CoF - Saber ShadowKitten - Carpe Frenulum

AUTHOR: Saber ShadowKitten
EMAIL: daschus@attbi.com
RATING: PG-13
PAIRINGS: Buffy/Spike
SETTING: Post 'The Gift'.
DISCLAIMER: Joss and Carrie, not I.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part One

At first, it was great. She felt like she was flying. The wind buffetted her body as she soared through the air. She wondered if birds felt the same rush she did for that brief time she was suspended in the air, two hundred feet above the ground.

Buffy's euphoria was short-lived, however, soon replaced by pain. She was no longer flying - she was falling. She had leapt from the tower and into the energy portal Dawn's blood had opened and Buffy's blood would close. The pain was excruciating. Magickal electricity ripped through the blond's body, tearing her apart molecule by molecule. She prayed for the end of the pain, prayed to hit the hard earth, prayed for death. And still she was falling.

Buffy laid still, more out of surprise than from the pain of connecting with the ground. She was alive, if her heavy breathing and pounding heart were any indiction. She also didn't feel very hurt. There was a sting radiating from her hands, knees, and cheek where it rested on the gritty ground. There was a different type of sting burning one side of her neck.

Keeping her eyes shut, Buffy listened for her sister or her friends, or fighting, or the end of the world.

Confused, she opened her eyes and saw she was indeed laying on the ground outside. An off-yellow light illuminated the area where she was sprawled from overhead. A couple inches from her nose she saw neatly edged grass. Even closer was a pair of gold-framed oval eyeglasses, with one of the stems bent.

Cautiously, Buffy moved, pushing herself to her knees. Nothing seemed to be broken. She touched the tender side of her neck as she looked around, squinting because everything more than a few feet away was blurry. "Dawn?" she called tentatively.

Blurry vision or not, she did not see her sister or any of her friends. She did not see Glory's brain- sucked pawns or scabby minions. She did not see the tower or construction site. What she did see looked an awful lot like one of the sidewalks on the UC Sunnydale campus. And a black-bearded human in a blinding purple suit.

"Everything would be clearer if you put on the glasses," the Purple Pieman addressed Buffy from where he stood in front of her.

"Are you talking to me?" Buffy said, on guard. Her voice sounded deeper than usual to her, but she chalked it up to the sting on her neck.

Buffy narrowed her blurred eyes, hands forming fists, her body tensing to strike. "How do you know my name?"

"I know everything about you, Buffy Summers," the man walked over to a stone bench and took a seat, "including the fact that you are no longer Buffy Summers."

The man reached into his garish suit coat and Buffy rose quickly to her feet... and kept rising... and rising. "Woah," she breathed, teetering on her suddenly much longer legs. She towered over the man on the bench, who removed a hand-mirror from his breast pocket and extended it towards her.

"Miss Summers," the main said as Buffy cautiously took the mirror and looked at her reflection. "Welcome to your new 'normal' life."

Buffy gaped. Staring back at her in the mirror was not who stared back at her this morning. For one thing, her eyes were blue, not dark, dark brown. She also had longish blond hair - dyed, but blond - not short black George Clooney hair. She usually didn't sport a five o'clock shadow, either. The square jaw, thin nose, and thin white scarline on her tanned cheek, running from the corner of a slightly tilted eye almost to her right nostril, were very unfamiliar features. Most disconcerting was the fact that she was also a he.

"I'm a guy. Why am I a guy? What did you do to me?" Buffy growled at the man, clenching the mirror in her fist.

"Why, the Powers gave you your reward for exemplary service as the Chosen One." Purple Suit patted the bench beside him. "Sit down and I shall explain."

"Who are you?" Buffy asked, irritation and worry coloring her deep male - male! - voice.

"You may call me Ryan. I am an emissary for the Powers That Be, and I am here to explain your situation," Ryan said. Now that he was in focus, Buffy noted that he looked like a young Santa Claus, if Santa wore ugly purple suits with matching wingtips.

"So explain," Buffy said. "Start with why I'm on campus or wherever we are instead of at the construction site, and go from there."

"We are, indeed, on the UC Sunnydale campus," Ryan began. He crossed his legs and folded his hands over his knee. "Buffy Summers, the body and the Slayer parts, have been deceased for over a year-"

"Woah, woah, woah, hold your horses," Buffy interrupted. "Are you trying to tell me I'm dead?"

Buffy turned him out, her eyes losing focus as her mind remembered what she thought had happened only a short time ago. She was falling... "I'm dead?" she repeated with a waver in her unfamiliar voice.

"Technically, yes," Ryan Said. "Your body is buried in Restfield Cemetery, next to your mother. However, your soul, if you will, has not died. Because you were a Slayer and forced on a daily basis to put yourself in peril on behalf of humanity and thus taking away your ability to lead a 'normal' life, the Powers have allowed you, as they do every Slayer, the opportunity to have that 'normal' life by placing your soul in a recently deceased individual who meets certain specific criteria. Which is why it has taken over a year to find you a body."

"The Powers are very strict about choosing a suitable body," Ryan told her. "First, as I said, the person has to be recently deceased. Still warm, as the saying goes."

"Secondly, the chosen body must have very little earthly connections. The person you have become, Brett Anderson, has no living relatives, moved here on full scholarship from Maine, and is what you would term a 'loner,' with no real friends on campus because he spends almost all his free time studying in order to keep his scholarship."

"So, I'm a nerd?" Buffy raised the hand-mirror and looked at her reflection, ignoring the way it shook. "I'm pretty cute for a nerd. Didn't, uh, didn't Brett have a girlfriend?"

"Okay, let me see if I understand," Buffy said. "Buffy is dead. Buffy is now Brett. Brett is a cute nerd who is just an ordinary guy who goes to UCSun on scholarship, with no one in Maine who would know Brett is no longer Brett but Buffy in a Brett suit."

"And I have no superpowers?" Buffy continued questioning, looking at her reflection again, the hand holding the mirror less shaky. "I don't have to fight evil, make impossible decisions, or sacrifice myself for the greater good?"

"Correct," Ryan said. "You are a normal human being with no responsibility to anyone other than yourself."

"Then why do I feel like Brett should be the one still living in his body, and not me?"

Ryan patted her leg. "You did not cause Brett's death, my dear, nor did the Powers cause it in order to give you a body. Brett simply died by vampire bite, as people tend to in Sunnydale."

"So in a way I did cause Brett's death, because I'm the Vampire Slayer and I wasn't around to stop the vampire from killing him," Buffy said flatly, touching the stinging part of her neck. Vampire bite, she should have recognized the feeling.

"At the cost of someone else's life? No," Buffy said unhesitantly. "Besides, I'm no longer Buffy. According to you and the mirror, I'm Brett, which means those that I love and would live for don't even know me. If what you say is true and I've been dead more than a year, Dawn and my friends have undoubtably grieved and moved on with their lives. I won't hurt them by coming back in someone else's body." Buffy stood and handed Ryan the small mirror. "Return me to wherever I've been for the past year, put Brett back into his body, and tell the Powers to stop playing God."

"Er..." Ryan arched his black bushy brow at her last statement, then shook his head. "Never mind. As to your wishes, I am afraid I can only partially grant them. You have a choice: if after thirty days you wish to no longer stay living, the Powers shall release your soul. Brett's soul, I am afraid to say, has already been released and cannot return. If you are not inhabiting his body, Brett will truly be deceased."

