The Spy Who Fed Me

SERIES: Summer Snacks #1
RATING: PG-15, but only for language
CLASSIFICATION: Short, silly crossover fic.
DISCLAIMER: BtVS, Spike, and so on all belong to Joss and the Grr-Argh monster. Oh, and Fox. T'other bloke (she says cryptically, so not to give it away) in it belongs to Ian whatisface, or someone, but not me.
SPOILERS: Set in the summer between Seasons 4 and 5, so everything up to Season 4, very vaguely.
SUMMARY: Oh, just read it and find out. *g*
AUTHORS NOTE: I just got fed up of Spike not being able to kill... and this is what I came up with. There will be a little series of these. Heehee! Oh, and thanks to Stryx who woke up long enough to read it, and say 'Needs more Spike at the end'.... without him it would've been shorter still.

It had been another uneventful night. Spike had spent the short hours of summer darkness both looking for some demon arse to kick, and avoiding the Slayer and her pals - firstly because he didn't want them to change their minds and stake him, and secondly because he didn't want to see the goody-goody bunch anyway. But he'd been unsuccessful on both counts. He'd had to endure the Slayer's bitchy comments and he hadn't even got any violence out of it. Bloody typical. Bloody chip! But apparently she was bored with the lack of demon activity as well.

"Doesn't mean she has to take it out on me, the miserable cow." Spike muttered as he made his way back to his crypt, conveniently forgetting that he'd given as good as he got. "That's it, I've had it. I'm going to bed, and if anyone disturbs me...."

He dropped his duster to the floor, hopped up onto the tomb that served as his bed, and pulled his tatty blanket over himself, determinedly shutting his eyes.

Some hours later he was enjoying a pleasant dream in which he eviscerated the Slayer and her friends in order of annoyingness, when the crypt door burst open, waking him and letting in the early-morning sun.

"What the fuck?!" he tumbled off the tomb, well into the shadows, and glared at the newcomer.

"Ah, a fellow Englishman." the tuxedo-clad intruder replied, his accent a curious mixture of well-bred English, Scots, and Irish. "Do forgive me, I wasn't expecting to find company."

"Well you have, now piss off." Spike retorted rudely. The other man went to peer around the doorway when they both heard a shot, and a bullet ricocheted off of the tomb. It was followed by several more. Spike jumped further back, and the stranger braced himself against the stone wall, producing a handgun of his own.

"I'm afraid that could be something of a problem." he remarked apologetically. "I should have closed the door behind me."

"Yes, you bloody well should! Bringing blokes with guns to my home.... barging in, no by-your-leave or introductions...." Spike glared all the more, getting into his rant.

"Oh terribly sorry." the man loosed a few quick shots round the doorway, then reloaded his gun. "The name's Bond. James Bond. And you are?" He took a few more shots, and the people outside returned fire. Spike decided he'd had enough.

"Hungry!" he snarled, putting on his game face and lunging at Bond. The man gave a yell of fright, and jumped backwards.... right into the path of the gunfire. His body jerked as several bullets hit him, the he dropped to the floor. Spike grinned widely round his fangs. No pain. Not even a twinge. *He* hadn't done the killing. "Oh, reeeesult!" He scooped up his duster and used it to cover his arm while he pushed the door shut.

Carefully, he checked Bond for a pulse or any sign of life. When he found none, he mentally saluted the gunmen outside, then happily sank his fangs into the dead man's neck.

Outside, the most junior of the gunmen that had been pursuing James Bond approached the door and cautiously cracked it open an inch. What he saw through the gap made him turn pale, and hurry back to his comrades, determined to never, ever tell anyone what was really in there.

"He is dead, Captain." he reported, as firmly as he could.

"You are sure?"

"Yes sir. He was shot... and... there was blood everywhere. I saw the body. He is certainly dead."

"Very well." The captain motioned to the other men, and they slipped away between the gravestones, their job done.

Spike finished draining the body and threw his head back, licking his lips.

"Ahhh, fresh human blood. I'd almost forgotten.... hell, I need to find a way to do this more often!" He noticed the slightly ajar door. "And I need to get a bloody lock! Bloke's got no privacy round here..."

He got up, edged around the ray of sun, kicked the door shut, and returned to the dead body on the floor. "Right," he addressed it briskly "let's get you out of the way." He picked it up, slung it over one shoulder, kicked the stray, spent bullets into a corner, and pushed the top off of the tomb. He dumped the body inside, and slid the lid back on again. "Goodbye, Mr Bond." he smirked, then paused. "Hmmm, I'm sure I've heard that somewhere before..." He shrugged and hopped back onto the tomb, pulling his blanket back up again. "Oh well." He closed his eyes. "Now, let's see if I can get back into that dream.... just where I was gutting Xander with a spoon...."