a/n – Thanks to my fabulous betas for this chapter, Megan and Gail, who suffered through ‘split personality writer’ and then listened as I worked it out – out loud (those darn voices in my head!  LOL).

Oh, and it’s official – I am a reviews junky.  Hello, my name is scifi-gk and I’m addicted to reviews.  :-)  Thanks for feeding my addiction all. LOL.  You’re the best!

**hugs** sfg

Who am I?
 
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Chapter 6 – Slutty Faith in a Buffy suit

Spike moved off toward Red, the soft-looking blonde chit and the Buffy-shaped imposter with a scowl on his face but a song in his heart.  The words the imposter used on him not too long ago rang through his mind.

I kinda love this town.

Spike was suddenly of the same opinion.  Where else could a vamp find such bloody brilliant entertainment outside of the telly? 

Honestly!

It wasn’t everyday the blonde goddess that haunted his dreams got hijacked out of her own body and replaced by a raunchy, sex-kitten version that didn’t seem to have too many issues about touching him. 

It was almost too good for words.

Except for the part where she turned out to be a dick tease.  He definitely could have done without that . 

He hadn’t a clue what he was going to do to ‘distract’ her but he was sure he was going to enjoy every minute of it.  Maybe he could convince her to put her hot little Buffy-hands on his body this time, instead of just his duster.  Or, if he was really inspired, he might be able to get his hands a little journey of their own.

Oh, yeah.  That was a capital idea.

And what of the dark one?  The one currently housing his Slayer? 

‘Cause there was no doubt, she was his Slayer.  He’d known it the minute she told him she was Buffy.  He hadn’t even needed her proof. 

Forget the blood.  

Forget the Slayer sensation that settled at the base of his neck. 

Forget the fact that Rupert and the boy had basically drawn him a picture.  What did the wanker say?  Oh, right.  ‘Dark hair, yea tall.  Name of Faith.  Criminally insane.”

No.  None of that mattered because he’d picked up the same pale undertone that clung to the other as she had flaunted her scents and her body.  That same something that tickled his senses and made him vaguely uneasy. 

His demon had recognized it for what it was: magic.  

Therefore, when the curvaceous brunette had claimed to be Buffy, Spike had merely snarked out of habit.  His genuine surprise wasn’t from what she said, but that she bothered to answer at all.  He just figured she’d punch him in the nose, as she was so fond of doing these days, and that would be proof enough.

But she had answered.  And he caught just enough acid in the remembrance to know that his whinging after the spell had hit its mark. 

Well, good!  Served her right.  She started it, after all.  Her, with the ‘Oo, Spike lips!  Lips of Spike!’ and the repeated wipin’ and spittin’.  Stupid bint deserved her own back.

Spike didn’t get two paces before he was jolted out of his musings.  Even if he hadn’t picked up the fledge’s signature, the Disco Dan outfit was a dead give away.  And he wasn’t the only one to notice.  When the 70’s reject walked past the girls with his arm around a tasty little thing, Red leaned into the Buffy-wanna-be and, after a slight pause, the Pseudo-Slayer bounced up to follow.

He turned back to the dark Buffy.  “Uh, Slayer?”

She lifted her eyebrows in silent question and he nodded his head toward the other Buffy.  Dark Buffy’s eyes found the other easily enough, and narrowed as she watched her follow the couple into the back room.  When she turned back to Spike, he filled in the blank.

“Vamp, luv.”

“Ugh, just great.”  She pushed off the pool table she’d been bracing on and Spike realized she meant to follow.  Except she didn’t even make one step before her eyes rolled to white and she pitched face-first toward the floor.  He sprung forward and wrapped his arms around her, saving her from a painful introduction to the cement floor of the club.  Anger swelled through him.

Stupid, stubborn, aggravating, annoying, abso-bloody-lutely infuriating little chit!  Shoulda just let her bounce, for fuck’s sake.

In stark contrast to his thoughts, his hands were gentle as he scooped her up into his arms, taking care not to jostle the ribs he was sure were broken.  Looking ‘round, he spotted an empty armchair that was within sight of the door the other Buffy had recently gone through, and he settled into it, pulling Buffy across his lap.  Putting his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close and whispered into her ear.

“Slayer.”  No response.

“Wakey, wakey.”  Nothing.

Spike’s guts were tied into knots.  He could still smell the blood on her but that wasn’t what twisted him so.  Her body felt limp and weak and Spike had never known the Slayer to faint.  God only knew if she had internal bleeding.  The only thing Spike could hold on to was the fact that he could hear her heart beating a steady and sure rhythm. 

Even as he cursed himself for being a bleedin’ ponce, he brushed his lips once more against her ear and breathed, “Buffy.”

When her eyelids fluttered, he sucked in a relieved breath.  “That’s it, luv.  Come back to me.”

