The last thing William Pratt remembered, he’d been on a rail car, falling asleep with his wife in his arms. The carriage had rocked them gently over the long plain east of Denver.

He opened his eyes and saw nothing but white expanse. He knew immediately that he had to be dreaming. Rushing towards him was an utterly unfamiliar young man. He wore most unusual clothes – an unnaturally colored jumper and strange, puffy shoes. The fellow waved his arms about excitedly and bore down on William, a steam train on full throttle. William braced himself for impact.

“Spike? Oh my god, Spike?” The man slowed only slightly, crashing into William and crushing him in a bear hug. William endured, but did not return the embrace. The fellow continued to grip him tightly, speaking more-or-less to William’s throat. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

When the man relaxed his grip at last, William took advantage of the respite and took a step back.

“Don’t you recognize me? It’s Andrew. You know? Andrew Wells? Tucker’s little brother. You have to know me. I recognize you and you don’t look much the same at all.”

William knew he needed to say something, so he extended his hand. “William Pratt, at your service. It’s a…uh, pleasure to meet you Mr. Wells.”

“Mr. Wells. Please. You make me sound like Orson, or H.G. It’s Andrew. Don’t you remember me, Spike? Don’t you remember any of it?”

William glanced at the man, unsure of how to proceed. Though it was clear to William that he was dreaming, this Wells fellow didn’t appear to have the same conviction.

The boy’s face fell. “You don’t, do you? They said you wouldn’t remember, but I couldn’t believe them.”

“They?”

“The Powers That Be,” Wells said, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to say.

“I rather think—” William felt foolish, explaining his situation to a character in a dream, then decided to continue. “I believe you have mistaken me for someone else. Or, rather, you’ve mistaken me for—well, myself but in another incarnation.” Perhaps if he continued speaking there was a diminished chance that Wells would sweep him into another hug – an activity that the young man seemed most anxious to engage in. “I’m William Pratt of London and the year is 1880.”

Unfortunately, Mr. Wells didn’t seem particularly thrown by that bit of information. “I thought as much. It would go a long way to explaining the clothes and the hair.” The man then reached out and touched a lock of William’s hair, causing William to take a step backwards. “It’s so brown and well— curly!”

“I say…” William began before Mr. Wells cut him off.

“But those cheekbones and those piercing blue eyes – I’d know you anywhere.”

“I’d rather like to wake up now.” William raised his voice and looked at the ceiling.

“It’s not a dream, silly man.” Mr. Wells giggled and shook his head. “Not exactly a dream. It’s something else. It’s a mission we’ve been tasked with. A very serious life or death time traveling kind of mission. I know to your Victorian mind this will seem like a most improbable event, but it’s like my ancestor H.G. Wells once wrote of – did I tell you I was related to H.G. Wells? – it is…” he waved his fingers in front of William’s eyes dramatically … “time travel!”

“I know about time travel, Mr. Wells.”

“As much as I like it when you call me that, I’m going to have to insist that you call me Andrew.”

“I am well versed in time travel, Andrew.”

Andrew brightened. “Well, that’s going to trim out a lot of extra footage then. Let’s just get right down to our mission then, shall we?”

“Our mission?”

“Yes, the reason you and I are here. We have been tasked with a duty which I have given a solemn oath to carry out.”

William simply looked at him. Taking the conversational lead hadn’t proved very effective. Perhaps if he stopped responding, the man would fade away and he could return to a more pleasant dream. One of he and Elizabeth, perhaps – picnicking, idling on the beach or engaging in more intimate pleasures.

“Well, strictly speaking,” Andrew continued, “I suppose you’re the one with the duty, as I would hardly fit the part. But I have an important role. I am the Samwise to your Frodo. Or since it’s a time traveling mission, your Rose Tyler.”

Andrew didn’t seem to notice that William was no longer paying attention. As the man continued to talk, William concentrated harder on Elizabeth – willing her into the dream.

“… which makes my role crucial. Because without my coaching, Buffy and all her friends will die.”

William coughed. “What?”

“Well, not to say that your part isn’t important too. It’s just that without me there, well, it would be like setting young Luke Skywalker loose in the cantina in Mos Eisley. No Obi Wan, no Han Solo – just Luke. How long do you think he’d—”

“I would much rather hear the part about ‘Buffy and all her friends will die?’”

“Oh.” Andrew gave him a tight lipped smile. “I thought that might get your attention. Same old Spike.”

William took a step toward the lad. “And what about that part?”

“Yeah, it’s like I said. We need to go back in time to fix something that’s gone wrong. Way back in time, for me. Though I suppose for you, it’s way forward.”

