**Note, italics=internal monologue.
--
Spike stood in front of Clem, decked out in a tweed suit, glasses, and a moppy brown wig. Clem sighed and shook his head.
“Spike, I still don’t know why you do this…you’ve made enough money, why not just get out now? Retire at…how old are you now?”
“Bout 150…I think…I don’t know, Clem. Doesn’t sodding matter now, does it? I like the attention this whole ‘Gates’ thing gives me. The glory. Get to see m’self plastered all over the world and no one’s the wiser.”
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that.”
“What?”
Spike moved menacingly toward Clem, his eyes flashing yellow.
“What did you say? Huh? Something to the Slayer?”
“Nothing, nothing. Yeesh you’re jumpy. I just meant that if you’re ‘with’ Buffy,” Clem said, gesturing ‘air quotes’ to Spike, “it’s just…the Slayer’s no dummy, Spike. She’ll figure it out eventually.”
Scoffing, Spike pointed to his ensemble and make-up job that marred his chiseled features into a more rounded shape. He spoke again in his American “nerd” accent.
“You really think Buffy would suspect that Bill Gates is really the Big Bad?”
Clem shook his head.
“Well, you’re not really Bill Gates.”
“Maybe not by birth, no, but I built his sodding empire,” Spike said, reverting back to his cockney tongue, “I’m more than the real Gates could ever have hoped to be. Got a hot wife…three lovely children….”
“None of which are real.”
“Well, no, but who in the bloody hell cares? I have 70 billion dollars, mate! No one should begrudge me my trophy hologram. Well, robo-family now.”
“Robo-family?”
“Remember the Buffy-bot?”
Clem nodded, his ears flopping loudly.
“Ohhh yeah. Of course I do. She was much more pleasant than the real deal.”
“Right. Well, I figured that I might need a tangible family to go out and do my ‘dirty work’ in the sunlight since I’m indisposed.”
“Oh, of course,” Clem said, trailing off. “So…you and the ‘Melinda-bot’ are ‘intimate’?”
Spike wrinkled his face in disgust.
“God no! I’m a one-bot man. And now that she’s gone, I do have the real Buffy to fool around with.”
“Yeah. Until she finds out you’ve been lying about this thing since before she was born.”
Rolling his eyes, Spike pointed to a black suit hanging on the sarcophagus.
“Get dressed, Clemency. My poor ‘deformed’ baby brother is joining me on this trip. Helicopter should be here any minute.”
--
NOVEMBER 8, 1975
Bill Gates, a young 20-year-old computer whiz, sat hunched over his huge desktop in his mother’s garage. So encompassed in his work, he didn’t hear the footsteps coming up the driveway. A sing-songy woman’s voice broke his concentration.
“Oooh, Spike! Can I play with him now?”
Bill looked up from his work and frowned.
“Who’s there? Come in the house so I can see you.”
“With pleasure, lad. Dru, pet, let Spike take this one. There’s a whole reem of blood-filled Seattle folk waiting inside I’d wager.”
“Oh, goody! Miss Edith and I will play and their entrails will sing us delightful songs!”
Spike smiled at his dark princess as she flitted past the terrified Gates. Spike sat down in front of him, his gaze moving between Gates and the computer.
“Why don’t you tell me about your work here, mate. Been hearing you’re going to revolutionize the world with your software. I’d love to hear all about it. If you tell me, maybe Dru won’t dance around in your entrails and what-not.”
Bill’s face paled with fear, but his eyes shone in defiance.
“I can’t…it’s…it’s my life…my work is everything to me.”
Spike’s vampiric features burst onto his face as his anger escalated.
“And if you don’t start talking right now, you won’t have a life to come home to…let alone a life’s work.”
Four hours later, Drusilla helped Spike toss the Gates’ bodies into a deep pit in a dense forest. Spike placed a gentle hand against the small of her back as they walked back toward the Gates’ home.
“C’mon, love. Let’s stay the day there…sun’s almost up, yeah?”
As they entered the home, Drusilla busied herself by talking to the various bookends in the living room. She squeaked in delight when she found a veritable stockpile of porcelain dolls in a corner.