He could see her struggling to open her eyes, fighting to surface from unconsciousness.  The tip of a pink tongue poked out to moisten her lips and Spike watched, mesmerized.  Buffy, his Buffy, of the spell-induced, engaged-to-be-married variety, had done the exact same thing after she had fallen asleep on his shoulder.  She had licked her lips just like that, nuzzled her nose into his neck, and said -- “Spike?”

Spike felt her soft question wash warmly across his neck and his heart hurt.  He, once again, cursed the witch.  He never should have known what a sleepy Slayer felt like, all warm and soft, and trusting in his lap.  But he did know.  And, God, how he wanted it again.

A vampire that wanted a Slayer.  Wrong, wrong, wrong!   He would bet his last kitten that the Slayer wasn’t having any trouble blocking out their little pre-marital bliss, and that thought pissed him off.

“Oy, Slayer, wake up,” he said, shaking her shoulder to bring her ‘round.  When she hissed in pain, he gave a slight wince in sympathy before letting his mask of annoyance settle back into place.  “I hope you’ve got another brilliant plan, Slayer, ‘cause your bird just walked out the door.”

“Wha-?”  He felt the groan in his own chest when she moved to rise too fast.

“Take it easy, luv.”

“Let me up, Spike.” 

Her tone was harsh and he could see she was less than thrilled to find herself on his lap.  She made a pathetic attempt to push against his chest but he held firm.  “You’re in no shape to go tearin’ off after Slutty Buffy.”

“Hey!”

He raised an eyebrow and dared her to contradict him.  Which, with her next breath, the irritating little chit did.

“That was not Slutty Buffy.  That was Slutty Faith in a Buffy suit.  You have never met Slutty Buffy.”

Spike’s eyes nearly crossed at the images of ‘Slutty Buffy’ his mind conjured up.

Bloody hell!  

And, even in this dark Slayer’s body, she still had a paralyzing pout.  Spike decided a little distance was in order before he got himself into trouble.  Huge, stakeable trouble.

“I’ll try to remember that, luv.  Can you stand?”

“What?  Of course.”

“‘Of course,’” he mocked. “‘Cause that was some other Slayer that nearly flattened her nose on the floor, right?”

Her hand flew to her nose, testing to make sure there was no damage and Spike stifled a grin.

“Ha!  Still nose-shaped,” she said, in a so there! tone of voice.  “Now, let me up.”

“Fine.  I got better things to do with my night.  ‘Sides, you really didn’t miss much when you went all Sleeping Beauty.”  He placed his hands on her hips, getting ready to push her to her feet when her hands came down with surprising strength on his forearms.

“Tell me.”  Spike loved to see her grind her teeth.  It meant he was really getting to her.  And it was only fair, considering how often the stupid bint made him grind his teeth.

“Oh, pet,” he tut-tutted, “Such manners!  What would your mum say?”

“If she lives through this night, we can ask her, but until then—”

Spike sat up, suddenly all serious.  “What the hell does that mean?  What’s wrong with Joyce?”

“I don’t know, Spike.”  The Slayer’s eyes blazed with fury.  “I couldn’t exactly make sure she was alright when she thought Slutty Faith in the Buffy Suit was actually Buffy, and Buffy in the Faith Suit was the psycho that had just tried to kill her, could I?  Not to mention, the shrinks telling me I was crazy and shooting me full of drugs so that the cops could cart my butt off to jail for the murder Faith committed.  I’m about out of patience here, Spike.  Tell. Me.” 

Spike blew out a breath.  Joyce was a right nice lady and he’d hate for her to get hurt while he toyed with the Slayer.  It wouldn’t be sporting.  “Right.  ‘Slutty Faith in the Buffy suit’... she dusted the vamp.  Then she had a little powwow with Red and the blonde bird, and all of ‘em took off separately for parts unknown.  That was,” he mentally calculated the time they’d been talking, “about ten minutes ago, now.”  

“Crap.”

“Look, Slayer.  I think we’ll both agree that I’m not all with the fabulous plans, but don’t you think it’s time you paid a visit to your Watcher?”

Dark Buffy hunched in on herself and let her head fall forward.  “Yeah.”  She sounded tired and beaten.

“Hey,” he said, lifting her chin with his finger.  “You got to hold it together, Slayer.  I’ll get you to the Watcher’s and he can fix whatever this is.  It’s what you white-hats do.”

Her brown eyes looked so strange wearing the soul of the green-eyed Slayer.  “Why are you helping me?”

He quickly dropped his hand and pulled back.  “Not,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, his words echoing his thoughts.   “Helping Joyce.  She’s a right nice lady, your mum, and I wouldn’t want her to get hurt, ‘s all.”

“Right.”  Spike wasn’t sure, but it seemed like something – was that hurt? – flashed quickly across her face before she blanked her expression.  He’d have to think about that one later.

“Come on, luv.  Let’s get you to your Watcher.”

tbc