the chair and picked it up. I must have vampire constitution. Maybe some of this will dull the pain without turning me into pukey cave Buffy. She opened the bottle and drank it, noticing that the burn of the whiskey seemed to affect the vampire taste buds much less. After a long, long swallow she put down the empty bottle and burped. The pain seemed a little less, and she found she wasn’t even buzzed. This is kind of fun. Must be nice to be able to hold your liquor.
 
Buffy sat back in the armchair and contemplated her next move. She knew there were tons of tunnels in Sunnydale that could be accessed through the crypt, but she had no idea where they all went, and didn’t relish the idea of taking a wrong turn and ending up knee deep in sewage. I suppose I’m stuck here until nightfall, she mused. She knew that Spike, for all his faults, would take care of Dawn and explain things to her. He would probably come looking for her as soon as he realized his predicament. Since she didn’t really know what would happen to her if Spike’s body dusted, she figured that playing it safe was probably a good idea.
 
Buffy wandered back downstairs to Spike’s bedroom. She noticed Spike’s lighter on the bedside table and lit a bunch of candles to dispel more of the gloom. She kicked off the Doc Martens and started poking around Spike’s things. A box in a corner turned out to contain a pile of leather bound journals, some very old. I really shouldn’t, she thought. Then she grabbed one and flopped face down on the bed thinking, but I’m going to anyway. She opened the journal and kicked her feet in the air as she read. This particular one was from the late ‘60’s, and she soon found herself giggling at Spike’s description of getting stoned at Woodstock. It was utterly fascinating to read his wry commentary about Drusilla, Flower Children, and the variable quality of drugs available. When she finished she dived back into the pile to get another, and settled in to read again.
 
After a while she came to a very pleasant realization. No one was bothering her. She was actually relaxing. No whiny teenager. No calls from bill collectors and social services. No needy witches. No Scoobies giving her the ‘snap out of it’ look. She was reading something she wanted to read, in a quiet comfortable place, and no one was demanding that she do anything. I could get used to this, she thought. She started to wonder how long of a vacation from her body she could get away with. Maybe I could just take a couple days off. Let someone else be Buffy for a while.
 
Her conscience reminded her that Dawn actually needed her, and she did need to sort things out with Social Services. But then the devil on her other shoulder thought, she survived for the whole summer without me. She’ll probably survive a day or two with Spike. The thought was liberating. A deep sigh of contentment escaped Spike’s mouth as she made herself comfortable and went back to reading.
 
**********************
 
Spike was having a marvelous dream. He was walking toward the ocean on a white sand beach, wind in his hair under a clear blue sky. The Slayer rose out of the water and came toward him, sleek and tanned in a small bikini. They met and kissed, closing their eyes, and Spike reveled in the warmth of her lips and the warm sun on his skin…
 
Suddenly Spike became aware that his skin actually did feel warm. He half opened his eyes and then scrambled out of bed with a shout, as he realized that there was a shaft of sunlight splayed over the pillow. “How the hell…” He stopped. He had been about to wonder how a stray sunbeam had managed to work its way down to his basement bedroom, when he realized that he wasn’t where he had fallen asleep last night. The bed was covered with a fluffy floral bedspread, the walls were covered in posters and photos and cheery wallpaper. How the hell did I end up in Buffy’s room? He looked around and then did a double take. Buffy’s face had appeared in the mirror, but when he whirled around he saw no one. Then he turned back to the mirror and his mouth dropped open in astonishment. He walked up to the mirror, seeing Buffy’s form approaching from the glass, until he found himself reaching out to touch the reflection. “Bloody hell,” he whispered. The British slang sounded completely absurd coming out of Buffy’s mouth with Buffy’s voice. I’m in Buffy’s body. How in the name of all that is holy did that happen?
 
There was a knock on the door at that point. “Buffy?” Dawn called. Then the door opened and Dawn came in, fresh from the shower and wrapped in a towel. “Can I borrow your pink sweater?”
 
“Dawn!” squeaked Spike. “Put some clothes on for heaven’s sake!”
 
Dawn looked at Buffy strangely. “Get a grip, we’re all girls.” Dawn bustled over to the closet while Spike blushed furiously and looked anywhere but at Dawn. Christ. Slayer’ll stake me good and proper if she thinks I was ogling her sis. “So can I borrow this?” Dawn asked, emerging from the closet with the sweater.
 
“Um, yeah, sure,” said Spike in Buffy’s voice.
 
“Thanks. You’d better get dressed so we can get there on time.”
 
“Huh?” Spike had no idea what Dawn was talking about.
 
Dawn’s face darkened. “You forgot. Do you even care if I stay here or not?”
 