William ground his jaw, willing himself to be patient. “When will I be going back then? And what’s the bit about Buffy and death?”

“You’re going to 1997. To when you met Buffy for the very first time.”

“And why?”

“Because you messed up. Well Spike did. Or will. Or might.” Andrew gave a frustrated sigh. “I really don’t know how The Doctor keeps it straight in his head.”

“How about you tell me what I’m supposed to do now?” William asked. It might be a dream. He might be completely out of his head. But his experience with his otherworldly wife had made him cautious in these matters. He couldn’t afford to take this lightly.

“Look, I’ll give you the quick version.”

Thank Christ for that, William nearly groaned aloud.

“What was supposed to happen was this. Spike, you, were supposed to roar into town last night. Tonight you were supposed to threaten Buffy, get her all worked up about the Night of Saint Vigeous.”

“I’m understanding very little of what you’re saying. I caught “Buffy” and a few of the pronouns.”

Andrew gave William a look commonly reserved for particularly annoying relatives and new puppies. “Spike was supposed to come to town and warn Buffy about something - a vampire attack on the night of Saint Vigeous. Without Spike’s warning, she would have been unprepared for the attack and the outcome would have been— different. Bad.”

William nodded.

“Since Spike isn’t able to be here to warn her, you’re going to have to stand in for him.”

“Where is he? Why can’t he be where he’s supposed to be?”

“He got drunk and crashed his Desoto in Provo, Utah. He and Dru are holed up in a Body Shop while he threatens the workers into fixing his car.” Andrew shook his head. “From Provo to the Hellmouth. You sure know how to pick vacation spots, Spike.”

“I’m William, not Spike.”

“Don’t I know it, fella.” Andrew put his hands on his hips and surveyed William, toes to ears. “I certainly have my work cut out for me.”

“Your ‘work’ is—?”

“Changing you. Transforming you into someone who looks enough like Spike to put the scare into her. Warn her about St. Vigeous. No warning means an unprepared Slayer.” Andrew placed his hands on William’s shoulders and shook him. “You need to save her life. Once again, Sp—William, you must play the hero.”

“Well, that’s all— quite dramatic, isn’t it?”

Andrew nodded with enthusiasm.

William knew the whole thing was too incredible to be real. But in the back of his mind, a small doubt remained. If he were to do nothing while Buffy/Elizabeth was in danger, would be able to live with himself? Besides, he’d always been so curious about his life as Spike – what could it hurt to catch a glimpse of his other life? To see Elizabeth in her own time?

“I suppose we should proceed then.” William tugged on his hair. “Even though this is most likely a dream, I might as well go along with it. Attempting to resist you seems rather pointless.”

“Talk about ultimate makeover! You are going to be fabulous my friend.” Andrew clapped his hands together and grinned. “Chop chop. We need to get to it. I’ve got less than five hours to turn you from beta-Giles into a sexy, slinking vampire. I’ve got to get the jump on you— on it— I mean.”

~*~

Breaking into the hair salon had been disappointingly easy. Andrew only had to smash the small window by the back and reach through to unlock the door. For a business on the seedy side of Sunnydale, he’d have thought they’d have better security.

Though Andrew had never been inside the ‘Curl Up and Dye’ while he lived in Sunny-D, he felt a strange sense of nostalgia now that he was there. He surveyed the back room for supplies he would need. A few ‘People’ magazines lay scattered on the side table. ‘Hollywood’s Happy Couples!’ shouted the issue on top. It featured a beaming Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman.

“Oh Nicole. How naive you were, we all were.” Andrew shook his head.

There was a cassette-radio combination unit on the counter. He switched it on. When he turned the dial to 97.8 (The Sound of Sunnydale!) a wave of nostalgia washed over him, and he caught his breath.

“If you want my future, forget my past. If you wanna get with me, better make it fast.”

Andrew sang along as he scanned the shelf for peroxide. His hips swung to the music.

“I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want…” He sang, casting a glance over to He Who Was Not Yet Spike. The Englishman looked at him like he was on display in a particularly disturbing medical exhibit.

“I really really really wanna zig-a-zig-ah.” Andrew found a large bottle of peroxide and right behind it, a spray bottle. Perfect.

“Ginger was really so misunderstood.” Andrew pointed at the chair next to the sink. “Take a seat.”

William sat cautiously and watched Andrew with suspicious eyes. “Would you mind very much adjusting the sound?”

“The music?” Andrew was mystified. “Not a Spice Girls fan?”

“Girls? That sound emulates from girls?”

“It’s only the number seven song from 1997.” Andrew sighed and switched off the radio. As much as this man might appear to be Spike on the outside, William didn’t have an ounce of party attitude.

