Chapter Text
Ungh.
Evening already? And hung-fucking-over again.
Hard crypt. Soddin' thing wasn't improved any by that ratty old blanket,
either. Spike could feel his ear indenting into his head painfully, from
where it was pressed against hard cement. He tried to lift his head.
Failed, cursed the pain shooting through his skull, and relaxed down.
Funny. His chest was a bit sore up against the crypt lid, as well. Didn't
remember getting hit there last night, but then, lack of memory lately
didn't necessarily mean it hadn't happened. If he didn't find some new
liquor stores to knock over soon, he was gonna deplete the entire greater
Sunnydale area of its stores of Jack Daniels.
He chuckled a bit at the thought, and forced himself to push up till he was
almost sitting, and only swaying slightly. His hands looked a little
strange, where they were propping him up. Thinner. And his wrists
finer-boned. He shook his head, blinked, cursed the JD again, and swung off
the crypt onto the floor. Time for a bit of mayhem, and if anything could
cure this hangover, it was more-
*What the bleedin'-!*
He'd fallen on his ass, all off-balance. He looked down. He saw the reason
why. He screamed.
********
*When Xander was in Egypt-land....Let my Xaaaaander gooooooo.* Xander shook
his head, blinked, stared unseeingly at the Book of Kh'ardith (3rd
translation) on his lap. *Must...stop...channeling...Ferris...Bueller...*
He looked around. Buffy, fidgeting. Willow and Tara, too cute for words,
cuddling and studying and somehow making that work. Anya, polishing some
random artifact in the store for the three-millionth time. Giles, all
business, of course.
Bo. RING.
He was about to drop the book and recommend a random patrol--Buffy looked to
be about as thrilled with this research session as he was--when the door
chime trilled and in came Spike. Always good for a laugh, Spike, or at
least a quick beating, and Xander perked right up.
"Dead man walking! What brings you to our delightful store, this evening?"
He looked up, waited for a volley that never came. Froze. Stared. Looked
at Buffy, who was frozen, staring. At Giles. Same. At Tara. He could see
her tonsils. Anya hadn't noticed a thing. Maybe it was really a mass
hallucination. Nope. Willow was staring too. And turning red.
Spike was...Not-Spike. Spikette? Spikina? Xander let his mind babble on,
as his eyes just took in information.
Hair. White-blond still, but curling to Spike's ears. Eyebrows finer, more
arched, but still scarred on the left. Eyes? Same. Whoa. Looking really
pissed off there, Spike old...girl. Jaw softer, lips fuller. Neck still
long and pale, but without an adam's apple.
And breasts. That's what finally did it. Xander felt the breath leave him
in an almost painful snort. BREASTS. Spike had them. Not huge, but
generous enough, and most definitely there, under the
even-smaller-than-usual black t-shirt. He snorted again, sucked in breath,
and was suddenly completely hysterical.
*SPIKE IS A GIRL! HOOOO!*
*******
If Xander didn't stop soon, he was going to hurt himself. Willow was pretty
sure you needed to breathe more than that to maintain brain function. Just
as soon as she got done staring at Spike, she'd go slap him out of it or
something.
"Spike?" Her own voice was a whisper in her ears, but Spike apparently
heard it, even over Xander's howls, and swung to face her.
*Oh, I am so not telling him...*
He...she?...vamped out. Took one menacing step forward, and SNARLED.
"Witch. What the FUCK is goin' on here."
Willow blinked. Still British, but Spike was definitely not a baritone any
more.
"Um. Spike?" She didn't seem to be able to process more than that. He
took another step forward. Stumbled a little, caught himself with a hand on
the back of Xander's chair, shook his head, slipped back to human face.
Looked so bewildered that Willow was up out of the armchair in a flash, and
had him by the arm, and was helping him sit. The arm was disturbingly
slender in her hand.
"Spike, what on EARTH?" Giles was at her shoulder, staring down at Spike,
who was just staring blankly. Xander had finally started to wind down, and
was gasping quietly from his place on the floor. Willow patted Spike's
shoulder, comfortingly, she hoped. She put on her best brisk tone, the one
that always worked on Xander.
