a/n – Again, dialogue was borrowed from the show, Who Am I?, and incorporated into this chapter.  Also, a variation on the “ribcage” line was taken directly from Buffy in the season 2 ep. Becoming, pt 2.  Of course, she was talking to Whistler, but it was too awesome a line to not use it.  LOL. 

And, people?  You totally ROCK!  All the reviews have been so encouraging.  Thank you for being patient to see where this goes. 

Thanks to Megan and Gail for Beta-ing this chapter.  Hope you enjoy.

**hugs** sfg

Who am I?
 
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Chapter 5 – Not so golden

Buffy knew pain.  She was intimately acquainted with it.  It was her new, bestest friend and it just wouldn’t leave her alone. 

Much like Xander during the awkward crushing stage when she had first moved to Sunnydale.  Always there whenever you turned around, not really welcome, but impossible to shake loose.

Heck, she got used to him.  Even learned to love him - as a friend – so why couldn’t she get used to this grinding pain?

Focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, she cursed Faith, the cops, the Council, and The Powers That Be – not necessary in that order.

Twelve hours.  All Buffy needed was twelve stinking hours and Faith’s Slayer healing would take care of the damage to her body.  But, no.  She had to visit nightmare land – where people in white coats were shoving needles in her arms and telling her that she was crazy.  And, it really sucked that it was an image she was totally familiar with. 

Okay, Buffy, Psych 101 yourself later.  For now, move faster!

The stupid cops had managed to get their vehicle totaled on the far side of town, which thoroughly pissed Buffy off.  In her current state, she might as well have a neon sign that said “chum” flashing over her head.   Staying alert for threats, she mentally ticked off the major badness that was the situation.

The white coats weren’t even the worst of it.  No, she had to deal with the police...again .  Buffy had no illusions about how much the cops loved her.  Parent/Teacher night.  Kendra.  The walk on the wild side with none-other then Faith.  Ted.  Blowing up the high school – the whole school, this time, not just setting fire to the gym.  She was fairly sure they had a file about six inches thick on her. 

This being Sunnydale, it was probably filled with all manner of quotes about ‘gangs on PCP’ or whatever other crap that troll, Snyder, sold to the monumentally deluded law enforcement officers of the town. 

Yeah, okay, so he did get eaten by a huge, demon snake-thingie that used to be the Mayor, but, in Buffy’s mind, that was only fitting.  Call it karma. The whole ‘what comes around, goes around’ thing. 

Not that Snyder ever tried to eat her, ‘cause...eeewww!

Shaking off that disgusting mental picture – and, could she double that ‘eewww’ and raise with a ‘barf’?! – she skidded to a stop, bracing her hands on her hips and heaving in large, painful gulps of air that had her ribs screaming in protest.  Since her lungs had decided to go on strike until she quit jostling them, she didn’t have much choice.  ‘Cause oxygen?  Definite necessity.

As Buffy struggled to drag air into her battered body, her thoughts turned once again to Faith.  And the fact that Faith had her mother.

So help me, Faith, if you hurt her, I will rip out your ribcage and make you wear it as a hat.

She didn’t know what Faith’s plan was, but whatever it was, it was definitely not of the good – not with her pulling a body-snatch.

Of course, this being Faith, it might not be a plan so much as a way to screw with Buffy’s life as much as possible.  The badness of what Faith could get up to in Buffy’s body was truly shudder-worthy.  Buffy felt a renewed determination to find the ‘cleavage-y slut bomb’, as Willow called her, and work off her mad with violence.  

In order to do that, she had to get home.

Looking around, she noted the familiar neighborhood.  The Bronze was just around the corner.  Buffy took stock of her trembling legs, burning lungs and bloodied forehead, adjusted her plan, and set off for her old stomping ground. 

Time to make like E.T. and ‘phone home’.

When she pushed through the unmanned door, Buffy said a silent prayer of thanks that it was Tuesday and there wasn’t a cover charge.  She was fairly certain Faith didn’t have any money on her before the switch, cause, really, where the heck would she fit it?  Okay, maybe, being Faith, she had some in the Grand Canyon of Cleavage but the thought of digging in there was just, oh, so very wrong.