“We really should condition first, but time being short, we’ll have to make do.” Andrew unscrewed the cap of the bottle and held the spray bottle over the sink while he filled it. The scent of peroxide saturated the room and William looked at him with alarm.

“Oh, I totally know what I’m doing,” Andrew assured. “I used to give myself highlights all the time.”

“And it’s critical that I put this chemical into my hair? Its scent is rather … disturbing.”

“It’s key to your look, but I have an idea. Back in a sec, big fella.” Still holding the bottle of peroxide, Andrew slipped to the shop’s small kitchen. A tidy container of sweeteners sat next to the coffee pot. He thumbed through them until settling on the ‘Sweet N Low.’ It wouldn’t take all the sting out of the process, but it would help. He tore open a packet and poured it into the peroxide bottle. Then, for good measure, he tore open the remaining packs and added those as well.

When he reentered the room, William was waiting, head perched over the sink. Andrew gathered a few clips from the shelf and began pinning back large sections of William’s hair.

“We’re set now. Give me a few minutes and you’ll be transformed. You’re in good hands. No worries!”

William eyed him warily, as trusting as a father on Prom Night.

~*~

Andrew dabbed at William’s head with a towel. He’d rinsed off the chemicals, but William’s scalp still stung terribly. “And it’s supposed to burn like this, is it?”

“Um hmm,” Andrew hummed. “You know, with a little styling gel, I could work a miracle here.”

William took the towel from Andrew’s hand. “I believe my hair has been handled quite enough.”

“Fine then,” Andrew said. “It’ll have to do.” He handed William a stack of neatly folded clothes – all black. A large pair of clunky work boots sat atop the pile. “Time for the pièce de résistance.”

“And this is?” William asked.

“Your clothes, silly. Think of it as your superhero costume.”

“Good lord.”

“Yes. You look absolutely yummy in it.”

William could think of no response to that. Andrew watched him, wearing a faintly disturbing smile.

“So,” William hemmed, “I should just change, then?”

“Yes. Get to it, my dear man.”

“And you’re going to watch, are you?”

“Well, no. Not if you don’t want me to. Sheesh.” Andrew stepped through the door into the main part of the shop. “I was just trying to be helpful, but if you’re going to be all modest about it…never mind.”

The door closed behind him and William began to unbutton his shirt.

“You know, Spike didn’t have a shy bone in his body,” Andrew’s voice sounded from behind the door. “It was an honest mistake.”

Deciding that the less said the better, William quickly shed his shirt, undershirt and pants. After placing them on the bed, he sorted through the curious pile that Andrew left behind. The black shirt was made of a stretchy material and required no buttons. He slipped it over his head. The trousers were somewhat more troubling. They clung to his legs like a second skin and it took a bit of work to slide into them. Once they were on, they fastened together with a metal contraption that looked a great deal more like teeth than he felt comfortable with. Especially so close to his personal region. He worked out the device quickly enough and although the trousers were uncomfortably tight, at least he had managed to dress himself without assistance.

He wove a black leather belt under the loops on his trousers, fastening it with very little trouble. The workmen’s boots were of a simple design and laced up easily. The final item was a large coat, made of leather. He shrugged into it.

He had to admit it – the coat felt amazing. Like it was part of him, but something more. Like armor. When he moved, it fluttered about his calves like a cape.

“Are you ready?” Andrew called through the door. “We don’t really have all night and we have to go over some things before we get to The Bronze, you know.”

On his way to the door, William snuck a quick glance in the mirror behind the sink. He stopped dead in his tracks. With the glowing white hair, the black, swirling coat – he looked entirely different. He looked— well, rather like a big, bad man. He grinned at the strange reflection and the man in black smiled back.

Wasn’t this just — something else?

William paused a moment at the door. It was latchless, as seemed to be the fashion in this time. After a moment’s thought, he gave the large metal knob a twist and the door swung open.

“Oh look at you,” Andrew squealed. “You look fabu—I mean dangerous. You look fabulous and dangerous. Faburous.”

William reached a nervous hand up to tug on his hair and found a lock of foreign, brittle hair. It felt strangely sticky and he slowly lowered his hand, stuffing it in the pocket of his excessively voluminous coat.

“So, my appearance is correct? You think that Buffy would believe me to be Spike?”

Andrew flashed him a weak smile. “As long as you don’t say anything.” As William stepped back to allow him entrance to the room, Andrew added. “Or move. You’ve got the look but you need to walk the walk. Talk the talk.”

