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Author's Chapter Notes:
Bear with me while I catch this fic up on this site. New fic coming this way soonish.
The shaking had started as soon as Buffy let the final chain drop to the floor, her energy diving with it as she slumped back against the wall. Her horrified eyes hadn't once left the vampire that was now restrained with chains bolted to the floor and reclining on her bed. Every cell of her body was screaming—she had never felt so scared in her life.

She'd apparently gotten what she'd wished for—and hadn't she learned that lesson the last time everything went to hell? Wishes were bad. She should have been happy that Spike had found his niche at the end and let him. But noooo, not Buffy. Buffy couldn't cope with losing another man she'd given her heart to—particularly as he'd not believed she'd actually done it.

The cold seemed so much frostier now that what they'd planned had resulted in a massive booboo. Admittedly with the wild and wavy light brown hair and the little tie to keep it back, plus the fresh jagged cut in his brow, it was a rather sexy accident. But still, as much as this apparently was Spike—and a really frighteningly evil Spike—it wasn't her Spike, and for the first time, Buffy appreciated his metamorphosis.

There were clues here—she just wasn't putting them together yet. The clothes—okay, as canny with the styles of the day as she might be, she was no fashion major. The hair style and clothes only told her he was a long way from his time—but she didn't know how far back. Was he freshly turned, or old? Was he still a fledgling or had he achieved the title of master? While she studied his face, Buffy had a niggling memory of when he'd received that scar on his brow and watched now as fresh blood dribbled from the newly opened wound to slide across his forehead and down to the pillow.

Memory finally kicked in and Buffy felt the drop in her gut as realisation made this situation seem suddenly so much worse. Oh God, he was fresh from killing one of her sisters-in-arms and she'd brought him straight into the bedroom of another slayer. The knowledge set her heart thundering and her blood racing through her body in panic. This was not going to be a warm homecoming, full of love and tears and happy kisses. If he was loose she had no doubt this would be a fight for her life, as well as her sanity.

Discovering he was awake and staring at her neck hungrily made her feel sick. Made her stomach turn, and then clench violently in guilt. She'd done this. This was her fault. She'd brought an unchipped, not-so-charmingly evil Spike to her world and there was no telling what effects such an event could have on it.

Moaning cries of devastation were slamming hard at her throat for release and Buffy felt the overwhelming grief hit her again and this time felt no way of holding it back. He chuckled in high amusement as she lost the fight to control herself and began sobbing while sitting on her floor. The door peeped open and Dawn came in, fear holding her stiff as she edged closer to Buffy, her eyes never leaving a suddenly furious Spike...William as he jerked powerfully at the chains.

His intent was clear as he took in the newcomer. She smelled more the same of the Slayer than most little sisters did, and that intrigued him—but not enough for him to want to keep her alive. Her blood would tell as many stories if she was kept alive or drained dry. It could be kind of interesting to see what parts of a sibling clung to the essence of the girl that made a slayer. Angelus had told him they always walked alone, distantly at the side of the crusty old gits that trained and led them to their end. This sister could be revolutionary, not to mention tasty.

The power of his first still zinged through his veins, keeping him high and charged as he faced this situation that defied understanding. He lived in a world that was the underbelly of reality, and yet he couldn't, for the life of him, find one example in his own world that explained where he was, why he was here, and why he'd been summoned to another slayer so soon at all. And one that apparently drowned herself in every fruit and flower known to man.

It hit him like Angelus's fist to the head. He couldn't sense his sire, couldn't feel the security of his family close by. Whoever this girl was—sobbing uselessly on the floor—she'd taken him from his love, from his kin, and for that he was going to make sure this room was as blood red as it could be before he left it.

"S-Spike?"

His eyes swivelled urgently back to the new girl, the young girl that was so terrified she stunk. She knew his name even though he was dead certain he'd never seen either of them before. His muscles bulged against the chain and he knew it would take a bit of work and he could break it, but he could wait. Might be fun to play. Slayer was obviously not up to any type of dealing with the situation.

"An' how does a pretty girl like you know about a bad man like me?" He eyed her lewdly, eyes roving over her developed shape until shiny blonde hair snagged his attention and he was checking out the Slayer again. His cock throbbed in reaction, still so very much caught in the heady experience of fucking Dru over a corpse in China.

"We k-know you. Don't you remember us?"

The tears in her eyes were really very amusing. He couldn't help but laugh, and laugh more at her flinch and quick scuttle backwards away from him.

"Buffy," she said urgently, shaking her sister while never taking her eyes off HIM, and it made him feel so good. Angelus may claim he was useless, but he struck terror in one that was a slayer's sister. That alone would infuse his blood with pleasure for weeks to come.

He sensed the second the atmosphere changed.

"Dawnie, really not a good idea for you to be in here." The Slayer raised furious but dead eyes and stared him back into humourlessness. Then she stood and the table was flipped, Spike not knowing if he'd been caught to be played with, to be staked at a girl's leisure.

"What's wrong with him, Buffy? Why is he dressed like that and what's wrong with his hair?"