Buffy stared at Ryan a minute, then dropped her chin and looked at her new big feet. He was being straight with her, she could tell. Brett Anderson was dead no matter what. Buffy Summers had the opportunity to live.

She shoved her hands in her pockets, took deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Is there anything else I need to know if I'm going to be Brett?"

Ryan smiled gently. "Only that it is up to you, Buffy, if you are in contact with your family and friends. You are still Buffy on the inside, with all of Buffy's memories, thoughts, and desires. You simply have another body that comes with a few strings, like a heavy school course load and no viable source of income. Physically, you're fit as a fiddle, have no known allergies or diseases, and your only limitation is that you require glasses."

"You forgot to mention the fact that I now have a *penis*," Buffy said dryly. She heard giggling behind her, glanced over her shoulder, and saw two female students crossing the path. Her face heated up and she quickly turned her eyes to the ground in front of her.

"There is that, but Brett was the first available body that met the Powers' criteria," Ryan said, rising from the bench. "Are there any further questions?"

"Very well, then." Ryan extended his hand. "I will return in thirty days to see if you would like to stay as Brett Anderson. Until then, I wish you well in your new 'normal' life. Your dorm is Hendrix Hall, room 305. I would recommend you go there now. This is Sunnydale. There are all sorts of nasty creatures out at night who'd be happy to eat a 'normal' human such as yourself."

With that warning, Ryan released Buffy's hand, turned, and walked away. Buffy didn't move until the blurry purple beacon disappeared from sight. "Very strange," she murmured, retrieving the glasses from the ground. She straightened the earpiece as best she could and put them on. The world snapped into focus and she sighed, "Much better."

Picking up the dark blue backpack on the grass, which she assumed was Brett's since there was no one else around, Buffy put it over her shoulder and struck off for Hendrix Hall. She kept an ear out for danger as warned and reminded herself to carry a stake and a few other anti-vampire implements on her. Normal human or not, she still could protect herself from vampires that roamed the campus after dark.

The digital watch on her wrist told her it was barely past ten o'clock p.m. as she climbed the stairs to the third floor of the dorm. It was early enough to call and check on Dawn. Buffy really wanted to go and see her sister in person, but distance, lack of car, and lack of superpowers put a kibosh on that desire. She'd have to settle for a phone call until morning.

Buffy found room 305, found the key in her pocket, and found that Brett Anderson was most definitely a nerd. The single dorm room was neat as a pin, bed made, shoes lined by the door on a mat. Instead of posters of girls or bands on the walls, there was a poster of a castle from Batavia, Germany, above the desk and a schematic to a space ship on the wall beside the bed. The college- provided bookshelf was full, all book spines facing out. On the desk, the laptop was closed, the pencils in a caddy, and a transparent-sheilded course schedule was taped to the desk.

Buffy hooked the backpack on the wooden desk chair and checked Brett's closet. Clothes hung neatly or were folded nicely on the top shelf, which she could easily see, and laundry was in the laundry bag on the closet floor. On the small dresser with a mirror above it sat a shave kit with guy bath things in it. An extra pair of glasses resided in a hard plastic case beside the kit. The drawers below held folded boxers, briefs, and paired white socks.

Buffy rolled her eyes, shut the drawer, and caught her reflection in the mirror. Who was once Brett Anderson looked back at her through gold-frame oval glasses. She stared at herself for a very long time as the reality of her situation fully sunk into her brain.

She was no longer Buffy Summers, the Chosen One. She was no longer female. She was Brett Anderson's new soul. And she was really cute. For a nerd.

Shaking her head, she continued snooping until she found a roll of quarters in one of the drawers, and went into the hall to use the payphone. Dawn picked up on the second ring, laughing at something someone was yelling in the background.

Buffy closed her eyes, slumped against the phone caddy, and hung up the receiver. Thank goodness. Dawn was okay. Her sister was safe and sounded fine. And it also sounded as if Willow and Tara were taking care of her. Buffy would have to see how well tomorrow.

Part Two

Buffy knew about boys and their boy parts. She knew how to touch them, what caused a gasp, and what caused a groan. She'd heard the complaints, seen the reactions, and watched in fascination as the boy part spurted come. None of this prepared her to feel it in the first person.

Buffy awoke early Friday morning after a night of learning about Brett Anderson from the things in his... *her* dorm room. From his driver's license, she learned he was twenty years old, six-three, 190 pounds, and that his birthday was February 22nd. She learned his schedule - no Friday classes, thank goodness - because it was taped to the desk, learned he took meticulous notes from the binders in his backpack, and learned that he attended the last summer session and received straight- B's from the report card tacked to the bulletin board. She also learned that he was a Junior at UCSunn, majoring in Criminology and Statistics with a minor in Math. Math, eew.

In a lockbox in the closet, she found a passport with no travel stamps in it, insurance papers, bank account information, and a single picture of Brett and two people who had to be his parents. There was also an obituary clipping from a Maine newspaper about his parents' deaths in a car accident. It was funny, in a non-ha-ha way, that she learned more about who Brett was by his parents' obituary than by anything else in the dorm room.

When Buffy was finished going through Brett's... *her* things, she rearranged the room more to her liking. She made it look a little more lived in. Then she'd gone to wash up in the communal boy's bathroom, which had made her giggle hysterically for a long time afterwards. Especially the part where she relieved herself while standing at a urinal. Buffy's Adventures in Peeing. She hadn't been brave enough to really look at her new male anatomy, though. She figured she'd had enough excitement for one night.

The alarm went off at seven o'clock a.m. in order for Buffy to see Dawn before her sister left for school. Buffy's hand slapped at everything within reach until the annoying beeping stopped. She stretched while trying to get her eyes to open. The sheet shifted. That's when she realized she had grown another limb in the middle of her body.

Her eyes were definitely open now. She lifted the sheet covering her and looked under it. The boxers she'd thrown on to sleep in had the standard split in the front, and sticking straight up out of that split was...

Buffy squeaked and clutched the covers to her flat chest. She saw the sheet was tented at waist-level, and she squeaked again and squeezed her eyes shut. She had hoped that Ryan and the idea that she was a guy had been a dream, and that she was at home on Revello Drive in her own bed, with her sister down the hall.

Buffy cracked open an eye, lifted the sheet, and peered beneath it again. Looming from between the patterned edges of the boxers was a penis of massive proportions. It was huge. It was hard. It was attached to her.

She squeaked again and pulled the covers to her chin. The soft sheet rubbed against her maleness. She sucked in a sharp breath. A hint of pain, a lot of pressure, and unbelievable pleasure skittered down her new anatomy. She tugged lightly on the sheet again and the intense feelings repeated. She whimpered.

Buffy recognized the pressure-feeling: it meant she had to use the bathroom. The other two, though... holy cow. Was *this* what it was like to be a guy and be horny? It felt wildly different than being aroused as a girl. She had an almost uncontrollable urge to rub herself against something. If her hands weren't ripping at the sheet, they'd be undoubtably beneath the covers.