“Dawn, I…” Spike sputtered. He desperately wanted to tell Dawn what was going on, but he couldn’t bring himself to upset her further. “I just woke up. I’m sorry I’m a little bleary still.”
 
“Well if you don’t get moving you’re going to be late for the teacher conference, and that witch from social services is going to freak,” Dawn said sullenly. “So if you could pretend to care for a minute, I could use someone that looks like a responsible guardian.” With that Dawn stomped out to get dressed.
 
Fuck. Now what. Spike realized that if he went to go find Buffy to sort this all out, Dawn was going to be in hot water. I suppose I could fake a teacher conference. How hard could it be? He shuddered at the thought of what Buffy would do if she lost Dawn to a foster home. Bint would go off the deep end big time. Taking a deep breath, he resigned himself to playing Buffy for the morning, and sorting out this body swap problem later. Presumably, Buffy was in his body and in his crypt, and stuck there for the day, so he would have to hunt her down after this conference thing was over.
 
Spike went over to the closet and was immediately overwhelmed by the endless array of choices. Bloody hell. How do they sort through all this? It had been a very long time since he had worn anything other than jeans and a reasonably limited selection of shirts. Now he was faced with skirts in twelve different lengths, slacks, jeans, every color of the rainbow. He fought back a bit of panic and took a deep breath. Ok, William, get a grip. Authority figures. Think somber and respectable. He found a pair of black slacks and a short sleeved pale blue sweater. As he was about to pull on the slacks he remembered, Undergarments. Pretty sure Buffy always wears those, more’s the pity. Some exploration of the dresser yielded panties and a bra, and after a few minutes’ struggle he managed to get the bra on. I can get these off in about two seconds, but who knew how hard these damn things were to get on? Finally dressed, he wrestled with Buffy’s hair for a few long minutes until he had managed to get it into a decent ponytail. Must have been 1910 the last time I had to put my hair in a queue, he thought ruefully. Satisfied that he looked as good as he was likely to get, he went downstairs.
 
On the way into the kitchen he noticed a calendar on the wall, with ‘9:15 – conference’ written on the current date. The wall clock told him it was 8:45, and he felt a small twinge of panic. Dawn was working her way through a bowl of cereal. When Spike walked in, she looked up and said, “You’re wearing that?”
 
Spike looked down. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked, confused.
 
“I thought you hated that sweater.”
 
“Well, I thought it looked more… responsible or something,” Spike stammered. He realized that the stomach of the body he was inhabiting was growling, so he poured a bowl of cereal and sat down at the counter.
 
“You’d better hurry. We’re never going to be able to walk there in time if we don’t leave, like, now,” Dawn said, getting up.
 
Man, is Nibblet always this bitchy in the morning? “Why don’t we just drive there?” Spike asked. It made sense to him. Joyce’s car was sitting in the driveway, and rarely got used.
 
Dawn scoffed. “Since when did you actually learn to drive?”
 
“What? I have my license!” I think. Buffy does have one, right?
 
“Yeah, but you suck at driving.”
 
Spike lost patience. “Well maybe I should be practicing more,” he barked. He finished the cereal and grabbed Buffy’s jacket off the hook. He scooped up the car keys from a basket on the hall table and said, “Are you coming or not?”
 
“Fine. What’s one more car accident this week?” Dawn grumbled. She grabbed her stuff and they headed out to the car.
 
Spike found himself hesitating for a moment before stepping out into the daylight. “Um, like, today would be nice,” snapped Dawn from behind him. He took a deep breath and stepped out into broad daylight for the first time in a century and a quarter, other than that brief fling with the Gem of Amara. Forgot what this feels like. Realizing there was no time for basking, he quickly got into the driver’s seat and waited for Dawn to get in. He was about to back out when Dawn said, “Seatbelt? You’re always hollering at me about it.”
 
“Sorry,” Spike muttered. His old DeSoto had been devoid of seatbelts. He honestly never thought about them. What was going to happen in a crash? He would become even more dead? But he buckled Buffy’s human frame in securely and headed off to the school.
 
Dawn noticed that the drive was amazingly smooth, considering the driver. Usually Buffy gave her passengers whiplash with every stop and slammed them into their seats with every acceleration. When they pulled smoothly into a parking space at school, Dawn had to say something. “Wow. You usually take about five tries to get into a parking space. Have you been taking driving lessons on the sly or something?”
 
“Um, Spike gave me a few pointers,” he said. Like letting me take over the body for driving purposes, he thought. “Let’s go. I need to figure out where I need to be.”
 