Andrew clasped his hands in front of him. “You need — the attitude. The swagger. Here, turn around.” He spun his index finger in the air. “Walk across the room for me.”

William bit the inside of his cheek at the lad’s command. Still, in for a penny, in for a pound. He took a deep breath and walked toward the door.

“Yeah.” Andrew’s voice dripped with disappointment.

“So, what’s to be done?”

“You need to sort of…” Andrew raised his eyes to the ceiling, recalling a memory. “A kind of slink and stride at the same time. Like this…” Andrew thrust his pelvis forward and began to move across the room. His hips swayed boldly and his feet clomped down in heavy thuds. Once he reached the door, he spun around and looked at William expectantly. “Your turn.”

“I feel rather silly.”

Andrew winced. “Best to leave the word ‘silly’ out of your vocab for now. The word ‘rather’ too, while you’re at it.”

William clenched his jaw. “Right.” Mimicking the strange young man, he began to walk across the room, taking care to swing his hips and tromp his boots heavily.

“Less with the stomping and more with the slinking. And your hips, William. A slight sway, not full on hula-hoop action.”

When William reached the door, Andrew quirked a disappointed smile. “It’s not so much about the walk as it is the attitude behind the walk. You’ve got to lead with your groin.”

Andrew placed his hands on either side of William’s hips and pulled them forward. The way the fellow kept laying his hands on William’s person was most alarming and William shot him his best dirty look.

“You’ve got to walk into the room knowing that every single person in the room would kill to be with you.”

“Kill? To be with me? Every person?”

Andrew nodded with absolute conviction.

“You’ve got to sell it, William. You’ve got to walk into that room like you know you are sex on legs.”

William coughed. He tried to say ‘good lord’ or even an ‘oh my god’ but all he could manage was, “uhh.”

“Maybe we should concentrate more on the standing and lurking and less on the moving. How hard can that be?”

William knew it was rhetorical, but he wanted to answer that he had every confidence that Andrew could likely make it very difficult indeed.

“When you stand,” Andrew said, “you have to project confidence. To quote her eminence, Madonna, you have to ‘strike a pose, there’s nothing to it.”

What scriptures was he quoting from? Surely the Mother of Christ had never said anything of the kind. William was beginning to think that the man was unhinged. Or possibly William was, to have dreamt him up in the first place.

“Like this.” Andrew leaned back against the wall. His legs were spread wide apart and his hands had gripped onto his waistband in an awkward fashion. He tilted his chin to the side and nodded at William in an extremely haughty manner. “Now you do that. Copy me.”

William sighed. “Very well.” He leaned back against the wall. Once he’d positioned himself, he remembered to spread his legs far apart and nearly fell over in the process. He tilted his head toward the odd young man and gave him his best pugilist glare – the one he reserved for facing particularly formidable opponents at his club.

Andrew gave a happy yelp and William couldn’t help but grin.

“You’ve almost got it!” the boy shouted. “But you’re forgetting one thing. Come on Will – what is it?”

“My hands!” William remembered in an instant. “I’m to place them in my waistband, for some unfathomable reason.” He placed his hands on his hips, feeling awkward.

Andrew shook his head and tssked – a teacher being patient with a thick pupil. “Not like that. Like this.” He demonstrated again, and William attempted to copy him, moving his hands towards the front of his trousers.

Andrew shook his head and stepped in front of William. “No, no, no. It’s not about putting your hands on your pants, it’s about framing your junk.”

“Framing my — I beg your pardon?”

“Your junk,” Andrew repeated without shame. He cast a long look directly at William’s crotch. “Thumbs at the belt buckle and fingers pointed downwards – calling attention to your…”

“My personal region?” William asked in horror.

“Is that what you call yours? I always called mine ‘Larry’.” Andrew smiled at him. “If it’s too difficult, I could always place your hands there myself.

“No!” William gasped. “No, thank you. I can quite manage on my own.” He copied Andrew’s hands precisely.

Andrew rewarded him with a smile and a nod. “You’ve got it! Now we’ll just work on smirking and leering for a few minutes and we can work on your voice.”

“My voice too?”

“Yup. And we’ve got to be at The Bronze soon. We’d better get cracking.”

William snuck a glance to the ceiling and murmured just under his breath. “I’d still really like to wake up now, if it’s all the same to you.”

~*~



*Thus endeth Act One*

“Wait!” Andrew jogged down the darkened street. William might have a prissy Englishman exterior, but the man just beneath the surface was built for sterner stuff. “Slow down a sec, Speed Racer.”

When William turned to face him, his long leather coat flapped around his calves. It reminded Andrew of Batman’s cape (the comics, not the Clooney version) and he had to grin. He couldn’t help himself. It was just so good to see Spike again.

