By Heather Martin

Spoilers- Set during and after Smashed. I borrowed a few lines from Wrecked as well. Has spoiler for everything up to that point. Goes AU after that

Summary- B/S T/W A/X Something goes funky with Spike and Buffy after their coupling in the abandoned house. Meanwhile, a demon and a mysterious girl come to Sunnydale from the future.

Chapter Two- Human Tendencies

The ex-vampire walked behind Buffy, lost in his thoughts. The pounding in his chest exploded in his ears. Breathing burned his chest. His eyesight wasn’t as keen in the darkened night. As much as he hoped against it, there was no doubt about it- he was human.

If he was human, then who was he? He couldn’t be the demon. That meant he had a soul. Was he William with Spike’s memories? He didn’t feel like William. He didn’t have the urge to write poetry. He glanced at Buffy and had to contradict that thought. Okay, maybe Buffy did arise the poet in him, but he had no inclination to use any words such as effulgent.

How could this happen? He enjoyed being a member of the undead. He could drink to excess, smoke without the risk of cancer, and run a mile without breaking a sweat. There were also no rules for vampires. They took what they wanted- who they wanted, and didn’t have pesky morals to stand in their way. Being immortal was fun. Now he was bound by law. He had to watch his health again. Not to mention, how he was homeless. A crypt was no place for a mortal.

Damn her, Spike silently cursed. Buffy may think she had nothing to do with this, but what else could have caused his sudden metamorphosis? Their shagging was the only solution. He had said that she came back wrong. Maybe she had. Her new state could have brought the change.

They approached Revello Drive and Spike let out a sigh of relief. It was only a matter of minutes before the scoobies got together to figure out what was going on. This might not be forever. He could be back to his regular self by tomorrow night.

The Summers’ residence came into view. Soon they were walking up the steps to the front door. The slayer and bleach-blonde entered the house to find it dark. The only illumination came from the glowing television screen in the living room. Some sitcom was on and a laugh track sounded from the speakers.

Buffy and Spike stepped into the room, spying Dawn and Tara asleep on the couch. A pale colored afghan was draped over them.

The slayer reached over and shook Tara. The woman opened her eyes. She looked up at them and smiled.

“Hi,” Tara greeted. She glanced over at Dawn. “I stayed with her because no one was home.”

“Thanks,” Buffy replied with gratitude.

Spike leaned against the wall. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his duster. He longed for a cigarette. Being human was going to kill him. He had to laugh at the thought. Of course it was going to kill him. That is what humans did. They grew old and died.

The women turned their heads toward him.

“Inside joke?” Buffy asked.

He continued to laugh. He got out, “I want a fag. Can’t have one, though, unless I want lung cancer. And that is so bloody hilarious because I’m going to die anyways.”

“You are not going to die,” Buffy affirmed.

Still laughing, he said, “Unavoidable, pet. One of these days I’m gonna kick it.”

Tara furrowed her brow. “W-What is he talking about?”

Buffy gestured to Spike. “Spike here has turned into a human. He’s not handling it well.”

Tara’s eyes widened. “He turned into a human? How?”

Buffy gulped. “We-uh, we don’t know. We were . . . fighting and all of a sudden he began to breath.”

“Fighting? A demon?”

“N-No . . .”

“We were fighting each other,” Spike said. He had finally stopped his psychotic laughing. It had been replaced by a pensive expression.

Tara looked toward Spike and then back at Buffy. “Each other? Sparring?”

“Yeah,” Buffy answered too quickly.

“You’re going to have to do research,” Tara said.

“We are. Tomorrow morning.”

Spike stepped away from the wall. “Hey now! I thought we were goin to look into this now.”

Buffy crossed her arms. “No, Spike. Non-nocturnal beings sleep during these hours.”

“You don’t care, do you, slayer? You don’t care that my entire existence just did a u-turn.”

Buffy sighed. After a few seconds she said, “No, Spike, actually I don’t. One vampire off my hands. Yay. I don’t really care how.”

His mouth opened, hurt seen in his eyes. He shook his head, closing his mouth.

“Fine, slayer. I don’t need to take this from you. Forget about our little deal, I’m leaving.” With that, Spike headed out the door.

The cool air hit him. He realized then how alive his neurons were. He could easily detect the temperature change. It was unnerving. He couldn’t decide if feeling coldness was a good thing or bad.

There was only one place for him to go. He headed toward the cemetery. For some reason the thought of having to return to the crypt made him feel rejected. Oh, who was he kidding? He knew why. Buffy didn’t care. She really didn’t give a crumb what happened to him.

Spike stopped, letting this all sink in. And then he knew deep down what she had been telling him all along. She would never love him back. Even now, as a human, she would only see him as a monster.

Wetness began to accumulate in his eyes. He furiously brushed it away. Damnit, he probably did have a soul. He was acting all poofter-like.

“Spike!”

Spike spun around toward the voice. Buffy stood in the driveway.

“What do you want?” Spike asked, exasperated.

“Come back inside,” she instructed. “There’s a cot in the basement.”

A flutter rose up in his chest. Maybe she did care. A little. No, Glinda probably put her up to it. Sweet Tara, she cared about everyone.

Against his better judgment, Spike came back toward the house. He reentered the house, Buffy behind him.

Tara was there to meet them. She smiled. “Well, I better be going. Tell-Tell Willow I said hello.”

The white witch left.

Buffy pointed to the couch where her sister slumbered. “I would give you the couch, but it is occupied.”

“That’s all right. Wouldn’t want to wake the girl,” Spike commented.

The slayer led him to the basement. She gathered some blankets and a pillow for him.

“It’s pretty dark down there,” Buffy said.

“I’m used to it.”

“Yeah,” she softly said.

“G-night, slayer.”

“Goodnight, Spike.”

Spike crept down the wooden steps into the basement. He noted how cold it was. It was true that he was used to the dark, but it had never seemed this black before. It closed in around him, swallowing him up. He lay himself down on the cot, wrapping the blanket tightly around his form. At that moment he felt very much alone.

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Oh geez, I feel very sorry for Spike. I mean, think about it. He just turned human after 100 and some years as a vamp. He is so confused. And he has no friends. Except maybe Tara and Dawn. And Buffy treats him like crap. *cry* Poor Spikey. What am I doing to you?

*wink* Seriously, though, you will love what I have planned for this story. And go me, getting this part out so quickly.