AN Beta'd by Slackerace

And you wound yourself and your loved one bleeds
And your habits grow and your conscience feeds
On all that you thought you could be
I never dreamed this could happen to me

Ten minutes of searching for clothing for Spike and Buffy had turned up exactly one black T-shirt, stolen from same one night months ago when his impatient attentions had destroyed her own blouse then stuffed guiltily in the bottom of a closet. And that was a no-go, she couldn't be sure even after such time that he wouldn't be able to pick up their combined scents. The same went for his duster; she wasn't prepared to even look in that closet, wasn't really keen on admitting to herself that she hadn't thrown the thing away. So Buffy shoved the T-shirt in the washing machine and borrowed Dawn's least frilly sleepshirt and a pair of sweats at least four sizes too short for the vampire, though he probably now had the waist to fit in any clothing in the house. She left them folded in a neat pile outside the bathroom door and added black jeans to her mental shopping list before slipping into shoes that didn't have fluffy bunnies on them and heading out for the butcher’s.

********

When Buffy returned home she was laden with blood and clothes and Spike was nowhere to be seen. Buffy called Dawn first, let her know they were safely home, though the call quickly became an argument when the Slayer asked her sister to stay another night at Anya's.

And then the phone call to Bath, with the inevitably awkward explanations, but an unexpected voice answered the phone.

"I'm okay Giles, you don't need to check in every two minutes."

"Willow?"

There was such a long silence on the line the Slayer expected the dial tone to interrupt any second. "Buffy?"

"Willow! Um... Hi?"

Willow must have heard the unspoken 'you haven't escaped and got back on the magic crack?' question because instead of a greeting she said: "Giles knows I'm here, they said I was ready to practise being in a less controlled environment. He got called out to some emergency Council meeting, but he'll be back in an hour or so. How are you? How's Dawn?"

"Willow!" Buffy repeated, because she hadn't thought to rehearse this conversation. "We're both fine."

It must have taken her far too long to say the words; she could hear the anxiety increase in her friend's voice. "Can I take a message for Giles? Or can I help? You don't want to talk to me, do you?"

"I was kinda geared up for Giles," Buffy admitted. "I had my excuses planned out and everything. If you could maybe sound a little more disapproving I could get back in the mood?"

"What have you done that he'd disapprove of?"

"Kidnapped Spike from demon mafia slave traders."

There was a long pause before Willow's voice came back over the line, slightly more steady. "That's not as bad as trying to end the world, I'm not sure I can disapprove."

"Well I bet I'm gonna get a bigger lecture than you did," Buffy grumbled. "Anyway, it turned out not to be Spike at all which is why I was calling. What's new in Britain?"

"Giles has an itsy bitsy teeny apartment called a flat and there's nothing to do here but drink beer. Revolting flat beer. Nothing as exciting as demon mafia."

"And how are you?" asked the Slayer more seriously.

"Probably better than I should be."

"All demagicified, then?"

"Um... No... See it wasn't... I can't really be demagicified. It's part... Most of it is just knowing how to do stuff, and you can't really unlearn it. But it wasn't... The homicidal tendencies were something else, the magic is under control."

Buffy digested this, not very happily, and tried to swallow a worried response.

"I can't change it," Willow added. "I'm sorry Buffy."

Buffy took a deep breath. "That's quite the big news that Giles completely failed to even hint at. So you can do spells now without going all veiny? I can ask you stuff about magic?"

"That's the theory. But maybe you'd better tell me what on earth's been happening first."

Buffy hardly realised just how much she'd missed her best friend until she started talking, recounting Dawn's welcome reappearance and the rescue of Spike that turned out to not be Spike at all. Willow made all the right sympathetic noises in a way Giles simply didn't know how to.

"So now I have exactly zero ideas," Buffy finished. "So I need you to have a few brainwaves and tell me what the hell is going on."

"Off the top of my head? They could be importing their product from other dimensions, he could be the Spike from a slightly different world. Or, he could be our Spike, and he's been in a dimension where time doesn't run the same. Or he could be some kind of clone. Did he say how long it was since he last saw you, from his point of view?"

"No, I'll ask him."

"And find out if he remembers everything exactly the same up to that point. Of course," Willow continued, "He could just be Spike, spinning you a line for his own nefarious purposes."