“Is my stride not suitable?” William asked. “It’s terribly difficult to simultaneously run and swagger.”

Andrew struggled to catch his breath. “No, that’s not it at all. Your strut is chock full of attitude. It’s just that we need to strategize. The Bronze is only a block away.”

William nodded, then rubbed the back of his neck in a manner that was so like Spike it nearly brought tears to Andrew’s eyes. A car passed and William stepped back onto the sidewalk; he eyed the vehicle with fascination.

“I think you’d blend in a little better if you stopped ogling everything with a motor,” Andrew said.

“It takes some time to grow accustomed to these ‘cars.’ I cannot imagine the advances made in steam engines to allow for such a device. I assume some methods of electricity are involved as well?”

“The internal combustion engine isn’t really my forte.” Andrew waved a dismissive hand. In their short acquaintance William had shown a burning interest in pretty much everything this time had to offer: cars, architecture, ‘electrification.’ Even zippers. Andrew just hoped the LAX air traffic patterns didn’t shift to Sunnydale tonight. Planes would send the man into a joygasm.

“So, what’s to be done once we get to the metallic establishment?” William ran his fingers through his newly platinum hair.

“Metallic estab- oh! The Bronze!”

William nodded. “You said you had a plan.”

“That I do, my good man. That I do. It’s quite simple, really. We’re going to mimic what Spike was supposed to have done, if he hadn’t managed to smash his Desoto into the Wasatch Mountains.”

“What would that be?”

“A two step approach. You’ll lure Buffy out of the club, then warn her.”

“Wait. We’re going to a club? A sort of club that allows ladies?”

Andrew laughed. “Well, I’m not sure that you’d think of The Bronze as having ladies. Gentlemen either. But both genders will be there. It’s a … what do you call it? A club for people to gather and dance.”

“A ball?” William looked flummoxed.

“No. Just a place to chat and mingle. What’s an English translation for that? It’s like … a pub! With music instead of fish-n-chips and cold beer instead of warm.”

William gave a defeated sigh. Andrew longed to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but held back. “You’ll only be there for a few minutes. Just long enough to get her out to the alley.”

“And how should I manage to accomplish that task?”

“Oh, that part will be easy as pie. No direct contact with Buffy is even needed. Just wait until a bouncer is within earshot of her and tell him that a vampire is attacking someone outside. A slayer can’t resist that bait.”

William nodded, thoughtfully. “I suppose I could manage that.”

"Let’s hear it,” Andrew said. “A practice run. What would you say?”

“Once you identify the bouncer person, I suppose I should tell him something like— ‘I say, a vampire is accosting someone outside this establishment. We must alert the constable’.”

William glanced at him, a hopeful gleam in his eyes. Andrew resisted the urge to face palm.

“Maybe you could pull back on the nineteenth century, Sherlock,” Andrew said. “How about ‘There’s a man outside the club who’s tryin’ to bite someone.”

William pursed his lips and nodded, whispering, “There is a man outside of this club who is trying to bite someone.”

“And remember the accent. A little less ‘Masterpiece Theater’ and a little more ‘Sweeney Todd’.”

“Working class accent. Right, right,” William muttered.

“Then, once she’s in the alley, all you have to do is warn her. Tell her your name is Spike – it’s important she knows that part – and that you’re going to kill her on the Night of Saint Vigeous.”

William winced. “Kill her? I must ask – is that absolutely necessary? I feel most uncomfortable…”

Andrew cut him off. “She’s not going to take you seriously if you threaten her with a pillow fight. You’re Spike, for goodness sakes! It’s got to be a death threat.”

William released a resigned sigh. “Very well, and after that?”

“You run.”

“Well, that seems rather ungallant. Threaten a lady and run.”

“If she gets too close, she’ll realize you’re not a vampire. It’s about saving her and her friends too. The Powers wouldn’t have sent me if it wasn’t super-important that you warn her.”

William looked unconvinced, but Andrew powered through. “Don’t worry. I’ll be in the alley to help you with your lines. I won’t abandon you, William. If I have to, I’ll even create a distraction.”

“Yes, I’m sure you could be most distracting indeed,” William said with a smirk so Spike-like that Andrew found his confidence rebounding.

“Come on,” Andrew said. “The Bronze waits for no man.”

~*~

Since Buffy had first told him of the future, the concept that had most captured William’s mind was advances in electrification. He found the idea endlessly fascinating. He happily spent untold hours pondering the ramifications and possibilities that awaited humanity with such a wondrous discovery.

