Disclaimer: The idea is Amy’s, the characters are Joss’.

Author’s note: Thanks to Aribelle for the fab betaing of this chapter! *hugs* Italics denote thoughts
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Chapter 1: Switched

Spike, the big bad of Sunnydale, recently chipped and considerably bitter about it, walked down some obscure residential street in hopes of getting his mind off the terrible predicament he was in. He was bored.

Not being able to hurt the thousands of happy meals on legs that scurried around this town definitely had its draw backs. Sure he would pick a fight with demons, but that was getting him into more trouble that it was worth.

Absently he kicked at something shiny and metal on the road. It didn’t clatter like a can. On closer inspection it didn’t look like a can either. Spike stooped down to pick up the object that had piqued his curiosity. Holding it in his hand he could feel the resonance of magic within the object.

Gotta get this to the Watcher came his first thought. Bloody Hell! When did he turn into such a raging do-gooder?

He was about to throw the offending object into the window of a nearby house, when he heard the rush of someone running past him, heartbeat rapid and the brief scent of fear and power.

The glimpse of blond hair and that smell that was ‘Slayer’ to his senses shocked the hell out of him. He never smelled fear on the Slayer.

In a flash he took off after her.
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He arrived at the Summers’ house in time to see the Slayer burst into the house by way of a second story window. There were sounds of fighting coming from the house. Glorious sounds he thought, perhaps the uptight bitch was getting the stuffing beat out of her.

No, probably not.

Spike couldn’t help himself. He needed to have a better view of just what was going on. He strolled up to the dining room window to see the Slayer standing off against some brunette chick.

“Thought I'd go after the clean marine, didn't ya? He's a cutie. Looks like he can use a good roll in the sack,” said the chick with a huge grin on her face.

That one’s trying to get the Slayer pissed off, he thought.

The Slayer launched herself at the chick, only to be blocked. Spike was really getting into it, ducking along with the Slayer as she ducked a right hook from the other bint.

“You're not his type. He's not real big on sleaze,” responded the Slayer.

Good comeback, he thought, chuckling. Even if it was to defend Captain Cardboard.

Spike watched with wide eyes as the Slayer punched the brunette chick several times before the skank got the upper hand and caught the Slayer’s arm, slamming the blonde into the dining room wall.

“He's probably just never tried it,” noted the skank.

“Going for the boyfriend again? That's tired.”

“Just something to remember me by once I've moved on.”

Spike let the movement in front of his blur and contemplated this new tidbit of information. This chick has a habit of going after the Slayer’s boy toys? Spike chuckled a little more to himself. The chick fight was beginning to have an...interesting effect on the lower regions of his body.

“Did it ever occur to you Faith that the reason we all forgot you is because we wanted to?” said the Slayer.

The way she moved, the way she parried each thrust and each barb thrown her way. She was magnificent. Uh...In a purely predator/prey kinda way, Spike was quick to dismiss the thought as his attention was caught by the flying silverware in the dining room before him.

It was times like this that he really regretted being saddled with the chip. He was itching to jump in there. Spike pressed closer to the window. This fight between the Slayer and...his vampire senses reached out...Holy buggering Hell! Another slayer! And probably a Slayer that Miss High and Mighty wouldn’t mind me snacking on. Damn chip.

Spike’s attention was caught by the approach of sirens. He rolled his eyes, knowing full well that he should leave. The cops wouldn’t appreciate a peeping tom on this little scene.

“The cops,” noted the other Slayer.

Spike watched as she scrambled over the top of the dining room table and ran for the living room. Instantly Spike sprang into action and grabbed the handle of the Summers’ front door, opening it sharply as the other Slayer passed it, knocking her to the ground and sending Spike onto the floor with a massive headache.

“Spike!“ yelled Buffy.

Spike clutched his head in pain. “Bloody buggering hell! You stupid bints gotta warn a bloke when you’re standing that close to the door.”

Buffy put her hands on her hips, looking between the knocked out form of Faith and the sprawled figure of the vamp who just saved her from destroying her entire house.

The two conscious forms at the bottom of the stairs looked up as they heard the frantic feet of Joyce coming down to meet them.

“You okay?” she immediately asked Buffy putting a hand to her cheek.