"Oi!" He was bloody offended now. Wasn't like he looked like poncy William, in the stiff shirt and with floppy boy hair. He had style now, he had power and he knew that the aura of strength just dripped from him. He intimidated now, struck fear in even the most fearless of creatures, and he resented this slip of a girl implying that he was still that useless git that couldn't even get one person to take him seriously. Even his old mum had thought him a joke in the end.

"He's not our Spike, Dawnie. Please, just go out and wait with Willow and Andrew. Better yet, go off to that hotel room you mentioned."

The younger girl looked shocked, and not a little disgusted.

"Ewwww," slipped through lips that were turned in distaste. "Do not tell me you're going to do the wild thing with him." She pointed with an unsteady finger.

"What?" Buffy turned to Dawn impatiently. "Of course not. I want you all out of here and safe in case he accidentally breaks free."

"No way. Not leaving you here on your own with him. Willow could do some kind of spell that will stop him from getting free of the chains or something."

Okay, that was really not a part of his plan.

"No bloody way. You keep your mojo dolly far from me, Princess. Always consequences with magic. You might accidentally shorten my dick and trust me, that would be a national tragedy."

He wasn't expecting the smile. It stunned him how beautiful she looked when the tears had dried on her face and she could share a joke. No, not a joke, because losing his willy—not funny at all.

"Yeah, we're all up on the consequences thing. But please! National tragedy? Regional, maybe."

The bloody chit winked at him—and made fun of his cock. The fury at his helplessness welled up in him again and he roared as he snapped and yanked at his chains.

"Outside, Dawn. Now!" She didn't stop to look at Dawn, hopefully trusting her to be afraid enough to leave Buffy to handle this situation of her own making.

The door clicked shut and Buffy took the two steps to the bed and grabbed Spike around the neck, shoving him down and holding him flat to the mattress.

"Okay, one, the Boxer Rebellion look? Really, really sexy. I mean, breathtakingly so. You never ever let me into that little snippet when you were unloading about how you killed that slayer. But the growly thing? Has to stop right now. I'm willing to tell you what's the what, but not if you're just gonna try and snap those chains and kill my sister and friends. The Spike I know definitely would have listened first and made the decision after, so let's try and be like him huh? Besides, I know every one of your moves and you haven't been able to beat me in years. Just give me five minutes of thinking he's back, okay?"

The tears were back in her eyes and it floored him. She spoke like she knew him, knew things about him that he'd apparently told her. So, despite his confusion, he was mighty intrigued. The struggling stopped completely, and once he'd given up the possibility of imminent freedom, he was able to pay attention to her touch. She'd lost the reason to hold him down, now that he was cooperating, but her fingers still rested—though gently now—around his throat. Her thumb was even stroking his flesh, and he was ignoring the twitches that sensation alone was wringing from less in control parts of his body. He was banishing the terrified understanding that she knew more that his past, she knew his body and knew it well.

"You are so right," she continued, finally conceding to what she should have known and accepted all along. "Magic has consequences, and even though you're 'him'—I can see that you are—you're not my 'him' and that's just all kinds of wrong."

He was intrigued despite himself. Oh, he hadn't lost the urge to rip her throat out, but there was a story here and he wanted the gist of it. He was far too curious for his own good.

"What the bleeding hell are you on about?"

Buffy ignored the demand, losing herself in the Spike she'd hoped would come back to her but knowing now how very stupid she had been. But not just her, Willow too. Of course their Spike wasn't going to come back. He was gone, wasn't he? Hadn't Willow's locator spell found that her Spike had been obliterated—soul and all—in the devastation of the Hellmouth? How on earth had they been arrogant enough to think they could bring him back from nothing?

It wasn't all lost, though. At least she had a Spike, and one lying on her bed too.

"The first thing you need to know," she started on a whisper, and suddenly diverted with the pain of losing Spike all over again. "Is that I love you. Whatever you think of me, and no matter how much you hate me for what we've done, remember I did it because I loved you. Love you."

Right, no way was this girl in her right mind. A slayer in love with a vampire—and one that was making it his business to seek slayers out and deprive them of their life—was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard.

He snarled. "Don't hit me with your barmy bollocks. Save it for the doctors at Bedlam. Tell me what the fuck I'm doing here, then get your arse into gear to send me back."

"W-Willow's working on it," Buffy said, carefully pulling her hand away from his throat but then placing it against the wound on his brow. "You told me how you got this."

He was rigid with waiting. Despite his shock at her confession, and his desperation to believe her completely off her nut, he had a devastating insight that more was going on here than he could understand or easily accept.

"You died," she confided and he felt something shatter.

"Dru?" He had to know, if she was all right. Couldn't give a bugger about the slapper and her john, but his Dru, he'd shrivel up and dust if she was gone. And it was a good way to blank out the disturbing snippets she was releasing with each vindictive curl of her tongue.

"Oh your precious psycho was just fine last time she came to town. I'm sure Angel probably knows where she is, but we'll get you back way before he knows anything about this. Actually, he's never gonna know." The ensuing eye roll was completely unconscious. "That's all I need—him knowing we tried to bring Spike back."