She wasn't ready for this. She had been a male for less than twelve hours and, up until now, she'd hoped it was all a dream, or a Glory-induced hallucination. She wasn't ready to deal with an erection. She didn't think she could handle it. "Bad choice of words," she whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut again.

She tried to will the erection away, but with every minute that passed increased her need to use the bathroom. Eventually, she could wait no more, not if she didn't want to wet the mattress. She jumped out of bed and gasped when her penis bounced freely. She looked down and meeped. She had a penis! A *penis*!

A bubble of hysterical laughter exploded from her throat as Monty Python's "Penis Song" floated through her brain. ~'Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis, isn't it frightfully good to have a dong?'~

Buffy didn't want to touch it, but she didn't want to see it anymore. She also couldn't go anywhere with it sticking out like a fleshy bludgeon. And she really had to pee.

"Okay, Buffy, you can do this." Her sleep roughened male voice surprised her, and she jumped again. And her dick jumped again. She had a dick. Aack!

Taking the bull by the horns - or the penis by the shaft - Buffy choked and sputtered as she yanked the hard member through the split and back into her boxers. If she thought about it rationally, her penis wasn't that big. In fact, it was fairly normal-sized. But how could she think rationally with. Her. *Cock.* In. Her. Hands? And touching it had been a bad thing to do. Very bad. Because now she *really* wanted to rub against something. Really, really, really wanted to.

Robe. Pee. Throw self out of window. Buffy ticked off her mental list as she put on the hunter green terrycloth robe that was hanging on the back of the door. After a quick blurry look up and down the hall to see if the coast was clear, she bolted from her dorm room to the bathroom and locked herself in an unoccupied stall.

She had to touch the thing in her shorts again in order to relieve herself. Bracing herself, she bit her lower lip as she shoved down her boxers, choking back a squeal as her new part bounced free. Trying not to be a complete wuss, she grabbed, aimed, and peed.

Her panic must have dribbled out along with her urine, because she was able to think more clearly as she washed her hands. Looking at herself in the large mirror above the multiple sinks, she made a face and Brett's reflection mimed her. She stuck out her tongue. She crossed her eyes. Brett did the same. She sighed, finally, and admitted fully that this was not a dream.

"Hello, Brett," she said to her reflection. "I'm Buffy. I guess we're one in the same now, huh? Su body is mi body, su penis is mi penis."

Snickering, she shut off the water, dried her hands, and returned to her room. She was still hard beneath her boxers, which was uncomfortable and made it difficult to walk. How did guys manage to do anything with this thing in their shorts?

Buffy knew she had a choice to make: ignore Mr. Please-touch-rub-fondle-me Erection and hope it went away, or give in to what it wanted. Her faced heated as anticipation coiled in her at the thought of the second choice. Guess that answered that question.

Once in the room, she checked the clock. She had at least 45 minutes before she had to leave. Plenty of time to take a shower and... explore. In her boxers, her stiffy leapt under its own power.

Wigged, but determined, Buffy grabbed the shave kit and a towel, slid on her shower shoes, and headed back to the bathroom.

Brett Anderson didn't have too bad of taste when it came to clothes, for a nerd. He seemed to favor jeans and t-shirts, both long and short sleeved, with logos blazed on the front or back. Brett looked very good in jeans the slightly tight t-shirts. He looked very good out of the clothing, too.

In the shower and afterwards in front of the mirror in the dorm room, Buffy did naughty and not-so-naughty things to her new body. She was a full foot taller she used to be, which gave her a whole different perspective of the world. She was thin still, but not skinny. Lanky would have been her mother's label. Buffy had a lean musculature, a smattering of dark body hair, and naturally tanned skin. White scars peppered her body, ones she identified from experience as old fighting injuries. By the scars on her knuckles, she knew Brett hadn't been just a punching nerd in high school. All in all, Brett Anderson wasn't a bad choice of body for Buffy Summers's soul to occupy.

Battered gym shoes on her feet and glasses in place, Buffy left the dorm and started the trek to town. She couldn't wait to see Dawn. For her sister, it had been a year plus since she'd last seen Buffy. But for Buffy, it was last night, and the world had been on the brink of disaster. Buffy needed to reassure herself that the voice on the phone had really been Dawn and that she was okay.

Buffy also wondered about her friends. Willow and Tara apparently lived with Dawn, so they must be all right. Giles, Spike, Xander and Anya, though, she had no clue about. She hoped they were okay, too.

Buffy's step faltered when she realized she included Spike in her list of friends... and didn't find it strange. Spike had proved himself to her, had earned her trust during those last few weeks while fighting Glory. She wanted to throttle him a majority of the time, but he was always there for her, even if it was to point out flaws. She probably shouldn't tell him, though, so he wouldn't think her friendship was a stepping stone to love.

Buffy stopped walking abruptly. She wouldn't be telling Spike anything, or telling any of her other friends anything, either. She was no longer Buffy, she was Brett, with a normal life stretched out before her. A life where she could do anything she wanted without worrying about the rest of the population. A life that didn't include her friends unless she told them she was resurrected from the dead and, hey, check out her penis!

Buffy continued schlepping down the street, her shoulders slumped. She hadn't lied to Ryan when she said she didn't want to hurt her sister or her friends. The date on her watch and neatly crossed off calendar informed her it really had been over a year since she took a swan dive from the Glory- constructed tower. It wouldn't be fair to Dawn or the others to return from the dead after the amount of time that had passed. Buffy may have no choice but to cut ties with them once she saw that they were okay.

"C'mon, guys, we're going to be late." Willow's familiar voice drifted across the cut lawn of 1630 Revello Drive, and Buffy stopped at the edge of the property and watched as the redhead dug through a knit handbag as she headed for the yellow S.U.V. in the driveway.

She looked the same, Buffy noted happily. Bright shoulder-length red hair, bright flowered skirt and non-matching sweater. Willow looked great.

Tara came out of the house, still ash-blond and with a shy-person's posture, dressed in black and carrying a backpack over her shoulder. Dawn was right behind her, and pulled the front door shut before they headed for the car.

"Dawn," Buffy whispered, tears misting her vision. Her sister had grown since Buffy last saw her. The tall, willowy brunette was a breathtaking almost-17-year-old beauty. Pride and sadness filled Buffy's heart. She'd missed Dawn's blossoming into womanhood.

The three spotted Buffy standing there and looked her way with curiosity. After a brief moment, Dawn headed for her. Buffy dropped her chin, shoved her hands in her pockets, and started walking away.

Buffy stopped and turned to Dawn, who was almost as tall as she was now, as Brett. Buffy wanted to grab her sister and hug her tight. Instead, Buffy clenched her fists in her pockets, and said, "I, um, thought I recognized the other two from the university."

"Willow and Tara?" Dawn said, tilting her head slightly in a way that was very familiar to Buffy, but not an action she normally saw... used to see Dawn do. "Yeah, they go to UC Sunnydale. Want me to call them over?"

"Hey, guys, come here," Dawn called to Willow and Tara without waiting for a reply from Buffy. The witches came over and smiled tentatively at Buffy. "This guy says he recognizes you from school."

Dawn must've been taking blunt lessons from Anya, Buffy decided. She looked down at Willow and Tara. Had they always been so short? "Uh, hi."

"Hi back," Willow said, squinting up at him. "You do look familiar. Professor Lisenko's Stats class, right? I'm sorry, but I don't remember your name."