"Well. I guess we'd better see about getting you some new clothes, huh?"
*What? What did I say? Why are they all looking at me like that?*
********
Spike had been dispatched with Tara, who was deemed most likely to have
properly-sized loaner clothes for a 5'9 female vampire. The jeans he was
wearing had been skintight on male hips, and the zipper had obviously gone
at some point during the transformation, and "Spike, you're not wearing
UNDERWEAR!" and off they went. Spike was still apparently in shock, but
shuffled off after Tara when told.
The five remaining in the Magic Box just stared at each other. Giles looked
at Buffy, who was still a bit stunned. Anya, who had finally caught on and
seemed to be wondering what all the fuss was about. Xander, who was done
laughing and had gone to amazement. And Willow, who would not meet his
eyes.
*Oh dear.*
"Willow?"
"Yes, Giles?" Still not looking at him.
"I am certain that you would have had nothing to do with a spell that would
result in such a...remarkable result. But for my peace of mind, please tell
me this is in no way, in ANY way, due to your actions."
"Um."
"Willow."
"Yes, Giles?"
"What did you DO?"
"Um."
"Tell me immediately."
"Well, he was bothering Buffy."
"Wait, WHAT?" Oh good, Buffy was speaking now. Lovely.
"It was just a little...I was just trying to...I mean, it was just supposed
to take the testosterone down a LITTLE, you know? So he wouldn't be
all...flirty and gross and, you know, horny, around Buffy all the time."
She shuffled a little, miserably. "I didn't know it would do THAT."
"Obviously not." Giles took his glasses off, polished them, put them back
on, found no comfort in the gesture. "Willow, this reckless use of magic
simply cannot go on. Especially when it comes to matters of the heart. I
was so certain that you'd learned that by now." He put all the weight of
disapproval into his voice that he could. Couldn't, perhaps, help the
telltale twitch of lip.
"I know, Giles. I'm sorry. But she couldn't stake him, and he's such a
NUISANCE..." She glanced up at him, saw him sigh and shake his head.
Lecture over.
"Well. Lesson learned once again, I hope. Now. Can you reverse the
spell?" Probably not. He was not so fortunate.
"Um. Sure. Kind of. Not really. But it will wear off. I think.
Eventually." She brightened. "No, it should definitely wear off,
sometime." Her face fell again. "Unless it's different for vampires. I
kind of...adapted a spell. For humans. He USED to be human, right? So it
should wear off. Right."
"When?" Anya, always practical. "I mean, are we going to have another
woman with us for long? Because actually I was thinking that there are
enough breasts around here for Xander to look at already."
"What? Anya, I never look!"
"Xander, you ALWAYS look. It's all right. I've come to accept your strange
male ways, and I understand that it's a biological imperative for you to
stare at breasts. As long as you only touch mine, of course." She smiled
smugly at him.
"Um. Of course." Occasionally, Giles did feel a brief stab of sympathy for
Xander. But then, the boy had seemed to understand what he was getting
into, so they never lasted long.
******
Tara wasn't entirely sure what she should do with a female vampire who was
sitting on her bed like some very large doll, waiting to be dressed. She'd
gotten Spike out of the t-shirt, refusing FIRMLY to look at the rather
nice...*ahem*...but she was daunted by the jeans, half-fastened or no.
Well, boots. She could start with the boots.
"Spike? I'm, um, gonna take off your boots now, ok?" No response. She
sighed. Bent, wrestled with one rusted buckle, gave up and pulled, and it
slid off surprisingly easily. *Oh, smaller feet, of course. Shoes, too,
Tara, silly girl. Hope he can fit a size 8.* The other boot followed, and
then she was tugging on jeans before she lost her nerve, THERE, and tossing
the corner of the comforter over Spike's lap to cover the...*ahem*.
"I don't...I don't think I have any black jeans. Well, I have a black
SKIRT. Would that be ok?"
"NO it would bloody well NOT!" Spike leapt into life and up off the bed,
froze, blushed, ripped the comforter off the bed and wrapped it around him
like a mummy. "I don't know what the soddin' hell is goin' on here, but I
am NOT wearin' some dress." He was glaring right at her now, and she wasn't
quite sure she wouldn't have been happier if he'd stayed all coma-y.