As he walked into The Bronze, he took it all back. He was overwhelmed, hit by a deafening wall of sound. The lights joined in the assault, flashing in time with the too-loud music, similar to the type Andrew had played at the odd Barber Shop. He felt a wave of relief when Andrew pulled him through the press of bodies and into a darkened corner.

“Stop looking so wide-eyed,” Andrew more or less shouted in his ear. “You’re Spike. You’re cool personified, remember? You’re sex on…”

“Yes, well enough about that,” William interrupted. “Is the club always so frenetic?”

Andrew shrugged. “No idea. I never came here when I was in high school. I was more of a Dungeons and Dragons person myself.”

“Dear god, man. I had no idea! There are so many things that Buffy neglected to tell me about the future.”

Andrew nodded sagely. “It’s true. The nerd didn’t really come into his own until the new millennium.”

Unsure of how to respond to that rather cryptic statement, William said nothing.

Andrew looked around nervously. “I’m going to go get us something to drink. It’ll help us blend in a little better while we look around for Buffy and her crew.”

While the lad was away, William noticed several of the patrons glancing his way with curiosity. He leaned against the wall and crossed his legs in what he hoped was a casual gesture. After schooling his face into a smirk, he tilted a glance toward a small crowd of onlookers; they all looked nervously away.

William smirked, this time for real. By jove, I’m rather getting the gist of this whole Spike persona!

When Andrew returned, he bore a bottle and a small glass of amber colored liquid. “Pour vous,” he said, handing the whiskey to William. Andrew held up his own bottle of what appeared to be water. “Zima! How I’ve missed you.” He glanced over at William. “They discontinued production back in 2008, although it’s still marketed in Japan.”

William understood nothing of what the lad had just said, so he tilted his glass towards Andrew’s bottle. They clinked. “To the success of tonight’s endeavor.”

“And Zima,” Andrew added, before bringing his drink to his lips.

The familiar burn of whiskey eased down William’s throat, warming his chest most comfortably. Perhaps a bit of Dutch courage would help push him further into his role as Spike.

They finished their refreshments expeditiously and Andrew went up for another round. Once they had fresh drinks in hand, Andrew gave William a meaningful glance and leaned over to shout in William’s ear. “We should look around for Buffy, the Scoobies. You know?”

William nodded his agreement. He knew. He was full of a mixture of dread and anticipation about seeing her, about his foolish guise, but he knew.

He pushed off the wall he’d been practicing lurking against, and followed Andrew as he wove a path through the throng of people. With concentration, he managed to slink rather convincingly.

They wove toward the sound of the music. Some rather scruffy gentlemen were on a stage playing with electrified instruments. Below them a crowd had gathered, moving their bodies in a rhythmic fashion. It was all rather primitive, really, and it took him a moment to realize that they were engaged in … well, he supposed it was dancing.

In the center of the floor, as though she was lit by a spotlight – was Buffy.

For an instant his heart forgot to beat. He reminded his knees to not buckle and his lungs to continue to take in air.

God she was beautiful. And so heart-breakingly young. Her cheeks still held the slight chubbiness of girlhood. Her eyes glowed with the vibrancy, the innocence, of youth. Her hair was so bright – her whole being shone, radiated. He forced his gaze down, staring at a spot of chipped tile while he collected his emotions.

After a moment, Andrew grabbed his arm. “There she is! Dancing with Willow and Xander!”

Her friends were with her? He hadn’t even noticed. Eager to see the Scoobies he’d heard so much about, he cast a glance back toward the dance floor. A tall boy and short redhead flanked his Buffy.

These were the friends who’d risked their lives time after time? Who’d faced monsters and sacrificed so much? To his eyes they too seemed barely out of childhood. He’d heard tales of their exploits, but he’d never stopped to consider their youth, their vulnerability. Seeing them in a new light, he reconsidered how truly astounding their accomplishments had been.

William dared to glance over at Buffy again. Bare arms raised above her head, she wriggled her hips in a most seductive fashion. He’d been so stunned by seeing her that he hadn’t noticed what she was wearing. Or … wasn’t wearing. Her tight trousers clung to her legs and the curve of her hips in a most revealing manner. And her violet blouse was barely there at all, the neckline dipping low enough to expose the upper curves of her breasts. It had no back whatsoever.

William swallowed hard, trying to chase the sudden case of dryness from his mouth.

He leaned over to shout in Andrew’s ear. “Is Buffy wearing a common fashion? I mean to say, is it typical for young women? She appears to be rather … well, undressed.”

Andrew nodded and shouted in William’s ear. “Crop tops too. I blame Britney Spears.”