"Brett," Buffy said, taking the plunge into her new life. She extracted her hand and extended it to Willow. "I'm Brett."

"Willow," Willow said, returning the handshake. "This is my girlfriend, Tara. And you already met Dawn."

"Yeah." Buffy was unable to help flashing a tender smile at her sister. "We kind of met."

Willow frowned a mommy-frown. "That's good. Did you, uh, need a lift back to campus?"

They all climbed into the S.U.V., Buffy in back with Dawn. The car ride was silent for awhile, then Dawn turned to Buffy and began questioning her. "So, what's your major?"

"Criminology and Statistics," Buffy replied, reminding herself that she was Brett Anderson, not Buffy Summers.

"It's... interesting." Which it would be, considering Buffy had been taking her basic classes when she'd dropped out Sophomore year, and Brett was a Junior. She should probably spend the weekend playing catch-up with the class material. It wouldn't be good to flunk out, since the university was apparently her only home.

Willow arrived at the high school, and Dawn said goodbye and hopped out of the vehicle. Buffy watched her sister disappeared into the building, then faced front. She caught Willow staring at her in the rearview mirror. "Cute kid," Buffy said, emphasizing the 'kid' so Willow wouldn't think she was macking on her sister.

Buffy hid her grin at Willow's response. She was quite happy with the redhead's protectiveness of Dawn, and the three of them seemed to be doing fine. Buffy wanted to ask about Anya, Xander, Giles, and Spike, but she didn't know how to go about it without arousing suspicion. She'd just have to go by the Magic Box later, after it opened. Perhaps stop by the cemetery, as well.

They arrived on campus a mere five minutes after dropping off Dawn; it was amazing how small Sunnydale was when one had a car. "Well, thanks for the ride," Buffy said as she climbed out of the vehicle. "I guess I'll see you around."

Buffy nodded to them both, stuck her hands in her pockets - which was turning into a habit - and ambled off in the direction of the dorms.

Part Three

It was extremely easy for Buffy to catch up with the material in Brett's Criminology classes. Brett's notes were so organized and easy to understand she was able to comprehend what had been covered thus far in class. After reading thoroughly through the notes, Buffy spent the rest of the morning working on one of the class assignments. Math she ignored. Same with her Stats class material. Why should she work on either today when she could put them off indefinitely?

Meals were included in Brett's full scholarship, and Buffy made use of the cafeteria for lunch, sitting alone, before heading into town for the second time that day. She was going to have to get a bicycle or something. Walking everywhere wasn't much fun when it made her tired.

The bell over the door jingled as Buffy entered the Magic Box. She inhaled deeply, the spicy incense in the air tickling her nose. Unobtrusive lighting brightened the shop, making it feel welcoming. Making it feel like home.

Buffy walked further into the shop, casting a mindful eye over everything. The books, the objects d'arte, the new age junk and true magick supplies was the same, save for a few display trinkets on the register counter. Anya was behind the counter, red-blond hair pulled up in a feisty knot, a generic smile on her familiar face.

"Welcome to the Magic Box, how may I meet your magick needs?" Anya greeted, obviously by rote.

Buffy approached the counter. "Uh...," think, think, think, "...holy water. I'm in need of some holy water. Do you sell it?"

Anya's eyes flicked on the bandage Buffy had taped over the vampire bite wound after showering that morning. She nodded and reached under the counter. "Yes, we sell holy water. We also sell crosses, garlic sachets and other protective objects. Stakes are free, and are in the basket by the door."

Buffy blinked behind her specs as Anya thrust a cream-colored pamphlet at her. Tri-folded, the pamphlet's front page proclaimed it full of information on the dangers of Sunnydale. It was complete with illustrations and survival guide.

"This is wild," Buffy said, skimming through the information. "Did you come up with this?"

"No, my husband of four months, three days, and...," Anya looked at a slim gold watch on her wrist, the gold engagement ring and wedding band Buffy hadn't seen until now glinting in the overhead light, "...two hours thought of it. The proprietor of the shop provided the etchings, without anyone having to have sex with him."

"You're married?" Buffy smiled, feeling both happy-squishy and sad inside. Another life-changing event she had missed.

Anya beamed. "I most certainly am, which means flirting with me, while appreciated, would be a waste of time."

"I wasn't..." Buffy left the sentence unfinished and changed course. "What kind of dress did you wear?"

"Alejandro, Modern Classic," Anya stated with pride as she reached under the counter again. "I have many pictures." She plopped a very thick photo album onto the counter.

Anya had made a beautiful bride, and Buffy was impressed when she saw Xander in his tuxedo, looking happier than she'd every seen him. Buffy surreptitiously asked pointed questions about her extended family in the photographs. She learned that Giles had returned to England and Cordelia, who had driven up from L.A., was still working with Angel and had been seen in many non- speaking roles in television commercials. In a group shot of a conga-line, Buffy spotted Spike in the background, wearing his familiar black jeans, black tee, and trench, talking to Dawn. As it was the only picture in the entire album with Spike in it, Buffy was unable to ask about him without seeming suspicious. At least she knew that four months, three days, and three hours ago he'd been okay.

The last photo in the album was a Scooby Gang group shot, Anya and Xander in the center with Giles and Dawn on one side of them and Willow and Tara on the other. Buffy was barely able to hold back her tears. She had to leave before she embarrassed herself, crying over a photo that Brett shouldn't care about at all.

Buffy did the old "look at the time" trick, bought some holy water, said congratulations again to Anya, and hurriedly left the shop.

Back on campus, behind the safety of her locked door, Buffy gave into her tears. She had been dead. *Dead.* Deceased. She had kicked the bucket, croaked, perished, ceased to be alive, was a casualty of war, a fatality, one of the dearly departed. She had *died*... and life had gone on without her.

Sobs wracked her new masculine form. She curled up as much as she could on the bed, her legs pulled to her too-flat chest. Dawn had grown up without any help from Buffy. Xander and Anya had joined their lives without Buffy having to wear a puke-green bridesmaid dress like Tara and Dawn or a tuxedo like Willow. Buffy hadn't been able to subtly ask Cordelia about Angel. She hadn't gotten to say goodbye to Giles, or tell him thanks or that she loved him more than her own father, before he moved back to England.

And those were the big things. She'd also missed all the little stuff, like Dawn's birthday, Christmas, and her own twenty-first birthday. She'd missed having to find a job to pay the bills. She'd missed arguing with Dawn over chores and healthy meals. She'd missed arguing with Spike about everything else. She'd missed an entire television season.

Buffy didn't want to be dead anymore. She wanted to take her sister shopping at the mall. She wanted a cute boy to ask her on a date. She wanted a cute boy to ask Dawn on a date and allow Buffy to play mom. She wanted to share a mocha with her friends. She wanted to listen to Giles lecture. She wanted to punch Spike in the nose. She wanted to slay vampires.

Buffy couldn't have what she wanted, however, except the not-being-dead part. She was Brett now, with a normal, destiny-free life ahead of her. There would be much weirdness if she told her friends who she was and would cause too much pain if they lost her again. This *was* Sunnydale, population: varying. Buffy didn't plan to becomes vampire chow, but that didn't mean she wouldn't fall victim, especially because she had to walk everywhere.