The relief he'd felt to know that Dru was fine wherever he was, was short lived. It suddenly occurred to him that this girl knew his history—his future or parallel life if he'd switched dimensions, and he'd definitely heard of that possibility—and she'd implied that Dru was just dandy without him. As much as he loved her, that hurt. Though it struck a chord with his natural insecurities. How could he doubt that it might happen in the future when he knew that up until his latest kill, he'd been fighting to keep her by his side? There was so much going on, so much being said that he felt like his head was swimming with too much information.

"Just bloody get on with the explanations. You've exhausted me with your cryptic stories."

She smiled again and he felt the ire slip. Her eyes shone when she wasn't burying them in tears and he found himself wondering about the shade and how unique it appeared to be. Such a discovery was the thing of poetry and that reminder was enough to tamp down this betrayal of himself. He wasn't that precious little William anymore. He killed things worthy of pretty verse, not conducted adjectives of expression.

"My Spike died closing the Hellmouth."

He could see how much pain was involved with her saying that, and for that he felt like crowing cruelly—until he realised it was his loss that was hurting her so much. Then he was confused and didn't know what kind of reaction to have. Who to kill to make sure it never happened. How to deny furiously that it wasn't possible that a vamp like him could do what she was claiming, yet knowing that he had a perverse desire to keep the world as it was. If it was under threat, he could well see himself bond with his enemy in order to save it.

"Tough break," he compromised, though straight after felt thoroughly disgusted with himself. He felt his gut turn at her sniffle and then she was holding his hand and he thought he was going to hurl all over the pretty bed covers.

"I waited too long," she told him, snuffly and heartbroken by the way her eyes shone again with seemingly endless tears.

"Right. Well, I'm sure I dusted not so broken up about it. Vampire, after all." He was quite satisfied with that one. As if he'd give a bugger what she'd waited too long for. And if it was what he suspected she was about to lie at his feet, he'd much rather block his ears and sing God Save the Queen. And if that didn't show how desperate he was, nothing would.

The creases in her face as she screwed it tight showed how much his uncaring statement shattered her.

"I can't even call you a bastard, because you're him. But that was just mean and vindictive, and I'd forgotten how exactly like that you were before you—" She looked away and stared into some distant time, rivers of tears dripping from her chin as her body shook with the effort of not breaking down completely. Not in front of this uncomplicated vampire. Right now he was all about the hunt, feed, kill. He was the example of evil that Buffy spent her life eradicating before they made her fellow humans their nightly beverage of choice.

"You change," Buffy persisted, knowing that he'd probably reject the notion, but not really caring at the moment if she caused some kind of vampire meltdown at the knowledge. She felt so devastated that the spell had gone wonky, so raw emotionally and it was both a pleasure and painful to have Spike on her bed—no matter what timeframe he came from. This one hadn't yet been shown how his life could be, hadn't embraced the possibility that he could love anyone but Drusilla. This one didn't love Buffy and wouldn't ever choose to in a pink fit. The circumstances weren't there, and as much as Buffy would love to believe the fairytale—that no matter the time or place, it would take just one look for them to recognise their place beside each other—she couldn't lie to herself. Too many things led to their developing feelings, too much time for Buffy to finally get the picture.

"Well, I don't want to change, so bugger off. Send me back to Dru and I'll forget you ever did this to me."

Buffy looked up at him and the misery was laid bare. "I can't. Not yet. Willow's working on it."

"Right, so that means you'll send me back eventually though, right?" His tone was so hopeful, so eager to return to his Dru that Buffy felt the sudden urge to stake him.

"Your sick obsession with her is just so wrong." It made her feel every shade of ill and Buffy had to move away.

""Why? Because I'm not slobbering all over you? Who bloody would? What did your last lap dog die of?"

There was no hiding the shattering effects of his words, but she managed to stand and step away, her eyes hard and filled with hate.

"Oh, he died saving the world like a true champion. He burned up and took out the Hellmouth with him. I guess it was stupid of me to think—" She wasn't going there. This wasn't her Spike, and that was that.

Just inside of the door, she stopped. He was looking at her, his eyes amber and fangs dripping hungrily.

Buffy didn't even blink.

"You have a choice. I don't know how long you'll be around, but it took us over a week to work out the spell that brought you here in the first place. You might want to consider altering your diet so you can be relatively free. 'Cause snacky on the necky? So not moving from that bed. Like I said, your choice. Oh, and you might want to go by something other than Spike, or William, because right now? I feel like punching you or staking you every time you open your mouth. My Spike was a hero and you're doing nothing but destroying all his hard work. I won't have it. Consider going by something else."

By the time his brain caught up to what she was saying, the door had clicked shut and he was left alone.

He braced himself for one brutal tug on his chains when she yelled back through the door. "Oh, and Willow has enchanted the chains. You're not going anywhere."

He roared as he yanked and pulled at the metal, not even seeing any weakened give in the links. In a burst of fury, he kicked the crap out of whatever he could reach. By the time he calmed down, hardly anything was left untouched or intact.

Violence always made him feel good.





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