“Her friends are attired in the same kind of uniform as many of the other youths. It’s odd that Buffy hasn’t chosen to dress similarly.”

“Uniform?” Andrew asked.

“The jumper with the colored stripe across the middle that so many are wearing.”

“Ah, a clothing fad of the late nineties. Not a uniform,” Andrew said. “Just be glad we’re here in the winter and it’s too cold for jorts.”

The song ended and though the room wasn’t exactly quiet, it was no longer necessary to shout to be understood. Andrew shot a glance at a gentleman standing near Buffy. “There’s your bouncer. Go tell him your line about the vampire, but loud enough so that she can hear it. Then follow me to the alley as fast as you can.”

William hesitated, feeling rather like he was about to take a small step off a very large cliff. He downed the remainder of his whiskey.

“You remember what to say, don’t you?” Andrew asked.

William nodded, took a deep breath and walked toward the burly man standing near Buffy. He made certain to keep his eyes on the floor, for when he looked at Buffy, his heart felt as if it would leap out of his chest. How he’d manage to talk with her –threaten her– in the alley, he had no idea.

It’s only a dream, William. Well, it’s probably a dream. You can do this.

He tapped the large man on the shoulder. At the last second, he remembered to smirk and tilt his head at a cocky angle. Just as the fellow turned, William blurted, as loud as he could manage, “Sir, I believe there’s a fellow in the alley trying to bite someone. It’s most disturbing!”

It wasn’t quite the line Andrew had given him. He only hoped it was close enough.

Buffy turned and ran to her table. While she fumbled with her coat, William spun around and headed for the exit. The crowd was so thick that it was impossible to see if Andrew was ahead of him or not. When William burst into the alley, he was alone.

He moved toward the darkened end of the alley, but was stopped by a strange hissing sound coming from the street, behind him.

“Psst, Spike. This way.” Andrew’s voice.

With no time to waste, he spun around and ran toward the sound. From a darkened corner, behind a large metal rubbish container, a hand popped up, waving at him frantically.

The door crashed open behind him and he turned to see Buffy spilling out of The Bronze. She cast a glance up and down the alley.

“Now,” Andrew hissed in the dark.

William stepped from the shadows, remembering to saunter. Buffy crouched into a fighter’s stance upon his approach.

“Hey, you’re the guy who said there was a vam—that someone was being attacked in the alley. What’s the sitch?”

Unfortunately, Buffy’s manner of speech was as incomprehensible in her own time as it had been in his.

“Where are your friends?” William surprised himself by veering off script.

“What?” Buffy gave him a perplexed look.

“Coming into a dark alley, all by yourself – it doesn’t seem a very prudent course of action.”

“Um, again, I gotta say ‘what’?” Buffy shook her head. “I’m trying to figure out what weirds me out more. That you talk like you swallowed a dictionary or that you sound like you’re a member of the Mom Patrol.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Mom Patrol?”

“Yeah, warning me not to walk down dark alleys. Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me what to wear.”

“Well, yes.” William felt relief at the opportunity. “About that. Your manner of dress is most disturbing.”

She shot him a scornful glance. “You’re shitting me. And I’m going to take fashion tips from a ‘Hot Topic’ wannabe like you?”

William heard a strangled groan coming from the alley behind him. Andrew again.

“I don’t wish to impugn your fashion sense.” William held his hands out to her, palms up. “It’s just that you might consider wearing more clothing when you’re out. If not for propriety, for the sake of … well, it’s winter after all. You shouldn’t wish to catch a chill.”

Behind her, two teens burst through the door. Willow and Xander. They looked at him with curiosity.

“What’s his damage?” the tall boy – Xander – asked Buffy.

“Not sure,” she replied. “He said there was a vamp in the alley, but I’m not seeing much on the attack side. So far just the Boy Who Cried Wolf. He talks like a Fashion Police version of Giles, with a big side order of the Weather Channel.”

The three of them looked at William, waiting for him to make a move.

As much as he hated to admit it, what he really wanted right now was encouragement from Andrew. A whispered line or even a groan would have been most welcome. He turned his head, trying to catch a rustle of movement behind him. All was silence.

Knowing he was in this alone, at least for the moment, he turned to face her – determined to find a way through.

“I came to warn you,” William said. He jutted his chin out and gave her his best approximation of a chilling smile.

“About the dangers of not layering sufficiently?” Buffy crossed her arms over her chest.

“I came to warn you about the night of Saint Vigeous. Remember the date.”

“And why is that? A cold front’s moving in? I’ll need mittens?”

She looked so cocksure of herself, and yet he knew that Spike – the real Spike – would be there in a matter of days, putting her in real danger. The thought spurred him on.