Eventually she ran out of tears and her sniffs were loud in the post-sobbing silence. Sucking in a ragged breath, Buffy came to a decision: When Ryan came back, she'd tell him to release her soul. Buffy Summers was dead and she should stay that way.

Feeling like crap yet relieved by her choice, Buffy went to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. Thirty days was all she had to wait. As a memoriam to Brett she'd keep up his schoolwork, since that had seemed important to him. She'd also try and see her sister and friends, storing up memories without hurting them by revealing who she was. She'd keep some distance between them, though, so when she died a second time they wouldn't grieve too hard.

Slipping her glasses on, she made a face at herself in the mirror, then blushed when someone entered the bathroom and gave her a funny look. She ducked her head and hurried back to the safety of her dorm room. She had to remember, for the next thirty days, she was a guy, and guys did not do things like make faces in the communal bathroom mirror.

Buffy looked at the alarm clock after re-locking the dorm room door behind her. She had a few hours until dinner and a second Criminology class she could prepare for. After dinner, she decided, she'd go to the Bronze. It was a Friday night, so her sister was bound to be there.

Satisfied with the plan in her head, Buffy retrieved her textbook and notes. She looked on the bright side as she settled on the bed: she would only have thirty days of homework to do.

"Hey, Anderson." Buffy looked up from trying to identify her food and saw a good-looking shaggy- haired brunette with a tray standing beside her table. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

"Be my guest," Buffy replied, trying not to panic in her quest not to be rude and yell, "NO!" It was obvious the guy knew Brett, but she was now Brett and she had no idea who the other student was. Ack.

"S'up, man," a skinny goth said, pausing at the head of the table soon after Buffy-Brett's friend sat down. "You coming to Cathy's party?"

"Cool. Later, Mick." Gothboy wandered away after conveniently informing Buffy of her dinner companion's name.

"So, uh, Mick," Buffy began, and was relieved when the cute boy across from her looked her way. She gestured with her fork at their dinner. "Any clue what we're eating? I haven't been able to figure out whether it's meatloaf or tuna."

Buffy blinked slowly behind her glasses, looked down at her plate, and turned slightly green. She dropped her fork and pushed her tray away. "I think I have an orange in my room."

"The trick is to eat it with applesauce," Mick informed her, dunking a fork full of chicken into the applesauce on his plate. "It hides the taste of everything." He stuck the fork in his mouth.

"I'll try it next time," Buffy lied. She watched as Mick wolfed down the food. Her horror must've shown on her face, because Mick grinned again.

Mick laughed, and Buffy... found herself attracted to him. Her 'cute boy, must flirt' switch had been flipped. It was nice to know she hadn't changed too much.

Things *had* changed. Buffy was a boy, not a girl. Mick was a boy. She shouldn't be flirting with him. She shouldn't be attracted to him... should she? It wasn't that being gay was bad, but she was as straight as a ruler. At least she had been, when she still had boobs. What did that make her now that she had a penis, which was currently dancing the lambada in her jeans? She was still a she, wasn't she, only in the body of a he? And was that a Lorax in the tree?

Aside from the mind-boggling conundrum she'd just discovered, it also wasn't fair that the usual low-down tingle Buffy felt when faced with an attractive male had manifested itself into a visible physical reaction on her male body. Why couldn't she have jumped from the tower and have the Powers reward her by allowing her to land on her feet?

Mick did not notice Buffy's discomfort, thankfully. He ate and babbled on about a class they were in together. Math, apparently. Again, eew.

"I'm having trouble with the assignment, too," Buffy ventured into the conversation.

"The part with the numbers," she joked... kind of. What sane person took math when it wasn't required to graduate? Of course, if all the boys in the Math class were as cute as Mick, it might not be so bad.

The creature in her pants stirred again, and proved that guys truly did think with their dicks. 'Cause, *math*??

"I'll meet you here at dinner, then, on Sunday, and we'll decide where to study," Mick said, collecting his tray as he stood. "See ya, Anderson."

"Yeah. Bye. See you." Buffy waited until Mick's lanky form had vanished from sight before dropping her head in her hands and groaning. What had she gotten herself into?

Part Four

The Bronze was teeming with high school and college-aged students dancing and chatting to each other over the rock band on stage. It was crowded at the club, which was normal for a Friday night. Buffy was lucky to snag a table for herself by the steps leading to the loft-area, and the table beside her was still empty.

Sipping her Diet Coke -- not that she needed to watch her hips any longer -- Buffy alternated between watching Dawn laugh and dance with her friends, watching Xander watch Dawn while he played billiards, and flirting with the guy over by the flyer-plastered support column, never mind the fact that he thought he was flirting with another he and not a she in he-form.

Buffy had given up on the "Am I gay or not?" internal debate. She was only going to be in a male body for a month so it really didn't matter. It wasn't as if she was planning to get close enough to another person, male or female, where there would be touching in a more-than-friendly manner. Besides, flirting was harmless fun, and the guy was really cute.

The guy smiled. Buffy smiled back and was about to point to the empty chair opposite her in invitation when she was startled by close-sounding, very familiar voices. She turned quickly, and saw Xander push Spike into a chair at the table next to hers. Her eyes landed immediately on Spike's face. A large portion of it was coated with dried blood, having come from a wicked-looking cut running horizontally from one ear, across his cheeks and nose, and ending at his other ear. But other than that, he looked exactly as Buffy remembered, including the oh-so-daring black-on-black clothing ensemble.

"If I don't pretend to care about you, who will?" Xander was saying, a frown etched between his brows. He soaked a napkin with beer from the bottle he'd been drinking, grabbed Spike by the chin, and began wiping at the dried blood.

Spike hissed, but didn't flinch. "I don't think using beer is quite sanitary, Harris."

Dawn appeared suddenly, squeezing behind Buffy's chair to reach Xander and Spike. "Hey, precious," she greeted, ruffling Spike's bleach-blond hair.

"Hello, pet," Spike returned with an extremely fond smile. The cut, where it crossed his nose, began to bleed.

"Bugger had a whip-tail," he replied. He tilted his face up as Xander continued to clean him off. "Wasn't expecting that."

"Hmm." Dawn dug into her purse and removed a Ziplock bag filled with first aid supplies. "I take it tailboy is dead?"

Dawn peeled the backing from a band-aid and stuck it diagonally across Spike's nose where he was still bleeding. On the band-aid, Garfield's 'brother' Odie frolicked on a field of bright blue.

Buffy couldn't help it. She giggled. She so had to stop doing that. Real men didn't giggle. Nor did they wear purple or eat quiche. It was in the unwritten man rules that she suspected Riley made up to get out of eating her cooking.

Her manly chuckle must've been kind of loud, because Dawn, Spike, and Xander all looked in her direction. Way to keep unobtrusive, she thought. She could feel her ears heat up at having been caught.

"And you're Dawn," Buffy said, unable to help her smile when both Xander and Spike frowned the same as Willow had earlier that day. "Hi, again."

"Yeah, um, Xander, Spike, this is Brett. He's in one of Willow's classes," Dawn said. "We gave him a ride this morning."

Buffy was happy to see Xander's protectiveness of her sister, but now she had to come up with a plausible lie. She decided to stick with what she'd told Dawn that morning. "I was out for a walk, just enjoying the sun," Buffy said, brushing her fingers purposely over the bandage on her neck.