“Just follow me,” Dawn said. She led him through the crowded halls to the guidance office. “Mrs. Henderson is in there,” she said. She gave him a quick hug. “Sorry I was so grumpy this morning.”
 
“It’s okay,” Spike said. “Now get to class before you get in trouble, Nibblet.”
 
Dawn raised her eyebrows. “Since when do you call me Nibblet? That’s Spike’s nickname for me.”
 
“I guess I’ve been working with him too long,” he said, thinking quickly. Have to watch that stuff until I get a chance to figure out what the hell happened. “Now scoot. See you at home later.” Spike took a deep breath, ran his hand over Buffy’s hair and walked in to the guidance office.
 
“Hello, I’m here to see Mrs. Henderson about Dawn Summers,” he said to the first person he encountered.
 
“And you are?” said the woman at the first desk, who he hoped was a secretary and not someone he was supposed to recognize.
 
“My name’s Sp… Buffy. Buffy Summers.”  Christ, this is hard. You’d think if someone was going to stick me in Buffy’s body they’d give me enough of Buffy’s brain to keep the names straight.
 
The woman looked at him curiously, but finally said, “Have a seat. I’ll see if Mrs. Henderson is ready.”
 
He sat down, at first starting to sink into his usual sprawl, but then realizing that he needed to look more like, well, Buffy, rather than Spike in a Buffy suit. He sat up straight and looked around somewhat nervously. He hadn’t been in anything like a principal’s office since his days in boarding school, where he had occasionally had to face the headmaster over some infraction. He remembered feeling about as comfortable then as he did now.
 
After a long time, by the end of which his borrowed body was starting to perspire in the blue sweater he had chosen, a voice said, “Ms. Summers?” He stood to greet a thin woman in her thirties with dark brown curly hair. “I’m Mrs. Henderson. Please come into my office.” Spike followed her down the hall into a small office with pale yellow walls and comfortable chairs.
 
“Please, sit down,” said Mrs. Henderson. Spike obeyed while the counselor pulled out a file with Dawn’s name on the tab. “Dawn has had a significant problem with tardiness this term, I see.”
 
“Um, yes,” stammered Spike. “Sorry about that. We were here on time today though, so I believe with a few minor adjustments to the morning schedule we can improve that problem.” I bloody well hope, for both their sakes.
 
“Academically, Dawn is clearly very bright, but she does not always apply herself,” Mrs. Henderson continued. “She sometimes is quite moody and uncooperative in class.”
 
“The b… she…” Spike had been about to say that the bint lost her mother last year, what the fuck did the woman expect? But after taking a deep breath and desperately trying to keep a lid on his usual choice of words he said, “We both have had an extremely hard time dealing with losing our mother this past year. I had some… health issues over the summer that worried her as well. I’m doing much better now, but she is still dealing with fears of being left alone.” Spike figured that being dead probably constituted a significant health issue, although he had learned to live with it.
 
“I understand,” Mrs. Henderson said sympathetically. “Do you think that seeing a counselor regularly for a check in would be helpful?”
 
Fuck if I know. Aloud he said, “I’m sure it could help. Could that be done through the school?” He doubted Buffy had any spare money for private therapy.
 
“Certainly. I will set up an appointment for her to speak with one of our counselors this coming Friday.”
 
“Thank you. Is there anything else I should be concerned about?” Or can I please get out of here before I make some major slip-up?
 
“The only thing I would say is that she is farthest behind in her French class,” Mrs. Henderson said after consulting her notes. “She needs to complete her homework and do better on the next exam in order to bring her grade into passing range. Otherwise she is doing well enough, although not necessarily at her full potential.”
 
“I will try to work with her on her homework and such,” Spike said. Mrs. Henderson got up, signaling the end of the conference, and Spike rose to shake her hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you Ms. Summers.”
 
“Likewise,” Spike replied. He stood up and made his way out of the building, back to the car. Need to remember to tell Buffy all this, he thought. I suppose I should encourage her to go home and help Dawn more. He felt a little twinge of remorse at the idea that his deliberate prolonging of patrols to spend more time with Buffy was keeping her away from the Nibblet, possibly to Dawn’s detriment. Don’t want to go causing the girl more trouble, William.
 
Spike reached the car and got in. He rolled down the windows, reveling in the sun and the wind. It occurred to him that he had never, ever driven a car during the day with the windows down, cars having been invented too late for him to enjoy while he was alive. Don’t suppose Buffy will mind if I cruise a bit before I give her car and her body back. A grin broke across his borrowed face as he turned on the radio, flipped through until he found a station that was playing something loud, cranked it, and pulled out of the parking lot with a screech of the tires.