Buffy looked down at Faith. “Ya, Spike decided to break and enter just at the right moment. Faith met door.”

“I called the police,” said Joyce indicating the flashing lights and sirens that were approaching the house.

“She's their problem now.”

“You're sure you're okay?” asked Joyce again.

Buffy smiled up at her mom and nodded. “Except for the large queasy feeling I’m getting from Spike saving the day...Ya, I’m good mom.”

Joyce’s face lit up into a big smile. “Hot Chocolate Spike?” she offered, holding out her hand to help the vampire up.
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“So exactly why are you here?” Buffy asked Spike once her mother had gone to bed, their mugs of hot chocolate sat dirty on the island of the kitchen. The police had taken statements from the three conscious beings and carted Faith away. She hated to admit it but the past couple of hours chatting with him and her mom were kinda not terrible.

“Told you, got a magic doodad for your watcher, thought you’d want to take a look at it,” he told her, like she was stupid for not remembering. “Found it on the road. Maybe that Faith bint dropped it?”

“Hand it over,” she ordered.

Spike glared at her a moment before standing up and digging into his pocket, pulling the metal gizmo out and holding it out to her.

Buffy reached out and grabbed the item, brushing her fingers against his palm.

Buffy fought against the sudden dizziness and put a hand to her head. “What the hell?” she muttered.

The metal thingy crashed to the ground unnoticed as they pulled away from each other; both more concerned with the fact that everything looked really odd and the nauseous feeling in their stomachs that wasn’t going away.

Buffy heard a crunch of metal and looked up to see her mom in the kitchen, stepping on the remains of the metal magic thing that made her feel this way.

“Goodness, Buffy! You look terrible! Are you coming down with something?” came her mother’s voice.

Buffy looked up to see her mom getting a glass of water, the queasy feeling did not subside.

“Upstairs young lady, you aren’t going back to the dorm in that condition,” ordered Joyce, pointing up the stairs.

Buffy nodded.

“See, even Spike agrees with me.”

Spike. Buffy forced her eyes shut, willing the room to stop spinning. When she opened them again there was no one in the kitchen. No Spike, no mom. Huh.

Keeping her eyes locked on her target, Buffy grabbed hold of the banister and forced herself to her room. She didn’t bother changing; she didn’t bother getting under the covers. Buffy collapsed on her bed, hoping that sleep would make her tummy not feel so wonky.
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Morning crept through the curtains in the Slayer’s room. Yes, he was in the Slayer’s room. Forceful as Joyce was last night, pushing him up here, what with his stomach not wanting to be vertical, he complied.

But morning was an issue, and the Slayer’s curtains weren’t going to keep him from burning to ash on her girly bed. With much effort, but a stronger sense of preservation, Spike lifted himself off the bed to close the curtains tightly, taking with him a blanket to throw over the curtain rod for extra protection.

His task accomplished, Spike headed back to the soft cushioning of the Slayer’s bed, eager to make the pounding in his head subside. He tumbled back on to the bed, facing towards the middle of the bed, and reached for a pillow.

There was a groan from the other side of the bed.

Spike’s eyes shot open at the thought that someone else was in the bed with him. Well it was the Slayer’s bed, maybe she was there too. He had to admit that he wasn’t feeling so hot the night before; getting in bed with the Slayer, of all people, could have passed unnoticed to his vamp senses.

Not inches from his face was...his face. Spike closed his eyes hoping that his brain was playing some sort of horrible joke on him and willed his dead lungs to breathe deeply. It was his first actual conscious thought of the day.

Spike opened his eyes again, hoping to be faced with the sleeping face of the Slayer (because that was infinitely better than seeing one’s own face).

‘Cause that’s what he saw.

“Bloody buggering hell!” shrieked Spike as he bolted up off the bed.

There he was lying on the Slayer’s bed. But wasn’t he also standing right here?

“What the bleedin’ hell is going on?” he said into the quiet of the room.

That was when he noticed that his voice wasn’t quite right; he sounded girly. He sounded like the Slayer if she decided to do a proper English accent.

He looked down at himself, his arms spread at his sides.

Oh bollocks he thought, I’m wearing the Slayer’s body!
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tbc...