The wariness reflected on Xander's features became understanding. "I know how that goes," he said. "You should stop by The Magic Box and pick up a pamphlet on Sunnydale's 'nightlife.' It'll answer the questions you probably have."

Buffy made a quick decision. "I was there earlier today," she said. "You looked great in your bridesmaid's dress, by the way, Dawn. The color complemented your skin tone and the cut was perfect for you."

"Sounds like Anya's been showing the wedding pictures again," Dawn said, beaming with the compliment.

Buffy smiled tenderly at Dawn. "All 682 of them." She shifted her gaze to Xander and lied some more. "And now I know why you looked familiar. I would've recognized you easier if you were wearing that sharp tux."

It was Xander's turn to beam. "It was pretty sharp." Spike, who'd been quiet until now, snorted derisively. Xander casually smacked the peroxide blond upside the head. "Shut up, bleach-for-brains."

Dawn waved to someone and gathered her purse. "My friends beckon," she said. "Great seeing you again, Brett. Later, everyone."

"Let us know when you're leaving," Spike told her before she pushed into the crowd.

Buffy watched, a smile playing on her lips, as the willowy brunette rejoined her friends. Dawn seemed perfectly okay in light of her sister's death a year ago. Buffy was glad to see Dawn had taken her final words to heart: to live.

Buffy turned and frowned at him. Spike better not have a thing for Dawnie, she thought, before replying, "Yes, she is."

Buffy was immediately relieved. It was Big Brother Spike, not Jealous Boyfriendly Spike. A shift in her gaze caught Xander giving her the same evil eye. She suddenly felt a gush of emotion for the two men, and tears pricked her vision. Hopefully, her glasses and the dim lighting of the Bronze would hide her watery eyes.

"She reminds me of my sister," Buffy said, which wasn't actually a lie. Dawn was her sister, however, she wasn't Brett's.

"That's good to hear," Xander said. He clapped his hand on Spike's shoulder. "Odie and I are gonna shoot some pool. Want to play?"

Buffy gigg-- chuckled manfully at Spike's new nickname. "I'd love to," she agreed. If she was going to break her self-imposed 'avoid her old friends' rule, she might as well do it right and go all the way.

She stood. Spike stood. Buffy stifled a laugh as she found herself towering over the vampire. Spike was short! She never realized how not-tall he was, considering she barely topped five-two when she still had breasts. Xander was standing behind Spike, and Buffy could see the brunette's eyes clearly over the top of Spike's head.

She pivoted on her heels so her back was to the midget vampire, freeing her to grin wildly. She would bet Dawn was now taller than Spike, too. Heh, heh, heh.

Buffy made her way to the billiard's tables, half-full Diet Coke in her hand. A game was just ending, and she, Xander, and Shortstack chose pool cues. They decided on a multi-player game where you hit the balls into the pockets in numerical order, save for the eight-ball which still was shot last. At least, that's what Buffy understood the game to be. She'd played billiards a total of two times in her life, if she counted using the pool cue as a weapon.

The Little Vampire -- manly chuckle -- shed his duster then went to get a couple beers. Xander broke, the multicolored billiard balls clicking and scattering across the surface of the red felt pool table. Buffy watched as three balls dropped into three separate pockets. Xander proceeded to knock in three more balls before he missed.

Buffy set aside her drink, wiped her hands on her jeans, and pretended to know what she was doing. She wrapped her fingers around the cue stick like they did in the movies, eyed the white cute ball in relation to the striped one she was supposed to hit into a pocket, and let her rip.

Face burning with humiliation, Buffy scurried to where she'd left her drink, gulped it down, and pressed the semi-cool glass to her hot cheek. She hated not being good at something. She couldn't play the cute-blond ditz either and save face. She wasn't blond anymore.

Spike returned, passed Xander one of the two beers in his hand, and took his turn. He sank two balls, then missed.

It was Buffy's turn again. She concentrated hard, doing everything she could to mimic the Paul Newman movie The Color of Money. Her pool cue made a horrid sound as it scraped along the felt. The cue ball actually moved this time, an entire inch.

"Here, try this." Buffy was beyond surprised when Spike moved close and adjusted her bridge hand. "Your knuckles make an automatic notch," he told her, setting the cue stick on top of her hand. "Try now."

Buffy's brow furrowed, but she tried again. The pool cue slid much easier, and she hit the cue ball with a solid thwack. It sailed across the table, bounced off the rail, and returned almost all the way to her.

"Next time, aim at one of the colored balls," Spike said in a conspiratorial whisper. "Now, shove over. It's my go."

Buffy was amazed, and not because she'd actually hit the cue ball. Spike was being friendly. Nice, even. It was weird. Spike had never been nice to her before... well, that wasn't entirely true. After the Buffybot debacle, Spike had been a toad-prince among toads. Still, Spike was being friendly to a "stranger," and it wigged her.

Buffy finished the game in a wary, watchful manner, paying close attention to Spike's behavior. He said, "Move, please," if someone was in his way. He and Xander bickered like comfortable friends. He continued to be friendly with her, too. She noticed they both looked over in Dawn's direction often, keeping an unobtrusive eye on her. Buffy also noted that Spike got plenty of attention from "concerned" girls with his healing cut and that silly band-aid on his nose. He flirted with them briefly, then sent them on their way. For some reason, the flirting annoyed Buffy the most out of all of Spike's odd behavior.

She was quite pleased with her own flirting, however. Near the end of the game, the cute guy she'd been playing smile-exchange with earlier came over to say hello. His name was John. He was even cuter up close.

"Want to play?" Buffy asked with a nod to the pool table after the first game was finished. She smiled her ditzy blond girl smile. "I have to warn you, though, I put the b-a-d in bad."

The smile must still hold power even though she was no longer a girl, because John agreed instantly.

"Table's all yours," Xander said, passing his pool cue to John. "Spike and I have to go, anyway. Dawn looks ready to leave and we have to pa-- work. We have work to do."

Buffy caught the slip. They were going to patrol. Guilt slammed into her. She was the one who should be patrolling, not shooting pool with a hottie. It was her job, not Xander's. It wasn't Spike's job, either, but she knew he could take care of himself and it was a way for him to vent his vampiric lust for violence.

Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, was dead, a snarky little voice taunted Buffy in the back of her mind. She was Brett now, with no responsibility or duty to fight evil and protect the world. She had no Slayer strength or skill. She was normal. She was... like Xander, only taller. And that revelation did nothing to alleviate her guilt.

Buffy turned to John, an apologetic expression on her face. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. I'm, uh, expecting a call in... soon. Maybe another time."

Part Five

Buffy tugged at her hair in frustration. "Math sucks," she snarled. She received several shushes from the other students seated at the table with her at the University library. "Well, it does," she grumbled, sinking lower in her hard wooden chair. Even with Mick's patient help earlier that evening, she still had no clue what she was doing. "Math is supposed to have numbers, not letters."

More shushing from the other students. Buffy wanted to tell them where they could shove their shushes, and decided she'd been doing homework for too long. Shove their shushes?