"I really don't think he's making it up, Will. The real Spike wouldn't have the patience to stay in character for more than two minutes. Did I mention he stayed silent for a whole half hour in the car? That's a physical impossibility for our Spike."

"Ooh! Vengeance wishes. You didn't happen to say to Anya 'I wish Spike could be tortured for three years'?"

"I did not," said Buffy firmly. "And Dawn never uses the W word anymore. It can't be anything Anya did, she'd been... helping. Any more ideas?"

"Sorry, that's all I got. If he was human I could maybe track his life force, see if it's tied to this dimension, but I don't know how the spell would translate to a vampire.

Buffy hung up the phone feeling like she was weighed down with one less thing. Willow might never be the shy girl she'd once known and things could never be quite the same between them but whatever she had gone through this last year she was still sounding reassuringly... Willowy. Which was of the good, because one case of complete personality transplant was enough for a Slayer to deal with.

Even the thought of digging out her wayward mystery vampire wasn't too depressing. Weird as Non-Spike was, and a hard adjustment, he was in a way considerably easier to be around than the extrovert original. In terms of baggage it was hard to tell who came more laden but at least with twitchy, nervous Spike his baggage was all his own. It wasn't their baggage. It wasn't part of the horrible mess that was Spike + Buffy. And this wasn't the Spike that could see right through her. Not the Spike that was always confrontational, that always said the things she least wanted to hear. Not the Spike that always wanted. She could be sympathetic to this Spike without it leading to innuendo and awkwardness. And though she was too upright to test the power, she was fairly sure that if she told this Spike to shut up, that's exactly what he would do.

Weird!Spike had his own draw-backs of course, but he'd had a few hours to settle in. She could only hope he'd relax some now that he could be sure she didn't want to hurt him.

********

Spike stood at the bottom of the stairs, listening to the Slayer moving overhead and uncertain of where he was supposed to be. After her revelation in the shower he just wanted to keep his head down and stay the hell out of her way, and decided in the end to wait for her summons. He heard voices, or rather once voice, and though he couldn't make out the words through two closed doors, it was apparent she was making telephone calls.

When the door opened twenty minutes later he was still standing there. The Slayer descended the stairs slowly, eyes adjusting to the near darkness, gaze fixed on the vacant cot bed.

"Spike? Are you awake?"

"Here."

She visibly jumped at his quiet voice two feet to her right, swivelled her head in his direction to peer into the darkness.

"You need a bell round your neck," the Slayer snapped, reaching for the light switch.

"I've got one." Spike pointed to the trunk, now sitting on the dryer. "Do you want me to wear it?"

Buffy's eyes followed his finger; she gave the case a frown that the vampire couldn't interpret. "No! Just don't sneak up on me, okay? It freaks me out and it's liable to get you injured. In a totally accidental hit before thinking way."

She gave the case another odd look, and shook her head before holding out a package to Spike. "I picked you up some clothes, which is lucky because you're not exactly Dawn's size. Didn't think to get hairgel." She gestured vaguely around her own hair. "You have quite a thing going on up there."

Automatically Spike's hand went to his head. His overgrown locks had not seen soap for quite some time, after years plastered back with dirt and dried blood they'd sprung to life, no doubt smelling of kiwifruit. He made a token effort at smoothing them down, well aware it made not the slightest difference. And now she'd completely thrown him, as if there was anything Spike had a firm grip on nowadays. She wished him dead but she bought him clothes; she sneered unembarrassed at the sight of him naked but she was too polite to come right out and say he looked stupid.

How was he supposed to react to her now? Even the Victorians hadn't had a formal protocol for social interaction between a person who remembered being raped and a second party wearing the body of the perpetrator yet with no memory of the event.

"I also got blood," Buffy continued when he finally took the clothes from her hand. "So come on up when you're changed and we can do the dinner and research thing."

She trotted up the steps, leaving Spike wondering what Slayer he'd be getting when he followed her. There were no clues in the bag, unless you counted the absence of underpants, just two black T-shirts, a pair of black jeans and a packet of black socks. Was it worse not to know? Possibly getting glared at should be a huge step up from certain torture but maybe even vampires craved a little certainty. Any more of this head fuck and he'd be looking back nostalgically to the good old days when he was only beaten and raped regularly. At least there was the training to fall back on - obey orders.