Buffy ignored the stares she was getting from the patrons which, honestly, weren’t all that many, ‘cause, hello , this was the Hellmouth.  She focused on maneuvering her battered body toward the rear of the club where the pay phones lived.  That is, until a frat boy, who had obviously had too much to drink, stumbled into her, slamming hard against her broken ribs.

Stars danced in her eyes and she had to grip the nearest stationary thing to support her, which turned out to be the pool table next to the stairs to the balcony.

Even through the pain, she felt tingles raced down the base of her neck and a familiar snarky voice played at the edges of her awareness while she fought to stay conscious.

“Oh.  You.”  Two words.  Hardly even a sentence, really, but Buffy knew the timber and accent of that voice. 

Spike.  Crap.

As if her night wasn’t screwed up enough, now this.  Before she could pull herself together enough to lift her head, or even open her eyes, a voice was speaking to him.

Okay, he’s talking to someone else.  And she doesn’t seem too bright, either , she thought with a wicked mental snort, and that SO wasn’t jealousy, so don’t even start with me.  Who cares about what idiot girl is hitting on Spike, anyway?  I gotta get to the phones.  

She wrenched herself up and immediately hunched back over as wave upon wave of fresh pain threatened to send her to the floor.  She fought as blackness edged her vision.

Damn broken ribs.  Damn Council.  Damn Faith! 

Ignoring the pain, she began the deep breathing exercises that Giles had been teaching her to improve her focus.  The darkness receded a bit but her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool and she knew she was still on the edge of passing out.

Well, I guess I can listen to a little bit more before I go.  You know, just until I catch my breath.  Or, can actually move .

Spike’s voice got her immediate attention.

“You know why I really hate you, Summers?” 

Summers?  Oh, shit. Shit, shit, SHIT!  FAITH!  

Spike was talking to Faith…in Buffy’s body .  And, still, she couldn’t convince her head to lift up.  Well, at least Buffy could be happy that Faith wasn’t with her mom.  But, dang, her voice sounded a lot different when it wasn't coming out of her own head.  It was kind of annoying, actually.

Then the voice cut through her fuzzy musings once again.

“Cause I’m a stuck up tight ass with no sense of fun?”  Oh, Faith, you are SO gonna pay for that!  Just as soon as I can stand up straight.  

“Well…yeah…that…covers a lot of it—”  Buffy’s eyes narrowed.  And Spike will be getting his share too.

But Faith wasn’t done yet.
 
“’Cause I can do anything I want but I choose to pout and whine and feel the burden of slayerness?” 

Oh, great, the world according to Faith.   If she started with the ‘want, take, have’ bit, Buffy felt sure she’d lose the battle and be sick right on the green felt of the pool table. 

And Faith kept right on talking.

“I mean, I could be rich.  I could be famous.  I could have anything.”

Oh, here it comes.

“Any one .  Even you, Spike.” 

What???  Oh. My. God.  That skank was coming on to Spike.  In Buffy’s body!  Wait.  Why the heck wasn’t he knocking her down a peg like he usually did?  

Buffy braced against the pain and slowly lifted her head, still leaning heavily on the pool table.  Her eyes snapped to where their voices were and she watched, horrified, as Faith stepped in close, running her hands down Spike’s chest and pressing him against the supports of the steps.

Faith.  Her sister slayer.  The one who dared to place her hands on Angel.  And when that failed, tried to kill him, all because Buffy cared about him. 

How?  How could she know that Spike was hers? 

Well, sure, Buffy didn’t love him – it was just a spell, right?  And it was long over.  And she was with Riley now.  But Spike was still hers - hers to rag on, to torment, to trade quips with.  He was HER vampire, damn it , and Faith needed to keep her grabbing paws to herself! 

But apparently Faith wasn’t done yet and Buffy gritted her teeth as she continued.

“I could ride you at a gallop until your legs buckled and your eyes rolled up.  I’ve got muscles you’ve never even dreamed of.  I could squeeze you till you popped like warm champagne and you begged me to hurt you just a little bit more.”

Holy shit!   Buffy’s eyes were round and wide and she was caught somewhere between fascination at what she was capable of, according to Faith’s little monologue, and rage that Faith would once again tread on Buffy’s turf.  The only thing that held her back was her curiosity about where Faith was going with this little tirade.