“Oh, Spike! May I keep them?”
“Of course, pet. Whatever you want.”
Smiling at her excited reaction, Spike walked into the home’s den and sat down at a desk. Picking up the phone, he dialed a familiar number.
“Hey, Clem? Yeah, it’s Spike. Yeah, I know…been a while. Question, mate. You still got the stage makeup kit? You do? Fabulous. Listen, I’ve got a proposition for you. The pay? Oh, let’s say 70-30? 60-40?! Now, Clem, that’s…no, no, fine. I understand. Sodding kids cost a bundle these days. 60-40 it is then. It’s worth it…trust me. Yeah. This’ll change the world. Right, ‘s what I said. Change the world. Can you get here today? Seattle. No, I’ll pay for your plane ticket. Good. Just take a cab once you get here. The address? Yeah…just a second….”
--
Buffy frowned at her reflection in the mirror.
Stupid Buffy…getting thrown out by a sodding vampire…wait…‘sodding?’ When the hell…stupid Spike and his bloody words…dammit! There it goes again. Buffy, you’ve really got to stop seeing him.
As Buffy tried to shake back into reality, two miniature versions of herself appeared on her shoulders; one dressed in a shining white robe accented with angel wings and a halo, the other a horned demon, wearing a red-hot leather jumpsuit and straddling her pitchfork.
“Oh man…I really don’t need this right now.”
“Buffy, dear child of light,” Angel-Buffy said as she strummed her harp, “you mustn’t fret over this. You are a wonderful, dear, girl. The Chosen One. A warrior for good…a….”
Demon-Buffy hissed at her angel counterpart.
“Horny! Horny, horny, horny! Horny Slayer,” she yelled as she grinded against the pitchfork in a very un-ladylike manner.
Angel-Buffy rolled her eyes.
“Buffy, you know what is right. You must stop seeing this Spike…he’s a bad influence on you…he’s…so…sexy…and…no! Stop looking at me like that,” Angel-Buffy yelled toward Demon-Buffy’s direction.
Buffy looked over in confusion at her mini-demon self. Somehow, Demon-Buffy had shed herself of all her leather ensemble and found a mini-Spike, whom she was having a raucous bout of sex with. Angel-Buffy turned and shielded her eyes, but continued to sneak peeks between her fingers when she was sure no one was looking. Demon-Buffy groaned in pleasure as she broke into an orgasm on Buffy’s shoulder. Mini-Spike growled and bit into her neck, sending another shockwave through her mini-body. Buffy rolled her eyes and flicked the mini-Spike off of her shoulder. Demon-Buffy pouted as she climbed back into her leather jumpsuit.
“That wasn’t very nice, Buffy. We were just getting started.”
“Well, that may be but…hey,” Buffy yelled, “why am I having a conversation with a figment of my imagination?”
Angel-Buffy and Demon-Buffy both shrugged.
“It’s your fantasy, dear one,” Angel-Buffy said.
“Yeah, stupid,” Demon-Buffy added.
Buffy sighed as she stared at their reflections in the mirror.
“So what am I supposed to do?”
Angel-Buffy flapped her angel wings and landed next to Demon-Buffy on Buffy’s left shoulder. After a brief pout, she whispered something into Demon-Buffy’s ear; Demon-Buffy then nodded and whispered back. Folding their arms and nodding in sync, Demon-Buffy and Angel-Buffy spoke to their large counterpart in unison.
“Stay with Spike.”
Buffy frowned.
“Really? Why?”
“He’s so sexy,” Demon-Buffy cooed.
“And he loves you,” Angel-Buffy added.
“And he’s sexy.”
“And he loves you.”
“SEXY!”
“LOVES HER!”
A mini-cloud of smoke erupted on Buffy’s shoulder as the mini-versions of her subconscious self broke into a catfight. Buffy shook her head and flicked them onto the ground, and then stood up, in determination.
“I know what to do.”
As she walked out of the room, she cringed when she heard two teeny voices squeal in delight.
“Oooh, Spike! A three-way? That’s so kinky!”
--
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is supposed to be somewhat humorous...let me know if it's lacking! :D Italics=internal monologue.