Perhaps another workout would clear her math-addled brain, Buffy thought as she gathered her books. On Friday after luckily failing to catch up with Spike and Xander, Buffy realized that she would have been more of a hindrance than a help to them. While her brain had all the knowledge of how to fight, her new and gangly body caused her to fall on her ass more often than not. Her center of balance was different, and she overextended on her kicks. She could still throw a punch, but it lacked oomph. At best, she'd be able to surprise a vampire before it ate her.

Buffy hooked her backpack over her shoulder, stood, and was surprised herself by a vampire leaning casually against the Return counter. What was Spike doing at the University library? There was no way he could be looking for something to read... could he?

Spike noticed her staring, and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Buffy took that as a sign to go over and ask him what a vampire like him was doing in a library like this. She could probably pull off the Bogart imitation with her deep Brett-voice. Too bad she wasn't supposed to know Spike was a vampire, or that his presence was odd. She'd have to gather information subtly, which meant she could still imitate Bogart's Sam Spade. It also meant she shouldn't have watched the A&E Bogart marathon last night.

"Hi, Spike," Buffy greeted without hesitation as she joined the peroxide blond. She noted that his cut was completely healed. No more Odie band-aid. Darn. She stifled the urge to snicker, both at the memory of that band-aid and at having to look down at him.

"Brett, yeah?" Spike said tentatively. At Buffy's nod, he relaxed and glanced around. "You haven't seen Dawn, have you?"

"Uh, no," Buffy replied, worry stirring in her stomach. Her hand clutched the strap of her backpack. "Should she be here?"

Spike tipped his head almost to his shoulder to read the watch on Buffy's wrist. "Anytime now."

Buffy frowned in confusion. If Dawn was just arriving at the library, why was Spike there? "Are you here to help her with a report?" she voiced her question.

"Clubbing?" Buffy said in disbelief, easily catching on to what Spike meant. "On a Sunday night?"

"There's a boy involved," Spike confided. He added, in not-so-subtle warning, "A boy who's the proper age for Dawn."

Buffy was really getting annoyed by the inferences that she was after Dawn. She decided, then and there, to put a kibosh on it. "I'm gay, all right? So stop with the hints. And it's a school night. Willow is letting Dawn go on a date on a school night?"

"I told you Friday, she reminds me of my sister," Buffy repeated her semi-lie. "And I know I wouldn't let my sister go out on a date on a school night."

Spike sighed. "I don't want her to go either," he said, "but if I don't take her, she'll sneak off on her own. This way, at least I can keep my eye on her." He straightened suddenly. "Here she is. Mum's the word, eh?"

Hell, no. Buffy wasn't about to let Spike take Dawn anywhere, as chaperone or otherwise. Dawn shouldn't be allowed to get away with lying to Willow and Tara about her whereabouts and sneaking off to be with a boy at some unknown club on a school night. A quick call to Willow would put a halt to this nonsense. As for Spike...

"I can't believe you're helping her get away with this," Buffy fumed, glaring down at him. She took a step closer, invading his space, hoping to intimidate him by her size. "You should be taking her straight home and she should be grounded."

Spike wasn't impressed by her towering height. Then again, he'd never been all that impressed by her, even when she could beat him up without breaking a nail. "Doesn't work like that."

Dawn bounced up beside them, carrying her backpack and smiling madly. "Hi, guys!"

"Yep," Dawn said with bubbly enthusiasm. "Willow said I had to be home by eleven o'clock."

"Brett, are you coming, too?" Dawn asked, suddenly all innocent-looking. "You can keep Spike company."

Buffy jumped at the offer. She couldn't force Spike to take Dawn home, but she could make sure Dawn behaved. "I'd be happy to come, too."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Fine. Let's bolt." He sidestepped Buffy and started for the exit.

Dawn grinned, bounced, and hurried after him, leaving Buffy having to hustle if she didn't want to be left behind.

Slivers was the Bronze of Carbondale, a twenty minute drive from Sunnydale... at 90 miles per hour. Buffy couldn't fathom how Dawn had expected to get to the club if Spike hadn't driven her, even if he did drive like a bat out of hell, pardon her bad vampire joke. Fear churned in Buffy's stomach as scenario after scenario played through her mind of what could've happened to Dawn had she run off on her own. Perhaps Spike had been the lesser of evils in this case. Which, when she thought about it, sounded really funny.

The boy Dawn had come to the club to see was very nice looking and, in Buffy's opinion, a good catch... if it wasn't her sister out on the dance floor with him, moving wantonly to the popular music blasting from the speakers set high on the walls. There weren't too many kids at the club, which might have something to do with it being a school night, Buffy thought dryly, sitting at a tall table with Spike, drinking soda and watching Dawn.

Buffy didn't like the situation -- Dawn should be at home -- but she was very impressed with Spike. The trust she'd given him during the Glory debacle was not misplaced. He watched Dawn like a hawk without smothering her. Unobtrusive protection.

What Buffy couldn't figure out, though, was why. Why was Spike still playing Big Brother to Dawn? It wasn't to earn points with Buffy, since she was "dead." The vampire had a no-stakage guarantee as long as he was chipped, even if he didn't help. It couldn't be for fun; Buffy knew for a fact that Spike's idea of fun involved spilling bodily fluids, whether other demons' or his own.

Another Spike conundrum Buffy was puzzling over was his behavior towards her. Or rather, Brett. Spike didn't know Brett Anderson from Adam... though he did know an Adam, so maybe that was a bad saying. Still, Spike didn't know her. Him. Warning: identity crises on the loose.

In "reality," the peroxide blond had just met Brett on Friday, shot a single game of billiards with him, then left. There was nothing to indicate that the vampire perhaps knew Brett was really Buffy. Spike was simply more friendly towards Brett than he was to others. It was bizarre. Spike was bizarre. He was sarcastic, slightly rude, and a little disgusting, but he was also chatty, good-humored, and quite animated when rambling on about some war series he'd recently seen on cable. It was if he was relaxed. The desperation that had seemed to hover over him was gone. Also gone was the need to prove himself to Buffy. Right now, he was... just Spike, without the malicious aforethought.

And surprisingly, Buffy was enjoying herself with him. Repeat: it was bizarre. But so was the fact that she had things in common with him. Not Brett, not the role she was playing, it was Buffy herself that had things in common with Spike. Spike. They both liked hour-long dramas over half-hour comedies on television. They both liked comedies at the movies, but neither of them could stand the fakeness of action or horror. They both were of the opinion that all music should be played loud or not at all. Winter nights in front of a fire over summer nights at the beach. Cats over dogs. Plain vanilla over chocolate.

The last one was the wiggiest commonality, and shut Buffy up for awhile. She shouldn't have anything in common with Spike at all, let alone something so odd. Rarely anyone preferred plain vanilla over chocolate unless hot fudge was involved.

Buffy sipped her Diet Sprite. She wondered briefly if her straw sucking was too feminine, and shifted the straw to the side of her mouth like she'd seen Xander do. Across from her, Spike licked salt from his fingertips, an order of spicy fries sitting on the table in front of him.

Spike and his food, Buffy thought amusedly. She had no idea if it was normal or not for a vampire to like to eat. They didn't seem too fond of the stake she offered them, but that was probably because it was made of wood and not tender beef.

Buffy wouldn't be offering a punny-meal to a vampire anytime in the near future, though, unless she was the main course. Slayer-Buffy was gone. In her place was Buffyboy and her Amazing Penis.

