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Authori's Notes: Not a whole lot of action going on here...more of an interlude...


Chapter Eight : Spike

Interview 1997

I was working at the publishing house, singing under my breath. You know, how you sometimes do. And somebody walked up to me and said, ‘Don’t quit your day job.’

And…quite literally, when they said that, our song came on the radio.

It was an amazing feeling.

I knew then, at that moment…it was really happening.



July 1996


I’m the kind of person who endorses a deep commitment
Getting comfy getting perfect is what I live for
But a look and then the smell of perfume
It’s like I’m down on the floor
And I don’t know what I’m in for

Conversation has a time and place
In the interaction of a lover and a mate
It’s a time of talking using symbols using words
Can be likened to a deep sea diver
Who is swimming with a rainco-


William quickly reached over and slapped off the radio. It was just too weird for him to hear his own voice coming through the speakers. Too unreal. Like he was dreaming. The band’s first single was released three weeks ago and was already in the number four slot on the national charts. It was mind boggling.

Shortly after Acid Reign began recording with Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, they were introduced to a friend of his. A friend who just so happened to own a record label. Rough Trade Records. It might have only been an independent label that dealt only with British bands. It might not deal with the international market, but it was definitely a step in the right direction, if the national success of their single was any indication.

And it better be, since today he was glad to say he quit his job at that dreaded publishing house.

And now, William stood in front of the full-length mirror on the eve of their very first televised performance, judging his changed appearance.

It was different.

The wavy mousy brown locks were gone. As were the glasses and the khakis. In their place was something sexier, more mysterious. More fitting of a rock star, William truly believed. Bleach blond hair slicked back; contact lenses replaced the wire-framed glasses. Black jeans and t-shirt replaced the khakis and button-downs. And to top it all off, the handsome black leather duster he found on sale.

Staring at the mirror, William barely recognized himself. It was as though William was gone. No longer present. In his place was someone completely new, someone completely different.

Some part of him felt this new person, this alter-ego, needed a name. A personality. But what? He thought back to his days in high school. His personal days in hell. When everyone seemed to have gotten a kick out of harassing him, humiliating him. It was no secret during that time that he was always writing in his journals. Poetry. Prose. It didn’t matter. It was a way of expressing himself in ways he couldn’t outwardly. His classmates, however, made fun of him for it. Called him effeminate, a ponce, a nancy-boy, anything else they could think of, embarrassed him with public readings of his poetry. They called him William the Bloody, because “of his bloody awful poetry.” He remembered someone - he no longer remembered who exactly and besides, did it really matter? - made a comment about rather having a railroad spike shoved through their heads than listen to his work.

That was it.

Spike.

Somehow, it fit. Maybe more so than he originally thought. Because, after all, they all made fun of his poetry and other writings, but now, his writings helped propel him to where he was now.

So now, Spike had a new look and a new name. But he was still apprehensive. No one had seen his new look yet. Would they laugh? Would Buffy love it? Or hate it? Spike knew he was enough of a love’s bitch that if she hated it, he’d changed back in a heartbeat.

And let’s not forget that trip he was to take tomorrow. God, he was terrified he was going to fuck it up. Spike had been living with the irrational fear the past few days that whatever could go wrong was going to go wrong. That was the fate of the universe, wasn’t it? That’s what Murphy said, anyway.

He and Angel had been rehearsing for weeks on end when they were asked if they would like to take this trip.

It’s really happening, he thought to himself. Bloody hell.

He ran a hand through his shorter slicked-back locks as he continued to stare at himself in the mirror, still unused to his new appearance. He released a huge sigh.

Spike heard the front door open and his wife call his name.

“In here, luv,” he called out.

“Hey, Will. How are you feeling about tomorrow?” Buffy asked, as she rounded the corner. Concern tinted her voice. She was worried about him. Was just as nervous as he was. He knew it. And he was thankful for it. At least he wasn’t alone in this.

She halted when he caught sight of his changed appearance. Spike stood still, self-conscious as she continued to stare at him.

Okay, so she was speechless. But, was it the you’re-a-sexy-devil kind of speechless or one of those oh-my-god-what-have-you-done-to-yourself reactions? Spike wasn’t sure yet. And he wasn’t going to be sure unless she said something. He hoped she said something good, but at this point, he would take anything.

“Um, luv?” he asked nervously.

Buffy seemed to give herself a little shake and moved swiftly towards him. And before he knew it, her lips were on his.

Of course, he wasn’t complaining. He immediately wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. Buffy gave a small moan and weaved her fingers through his locks. But, before they could go any further, she slowly broke away to look at him. She gave him a grin, “So, um, what brought this on?”

Spike shrugged slightly, “’m not sure, love. Just decided I needed a change.”

“Well, I like it.”

“Really?”

“Yep,” she said, popping the ‘p.’ “You look really hot.”

He couldn’t help it. He laughed.




END CHAPTER EIGHT


A/N: The lyrics used are from “I Want You” by Savage Garden…

Also, according to the quick research I did, their record label, Rough Trade Records, was actually temporarily defunct at the time…but I decided to take a little writer’s license with it….so go with it…





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