So when he opened the basement door he was wearing clothes that fit, in a loose kind of way, clothes that he might have picked out himself. He could smell warm blood, as he paused in the kitchen doorway he could see a mug sitting on the kitchen counter. Buffy turned around from where she was stabbing her microwave meal and caught him staring.

"If you're going to ask if it's for you, I may have to hit you. Just so you know." But her tone was light and the words accompanied by a warm smile that made Spike want to smile back though it was hardly appropriate.

And that damn smile, that was why he was starting to think he preferred the torture. When she smiled at him like that he felt so pathetically grateful. She smiled at him like she was pleased to see him, or at least trying not to show that she wasn't, and to someone so deprived of positive human contact that kindness was a gift. And every time she did it he was swept into the illusion that he was safe. Worse, that he was cared for. Had really let himself believe it for a few precious hours before the mask slipped and she revealed how much she really detested him. And the absolute worse? The Jesus-can-I-be-any-more-fucked worse? He wantedher to care for him. He craved her kindness. And he hated, hated the thought that the distaste and dislike that must be bubbling under the surface of that smile was so thoroughly justified.

Spike couldn't get by without people. That most basic of human needs that the vampire William hadn't quite managed to leave in the grave - companionship. Vampires or humans, didn't matter, just people to talk to, touch, react to, laugh at. Communicate with as equals. After three years of loneliness he was so desperate for the smallest token of affection that this pretty girl with her warm smiles had already more power over him than restraints alone ever could.

He must have watched her smile too long, now she was watching him curiously, one eyebrow raised. "I'm not going to do the aeroplane thing with the spoon," she said dryly. "Gotta draw the line somewhere."

He downed the blood, warm and unexpectedly satisfying. After the bounty of the night before, Spike's stomach had been unusually silent but there was space for a whole lot more and his body told him he still needed it. The Slayer held her hand out for the mug. "There's plenty more."

"Let me."

He picked up a bag from a generous tray full and the Slayer slid her mac'n'cheese out of the microwave onto a plate to make room for his cup. "D'you want some Weetabix? I think Giles left some here."

No doubt about it, one of them was quite, quite insane. He was toying with the idea of asking her straight out why on earth she was offering a vampire breakfast cereal when she grinned. Apparently this Slayer found him worryingly easy to read.

"Don't look at me in that tone of voice. I'm not the crazy vampire that liked to put stuff in his blood."

"Stuff like... Weetabix?"

She nodded. "Maybe you only did it for the grossout factor. You'd dunk stuff, croutons or those weird British cookies Giles used to go nuts over. Anything that made us go 'eurgh'. Except not you. Maybe you're the non-gross twin. I phoned Willow while you were skulking in the basement, did you hear?"

Spike shook his head. "Only sounds."

"She wanted to know how long it's been since you saw me, from your point of view."

Well it looked like the question and answer portion of the day had arrived. A vague idea of what was going on would be nice, but he was dreading the process. His memories of the last few years were not something Spike wanted to hash over in any detail and it didn't sound like he wanted to hear hers either.

"Three years, near as I can tell. Was Autumn when they picked me up, remember that for sure, and that was only a week or two after I last met... fought you."

"You said in the car you went to LA. Was that then?"

He nodded warily, ducked his head and rushed out an answer. "Then I came back here to have another crack at trying to kill you. That's when I was nabbed."

Buffy just nodded. Maybe he'd been lucky and she'd never heard about the Angel torture, or just wasn't inclined to bring it up. Spike sure wasn't going to mention it.

"I think we're safe to assume that everything up to that point was the same. You came to Sunnydale with Drusilla? Crashed my parent teacher night? That worked out quite well for me, by the way. I got a horrific report, even though it was me who put out all the doilies - Principal Snyder took this completely irrational dislike to me just because of all the fighting and suspicious behaviour. But mom ungrounded me for fighting you."

"She hit me on the head with an axe," the vampire remembered. "Quite a lady."

"Yeah. She died a while back. Then you cured Dru and I put you in a wheelchair, then the deal with Acathla, then you went to Brazil and Dru left you for a chaos demon. You came back and told us about it and if you don't remember that it's because you were very drunk."

"I do recollect. Slightly. Kidnapped your little pals, I was very drunk." He had the grace to look embarrassed, though how making a shit faced prat of himself was worse than the wholesale slaughter and general evilness he couldn't have said.