Watching Spike from beneath her lashes, Buffy wondered how Spike would react if she told him who she was. Would he be happy? Freaked? Scared? Think she was nuts? Would he grab Dawn and run? Would he grab Buffy and hug her?

Buffy almost choked on her soda. That last thought flew out of nowhere and slapped her on her stubbly cheek. Buffy didn't want Spike to love her. It was bad and wrong and a very large no-no. Spike was a vampire. She didn't do vampires. Been there, done that, had the dead teacher to prove it.

That annoying little voice in the back of her mind snorted. Don't flatter yourself, it taunted. Did she really think Spike would be pining away for her? He probably had a new girl already... and why did Buffy care? Good for Spike, if he did have someone. And the jealousy she felt was because he had a relationship and she was alone, so there.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Buffy asked over the hysterical laughter from that stupid little voice in the back of her mind. He was going to say yes, and she was going to be super-ducky with it. She folded her hands around her glass and looked expectantly at him--

--and saw pain. Raw, heart-ripping pain reflected in his eyes and face, which stabbed Buffy in the gut with its intensity. The emotion was gone in a flash, and Spike's expression was set in a blank mask, making Buffy wonder if she'd imagined what she'd seen. The ache in her abdomen proved differently.

"No, I don't," Spike answered succinctly, and turned his attention in Dawn's direction. "Dawn's the only woman in my life, and that's how I want it. So if you're thinking of setting me up with someone, forget it."

Spike took a long sip of his beer, keeping his focus on Dawn and her date. His eyes narrowed when he saw where exactly said date's hands were, but before he could move Dawn took care of the wandering limbs on her own. Good girl.

Brett shifted uncomfortably on the stool across the table from Spike, a red flush tinting his ears. The vampire pressed his lips together in a thin line. Women were a very sore subject with Spike and he got short-tempered when dateable females became the topic of discussion. However, he actually felt bad for snapping at Brett, which was odd. Then again, everything about the night so far had been odd.

Spike gave Brett a sidelong glance. The vampire couldn't figure out what it was about Brett Anderson that piqued his interest and caused him to blabber on like Willow on caffeine. The brunette was a tall, neatly groomed, square-jawed Joe College-type, with a pair of specs that magnified his deep whiskey-colored eyes. The old scar cutting across his cheek Spike identified as made by a knife, and he could see a few other scars that could only come from fist-fights, proving there was a bit of rough-and-tumble to the clean-cut young man. He was pleasantly deep voiced, too. His way of speaking and mannerisms were a tad girlish, but that was to be expected since he was a shirtlifter.

Spike wasn't looking for any type of emotional entanglement, or sex, so his interest in Brett couldn't be attraction. Still, he found himself drawn into conversation with Brett as if he was looking to make friends.

Spike did not need or want a friend. He had Dawn to take care of, the Harrises to take care of him, and the witches to avoid lest he get mothered to death. Xander and Anya only cared if Spike was well enough to protect Dawn. Willow and Tara cared about Spike's well-being and it had gone quite far beyond the point of annoyance. He could only take hearing "how are you doing?" so many times before he wanted to tie the witches' tongues around their heads.

The answer was always the same, anyway. How was he doing? He was still walking and talking, wasn't he? And it seemed that today he was making a new friend, if he hadn't bollixed it up. He should get a biscuit.

"Listen, mate," Spike said with a put-upon sigh. "I'm not interested in the ladies, but since you aren't one, it doesn't matter, eh?"

Brett nodded slowly. His dark brows furrowed above the rims of his gold frames. "Wait, does that mean you're interested in guys now?"

Brett immediately looked horrified, and Spike's puffed-up ego deflated rapidly. He changed the subject quickly. "Never mind. What time is it?" the vampire asked.

"I'd best round up Dawn." Spike took a final sip of his beer, set the bottle aside, and stood. "Wait here," he told Brett before winding through the tables towards the dance floor.

Spike stepped up behind Dawn, eyed where her date's hands rested on her hips, and cleared his throat loudly. Dawn looked over her shoulder, and groaned unhappily. "Time to go already?"

"Your pumpkin awaits," Spike said, shooting a glare at Dawn's fellow. "Say goodnight, and let's go."

"Goodnight, Tim," Dawn parroted dutifully. Then, she kissed Tim with blatant use of tongue.

Spike growled low in his throat, knowing the little bint was doing it to raise his hackles. The devious smile she gave Spike confirmed it, when she stopped licking her date's tonsils.

"Call me," Dawn chirped to Tim as Spike latched onto her arm and dragged her from the dance floor.

Spike collected Brett, and the three of them exited Slivers. They piled into the black Trans-Am that Spike had 'acquired', and sped back to Sunnydale, hard rock music rattling the car's windows.

He dropped off Dawn first, reminding her to take her backpack. He normally chauffeured her home from the library when she really was studying, so Willow and Tara would once again be duped. He waited until Dawn was safely indoors before continuing on to the University.

"This is me," Brett said, gesturing out the passenger window to the brick four-storey dormitory. "Hendrix Hall, room 305. Home, smelly home."

"Don't forget your bag, either," Spike said after turning down the car stereo. He smirked. "I know I don't plan on doing your Maths course work. I barely passed the first time round."

Brett studied Spike intently for a moment, then nodded as if coming to a conclusion. "You're a good Dawn-sitter," he said. "I don't agree that she should've gone out on a school night, but I'd rather you'd be watching out for her than her sneaking off on her own."

"Right. I'm Brett. I'm not related to Dawn," Brett commented mysteriously. He opened the car door, started to get out, and paused. "Take care of her, okay? She's really like my sister and..." Brett didn't finish his thought. He instead gave Spike a wavery half-smile and climbed out of the car.

Spike watched as Brett's long strides ate up the pavement until he disappeared inside the dorm. Frowning at the sudden feeling of loss, Spike put the car in gear and headed home.

Epilogue

"Spike, uh, hi," Brett said upon opening the dorm room door. "What are you doing here?"

It was a good question. One Spike didn't know the answer to, and so he lied. "I was in the neighborhood, visiting someone else, and I thought I'd say 'hello.'"

By the skeptical expression on Brett's face, Spike's lie was as lame as it sounded, but he truly didn't have a reason for seeking out Brett. Spike didn't like humans, except for a select few, and he wasn't that hard up (though he hadn't gotten laid in more months than he had fingers.)

There was something about Brett, though, that had caught Spike's interest. Something that tickled low in his belly. It wasn't Brett's looks. Granted, he wasn't ugly by any means. He was long, lanky, square-jawed, and had perceptive eyes hidden behind thin frame glasses. Perceptive eyes that were assessing Spike in a way that made it clear he thought Spike was a nutter, which he was, most likely. Still, it wasn't Brett's looks that had Spike walking to UCSunnydale a few days after they'd met; it was just a feeling he had that he wanted to know Brett Anderson.

Spike tucked the tops of his hands in his jeans pockets and rocked on his heels. He gave Brett a small smile. "Fancy a beer, mate?"

The Beginning

These authors spend lots of time to write these stories. If you took the time to read this PLEASE take the time to give them some feedback. Happy writers write more ;-)

Saber ShadowKitten - daschus@attbi.com