“And you know why I don’t?” Faith paused a beat, but Buffy noticed that Spike never took his eyes off of her lips.  When she continued, she wore a knowing smirk.  “Because it’s…wrong .”  And the bitch laughed and walked away.

Buffy watched as Spike stood, dazed and confused for just a fraction of a second before the anger showed in the clenching of his jaw.

Uh oh.

“I get this chip out, you and me are gonna have a confrontation,” he promised.

“Count on it,” was Faith’s only reply before flouncing off – and Buffy so did not want to know what she looked like ‘flouncing’ anywhere.

Buffy knew it was coming.  Wait for it, wait for it.  There!   Spike flung the bottle against the wall and glass shattered harmlessly in the corner.  Well, at least no headache for that one.

When he turned toward her, Buffy nearly ducked to avoid his eyes.   She suffered a painful twinge before she remembered - oh, right, he doesn’t know the skank - and stood tall.  Just as he would have pushed past her, she struck, bracing herself for the pain as she clamped a vice-like hand around his wrist to stop him.

He growled and his eyes flashed yellow.  “Sod off—”  He froze, sniffed the air, and whispered, “Slayer. ”

Buffy slowly nodded, meeting his intense stare.  Not like she could disguise her – or make that Faith’s – blood, since is was freely flowing from the gash on her head, thanks to the Council’s Men in Black wannabes.

Buffy didn’t have any reserves to spare on lengthy explanations, she just needed to get Spike’s co-operation as quickly as she could.  The problem was, she didn’t know how to go about doing that, and the pain was dulling her mind further.  She shifted on her feet, but didn’t release the hold on his wrist.  The grimace that twisted her face had Spike tilting his head in that adorable - No!  Annoying! - way of his.

“She’s not Buffy,” she said simply, inclining her head slightly in the direction Faith had gone.

That had an eyebrow twitching up, even as he looked over his shoulder to where they stood not too long ago.  He seemed to contemplate the space for a moment, then turned back to her.

“And, wha?  You are?” It was spoken as a challenge.  Prove it , his tone demanded.

Buffy sighed.  God, she was tired.  And she hurt, damn it.  Now, she had to prove it?  “You ate half a dozen of Willow’s guilt cookies and 3 mugs of blood before you stopped whining about ‘Buffy taste’ in your mouth.”

Spike’s eyes went wide and he leaned back, looking her over thoroughly from head to toe before letting his familiar smirk slip to the fore. 

“You’re a pig, Spike.”

“And you’re not so golden, Goldilocks.”

“Look, I’m beat.  Just back me up and I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Is that so?”  He ran his tongue across his teeth and Buffy rolled her eyes, even as she felt a familiar flutter in her stomach at the gesture.

“Money, Spike.  I’ll pay you.  Can’t you not be a pig for ten minutes?”

“Oy, Evil here.”

“Well, curb it if you wanna get paid,” she snapped.  Buffy was almost out of resources but she wasn’t about to beg.  Spike had called that the first time they fought.  She wasn’t the begging kind, and she’d be damned if she begged now, especially since she didn’t know exactly what he could do to help, being chipped and all.

“Fine.  But I do have this itty bitty problem that might get in the way,” he said, tapping his temple to indicate the chip.

“I know.  And you told her about it so, not like we can bluff our way.”  Buffy tried to think but the pain was eating away at her.

“You alright, luv?  You’re looking a little green ‘round the gills.  Always thought you were the better slayer,” he mocked.

The anger flared, sending renewed strength into her limbs.  “Hello!  I was totally beating her ass until she swapped bodies.  Now, I get the damage and she gets the…Willow ?”

“Pardon?”  Both his brows shot up.

“Willow is over there, with some blonde and, well, me.  Okay, enough of this.”  Thinking off the cuff, she came up with a pitiful plan and prayed it would work.  “Just go over there and distract her, would you?  You’re good at that.”

He smirked again.  “Really?” he said, drawing out the word.

“Spike!  Focus.  Go.”

“Fine, you rotten bint, but I better get my dosh out of this or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered as he strode off toward the three girls.

tbc