William took a deep breath and stepped toward her taking care to swagger, just a bit. “Because that’s the night I – kill you, slayer.”

Her eyes widened at that. “How do you know I’m the slayer? Who the hell are you?”

He gave her his best icy stare. “Spike.”

She collected herself and tossed her head back. “Well, Spike, I don’t think I’m gonna worry one bit about the night of Saint Vigorous–”

“Not Vigorous. Saint Vigeous,” he ground out. Some things never changed.

“What I think is going to happen is that we’re going to end this now.” As she stepped toward him, she looked entirely – well, there was no other word for it – fearsome. He knew he should run or say something, but he remained rooted in his spot. He was swamped, not with fear, not precisely. It was more a sense of awe. That such a sense of power could emanate from her, his small, darling Buffy.

“Help! Someone!” From behind the Scoobies, a familiar figure ran up the alley towards them, arms flailing dramatically. Andrew. It came to William in an instant. Andrew had been silent because he’d doubled back to create a well-timed distraction, as promised.

What an absolutely ingenious lad.

Andrew skidded to a stop directly in front of Buffy. “There’s a guy… biting some girl.” He panted for air, pointing at the alley’s darkened end. “That way.”

Buffy looked between Andrew and William. Deciding on a course of action, she leveled a glare at Andrew. “You’d better be legit. Because two false alarms in one night is gonna make me seriously cranky.”

“As serious as the heart attack I’m about to have,” Andrew said between gasps.

She turned to run down the alley (her trousers really were tight around her posterior) and Willow and Xander followed behind.

“Don’t forget,” William called after her in his best menacing tone. “The Night of Saint Vigeous. Spike. Speak to Giles about it.”

“Whoa.” He heard a female voice faintly, but it wasn’t hers. Willow. “He knows you’re the slayer and he knows about Giles too? Not good, Buffy.”

“I hear you, Will. He’s not exactly threatening, but definitely weird enough to look into.” Buffy’s voice faded out as they rounded the corner of the alley, in search of Andrew’s nonexistent vampire.

“Come on,” Andrew urged, propelling him toward the street. They rushed along for several blocks before stopping near a brightly lit shop next to a busy carriageway.

For a while they said nothing, still struggling to breathe. Once William recovered, he turned to Andrew. “Thank you most sincerely for your well-timed distraction. Do you think I managed to accomplish the task? Did I give sufficient warning?”

“She rated you ‘weird enough to look into.’ I think that’s a score for our team.” Andrew still struggled to catch his breath. “Boy, you really have a grudge against halter tops, don’t you?”

“What will happen now, I wonder. Perhaps at this juncture I shall wake from my dream, or whatever this is.”

“Oh, I hope not,” Andrew replied. “Things were just getting good.”

William had to smile. The lad was growing on him. “Well then since the remainder of the night appears to be ours, what do you suppose we should do? What would Spike do?”

Andrew looked at him with wide eyes. “I really don’t know. I guess he might play a few hands of poker at Willie’s or…” He stared off into the distance, a wicked twinkle flashed in his eyes. “Spike might consider paying a call on Angel.”

“Who is she?”

Andrew burst out laughing. “Wow, Buffy really was pretty skimpy on the details, wasn’t she? Angel is the vampire who sired Spike.”

“Ah, yes. I recall now. She has told me of him. But why should we seek him out?”

“He’s set to turn into Angelus and break Buffy’s heart in a few short months.”

“Break her heart? But she’s still a child! And if he was set to sire me, he must be…”

“Older than dirt,” Andrew said. “Don’t I know it?”

“The thought of this is most disturbing.” William tugged on his foreign-feeling hair, a swell of rage rising in his chest. “But what could we do? I take it that Angel would know immediately that I’m not actually Spike. That I’m human.”

Andrew grinned wickedly. “That’s the beauty of it. He’ll see human-you and think he’s seeing Spike with a soul. I’ll give you a few lines to say to him. A little something about how you’re the true champion and you’ve fulfilled the Shanshu Prophecy. He’ll jump to all the wrong conclusions. Probably break his own brood-o-meter.”

“Causing unpleasantness to this fellow sounds like a capital idea, Andrew. I believe I could quite be on board for such a venture.”

Andrew gave a squeal of joy and clapped his hands.

“Shall we stop by the oddly lit shop with the numbers on front?” William asked. “Perhaps at the seven and eleven establishment we might be able to procure some bottles of Zima. You know, refreshments for the Angel endeavor.”

Andrew put his arm about William’s shoulder and laughed. Pulling him toward the store, he said, “William? I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”



*Thus endeth the tale*