Author’s Note: Big thanks again to my fabu beta, Kar and to all of you who are reading and reviewing. The feedback really is helpful.


Chapter Four

Buffy woke with a start and grabbed a stake before opening her eyes. The clock informed her that it was still hours before sunrise. There was an eerie stillness in the house. In the dark she padded to Dawn's room. Vampire-Spike was curled around his pillow, sleeping soundly.

But in her living room there were two new Spikes. One sandy-haired Spike was asleep on her couch, naked. The other was staring vacantly ahead, seemingly unperturbed by his nude double. He was skeletally thin and one of his arms looked like it had been replaced with some sort of bladed metal pole. An olive drab jumpsuit hung on him, crusted with blood. When he turned his head to look at her, she saw that one side of his face had been jammed full of circuitry.

She heard a choked sound from the stairs and realized that the other Spike had followed her.

The emaciated Spike stared at her stake with something like lust. "Slayer, thank god," he slurred, the word gurgled like he could barely move his jaw. "Kill me. Please, kill me." With his flesh hand, he pulled the cloth back to expose his scarred chest. "Please, kill me, slayer."

Her breath caught in her throat. The miserable thing pushed itself up to kneel, leaning heavily on the weapon of an arm. Buffy hefted her stake and moved forward carefully, bracing for him to swing the knife. Instead he croaked a sob of relief. "It's okay," she reassured him as she crept closer. "It's over now."

She felt cool hands on her shoulders and realized that she had been blinking at the pile of dust and wires for several minutes, repeating those words in a whisper. His voice penetrated her refrain. "Pet. Pet, it's alright now. Come sit down."

Buffy dropped heavily on the armchair and stared blankly at the other new Spike, who was clearly a deep sleeper. He reeked of whiskey, which probably had something to do with it.

She had just dusted Spike, or something that looked a lot like him. Her stomach rolled as she reasoned out that what she'd just slain was what was left of Hostile 17 after a long stay with the Initiative. Her fist tightened on the stake until in snapped.

"Angel?" naked Spike inquired in a soft Masterpiece Theatre voice.

"Not exactly," she managed apologetically. At least this one didn't seem inclined to beg for death or attack her. Instead he gaped at her and mashed a pillow over his groin as he sat up. "You have no idea who I am, do you?"

"Should I?" he asked.

"Not really." She watched his eyes widen as they landed on his clothed, bleached mirror image. "I know who you are though. I'm Buffy, the--"

"The slayer!" He beamed at her. "We've been looking for you! My sire and I wish to offer our assistance to the chosen one. I am William, at your service, madam."

"William. Okay."

"Did Angel find you then? Is he not with you? I've been waiting for his return."

Waiting for Angel. Naked. She stopped her mind from wandering very far down that path and instead gave him a brief explanation. Then she spent several minutes reassuring him that they would figure out a way to returning this him to Angel and then a few more figuring out if she had anything he could wear.

While William hunted for clothes, she called Giles and watched not-Spike make a pot of coffee.

"Wow," she sighed, taking a cup of coffee from the by now familiar not-Spike. "I mean, I guess I kinda knew that in your fledgling days, you and Angel... but like that?"

He gave her a dirty look. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Oh whatever, she mused, but kept the thought to herself. "Uh huh."

"You sure he's for real?" he asked, changing the subject. “All that about them both getting cursed and looking for you?”

She held his eyes and answered, "I think being terrible liars is something you Spikes have in common."

"Amassing quite the collection of us, aren't you?"

She remembered those little understanding smiles. There was a mean little part of her that wondered if it would be so bad if this Spike stuck around. Maybe she wasn't that different from his Buffy. How long would it take for him to fall in love with her instead? She should be an adequate replacement for herself, right?

"We should start pinning numbers on your chests. Or giving you code names or something. I mean, in my head you're 'not-Spike', but that's not really true from your point of view. Any old aliases you could go by? Or you could be Randy, or something?"

It wasn't until the words were out of her mouth that it occurred to her that he might have no idea what she was talking about. Either way, he gave her a loaded glance that made her entire nervous system buzz. No one but Spike had ever made her feel like it would really be good if her clothes could just evaporate, and it was really hard to remember why she wasn't supposed to be tackling him to the floor and...

Right. Not her Spike. And not advisable with her Spike.

"Thank you, no, Joan."

Okay, so at least he didn't think she was hitting on him. She started to take a drink of coffee, but froze.

"What's wrong, love?"

Buffy couldn't help a little wistful smile. She knew he was just outside, peeking through the window at her, just as skilled a stalker as ever. "He's here."


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She felt almost shy standing there in her open doorway. Guilty for the way she'd been carrying on with not-Spike. Which was stupid. She could flirt with whoever she wanted to; he didn't care anyway. These days she never knew what to say to him, other than to talk about the girls and their training. What else were they going to talk about? Old times? Angel? "Are you coming in, or what?"

He studied her carefully. "Not smart is it these days, Summers, inviting any old Spike into your parlor?"

She just rolled her eyes. "Will you just get in here already? My coffee is getting cold." She turned and went back into the kitchen. If he wanted to be all cool and posturing, fine.

She watched him gape at the other Spike, both of them flaring their nostrils and eyes each other suspiciously. His double gave him a murderous glance and squeezed her shoulder. "Gonna go check on the other," he explained.

"Well, isn't he friendly?" She ignored him and his sleaze-soaked tone. "You're just letting him roam about?"

Buffy shrugged. "He's harmless. Really. If he wanted to hurt me, he's had plenty of chances."

"Is that right?" he asked snidely.

"Oh for God's sake!" she exploded at him. "Please get over yourself." Her coffee was, indeed, cold. Getting up to get another cup was a good distraction. In just a few minutes she'd gone from missing him to wanting him gone. Well, that's wasn't exactly true. She wanted this distant asshole Spike gone and her old devoted lieutenant back.

When she turned back around, he was wearing his 'poor, injured me' face, which just pissed her off. She tells him she believes in him, trusts him, loves him. He dismisses her, ignores her, forgets her. And then acts like he's the injured party? Whatever.

"Buffy, love. Got another one."

She winced and turned to see another foreign Spike standing between not-Spike and the unfortunate William, who had dressed himself in the sweats she wore when she felt particularly bloated.

"Morning, pet."

She eyed him warily. "You seem to be taking this rather well."

The new Spike shrugged. "Happens all the time. Well, usually it's her taking some magical walkabout, but some team of Scoobies will sort it soon enough. Can I smoke in here?"

"No," she answered instantly. She gave the other Spikes a look -- his blasé attitude was making her suspicious, but he didn't give off any signs of lying -- and showed him out onto her little porch. There was enough shade to protect him from the rising sun.

"Any theories?" he asked around the cigarette as he fired up. "Odd magical markings on your door or vengeance demons hanging about?"

She huffed a laugh. "You think someone would wish a bunch of Spikes on me as punishment?"

He gave her a bedroom smile and quirked his eyebrow. "Some sort of reward then?"

Had he just grabbed her ass?

"Buffy? Buffy, are you here?"

Giles's voice. Thank god. She stepped out of arm's reach and told him to come in when he was done. Inside the Spikes were exchanging stories, Spike and not-Spike watching each other with open hostility. She briefed Giles and listened to his report on the whole lot of nothing he and the other watchers had come up with. The minute he was done, she excused herself. She needed a cold shower.


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I’ve got a draft of five going, but I’m still tweaking it. Hope to post again soon. Feedback is treasured. Please comment, or feel free to email msclawdia@hotmail.com