"You somehow persuaded mom to make you cocoa, you always did win points for sheer cheek. In this world, after you got your chip you escaped, tried to kill Willow, that's when you found out you couldn't bite people. Then a week or so later you just turned up, expected us to fix you."

And that made all kinds of sense to the vampire. There was no such thing as demon solidarity and vampires were generally considered the black sheep of the family, with little loyalty to their own. One hint of weakness and they'd be on him, fighting for the privilege of dusting a master vampire. Unable to fight back he'd be an easy trophy. With Dru gone who else could he possibly turn to for help? That's what white hats were for, there was a strange kind of logic to it, he could see why he'd believed they'd take him in and his other self had obviously been right.

"Uh... sorry?"

The Slayer laughed. "We chained you up in Giles' bath tub and made you wear Xander's old Hawaiian shirts so maybe it evens out. I had an idea about Dawn, by the way, and why you don't remember her."

"Yeah?"

"She was kind of... inserted. It's a very long story, mystical entity turned human by monks, etcetera, just a couple of years ago. We all remember her - you used to remember her - from before that, but they were fake memories. So somehow that stuff isn't in your head, and the part where she was really real you don't remember anyway."

Spike tried to sort that out, nodding warily.

"You remember Acathla? You came to my house?"

Another nod.

"But you don't remember Dawn being there?"

"No."

"See in my memory she came down the stairs in her pyjamas, asked you if you were my new boyfriend. But it's my memory that's wrong there, it's just a spell and it really happened the way you remember."

Despite himself Spike was starting to drop his guard. Soon, inevitably, they'd get on to harder subjects but for now it was taking conscious effort not to be drawn into the pretence of casual chit chat. Three years with no free conversation whatsoever and he'd nearly forgotten what a naturally verbal creature he was, it was getting harder not to join in with her nostalgia, the habit of silence slowly getting broken down.

And Spike was desperately curious, who wouldn't be? To know how she remembered him and curious too about her mysterious mystical sister. The girl he now assumed was Dawn, an assumption backed by the photos on the mantle, had been instantly noticeable. A little girl in a varied collection of demons tended to stand out. Spike had been pressed into service that day, unchaining the new, unprocessed prisoners and herding them in to pens, and to his senses at least she'd seemed completely human. And compared to the cowering and shackled demons around her she was unworried; when she'd first spotted Spike her eyes had widened in surprise and excitement but not the slightest trace of fear. She'd seen his keys, held out her hands and imperiously demanded that he unchain her.

Maybe it was simply the obedience training kicking in, or maybe being on the receiving end for so long had taught him a compassion usually absent in vampires. It seemed strange that any amount of training could drum out the instinct to want to kill. The panic in the air from the massed captives was enough to make Spike quiver but the girl had seemed oblivious, talked continuously as she'd hustled him into taking her chains off and pulled him away from where he should have been standing towards an exit. He'd not taken in a word of what was said, just a vague impression that she was jumping back and forth between anger and excitement, and getting frustrated when he didn't react as she seemed to expect. She'd been surprised when he'd pushed her out of the door on her own and there hadn't been time to explain why he couldn't leave, or that if she stayed an hour more she wouldn't be able to leave either.

It had been an impulsive, or maybe even automatic, act that had earned him a lot of pain and also brought him here. And counted for more, apparently, than whatever multitude of unforgivable sins she remembered him committing.

"So you’re thinking what? Something's been messing with my memory? That I'm really the same vampire?" The same guy that raped you, he added in his head and to him the answer was massively important but apparently her mind wasn't running the same way because she shrugged casually.

"Sorry. That idea pretty much fits in with all current theories. If you've got some weird amnesia then you might have forgotten her because all your memories of her are recent, even the ones that seem old. Or you've come from a dimension where she doesn't exist so you never got the faked memories added in. It would have to be something that happened after the point of you being chipped. Hey, maybe the army cloned you."

Spike was starting to get used to these apparently nonsense statements. "The army clone vampires?" he prodded gently.

"They put a chip in your head and made their own pet Frankenstein monster, who knows what other wacky shenanigans they got up to."

Oh. Spike realised he'd found the diverging point. The Slayer wasn't far behind.

"That's not how you remember it, is it?"