"O-OK. I, I think I've got some pants..." She turned quickly and began
rummaging through a dresser drawer. Finally emerged with one of her
favorite pairs--green, with purple flowers. Discovered that Spike's look of
scorn had survived his transformation quite intact.
"I'm FEMALE, not BLIND, you stupid bint. S'pose I shouldn't be surprised,
given the monstrosities you lot wear--an' it's all your fault, you know, Red
used to dress a right piece--but haven't you got a PLAIN pair of trousers in
this mess?" He waited. She could almost see his foot tapping.
She tossed him a pair of clean sleep-boxers from the dresser, and turned
back. *The corduroy? No, they have yellow stripes. The blue pair? No, I
cut those up and made them into a skirt. Um. He probably won't want
purple. Can't hurt to ask.*
"Pur-"
"NO."
Sigh. *There are the leggings that I wear with that skirt...no, I'll bet he
doesn't think the little fishes are cute. OH! Here they are.* She turned,
triumphant, with her one pair of plain blue jeans in hand. Spike had
dropped the comforter. Had donned the boxers. That was something. Right?
*Brain. Keep working. Please?*
Because Spike was still lean and hard, and still had muscles, only now there
was an intriguing dip at his waist, and his ribcage was narrower, and his
collarbone more delicate, and she really shouldn't stare at breasts that
perfect, and his legs were slender and smooth and LONG below a gentle swell
of hip, and she could see the arch of hipbone where the boxers slid
dangerously low...*swallow, Tara. Think of Willow. You love Willow. Hand
Spike the jeans. Good girl.*
She hurried off to find a t-shirt. Preferably in a neutral color, without a
cute logo. *This might take a while.*
*******
Spike was sulking, and Buffy really couldn't blame him. She couldn't
imagine waking up as a guy, after all. He'd stomped in after Tara, every
move DARING someone to speak to him, and hadn't said a word since. He was
just sort of huddled in the the darkest corner of the store, arms wrapped
around his knees, in Tara's too-big clothes, glaring at anyone who looked at
him. Which none of them could help doing, mostly in sidelong stares, though
Anya, *BIG surprise* was more blatant. Completely blatant.
"WHAT?" Spike still had the growl, even if it was a little
more...alto...than what she was used to.
"I think you need to buy a bra. Perhaps more than one."
Buffy was glad to note that she wasn't the only person in the room staring
at Anya in shock. *Spike? Shopping for underwear? GIRLS underwear? Oh,
no. No no no.* Anya forged on, undeterred.
"I think maybe Buffy should take you. She has pretty things. She's a
wonderful shopper. When I first changed over, she made some suggestions to
me that really helped out." She nodded firmly. "That way, you won't be
bouncing around like you are now. It's not good for them. And it's
distracting Xander." Xander and Spike exchanged identical, horrified looks.
"It is NOT!" Xander lurched to his feet. "I am not checking out
Spike's..." his hand made a vague circling motion in the direction of
Spike's corner, "...his RACK! JESUS, Anya!"
She was looking injured. Xander was looking furious. Buffy was fascinated.
"When Spike came in in that rather large t-shirt, you stared at his breasts
for a very long time, Xander. I notice these things because I'm a good
girlfriend. Don't you want me to pay attention to what you do?"
"NO, Anya, I don't! Not every little thing! This is getting out of
control. And...and...you've been human for YEARS now! I know I'm not
always Mr. Sensitivity, but come ON! Even I'm not nearly as bad as you!
There is some shit you JUST DON'T SAY IN PUBLIC!"
In the hush that followed, Xander clenched his hands, glowered at Anya, then
turned and stomped out the door, letting it slam behind him. Anya, looking
remarkably unquelled, scurried after him.
"Well." Spike had that old familiar light in his eye...Buffy knew that
look.
"No, Spike, don't you DARE." She scowled at him. "No troublemaking for
you, mister, or I won't take you to Victoria's Secret."
"And that's a threat how, exactly, Slayer?"
She looked at him. Crossed her arms over her own chest, and smirked.
"You'll find out, the first time you try to run."