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Dee Bradfield
FEEDBACK: deebradfield@hotmail.com.
TIMELINE: AU. Set post-chip and Riley is long gone (happy, happy, joy, joy - spontaneous outburst, sorry). It's like Season Five, but without all the Glory/Dawn hoo-ha. (Who? Huh?).
SUMMARY: Spike realized his feelings a bit earlier than depicted in the show and took off for a while. Now he's back, and he's a little different. He experiments with some psychic stuff and is contaminated by a supernatural infection that he may have inadvertently passed on to Buffy and Giles. At least, that's how it started - I kinda went all Forrest Gump with the ball.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em but I'll put 'em back in their Mutant Enemy box when I'm done playing, so don't sue me, 'K?
DEDICATION: To James Wesley Marsters for being such an all-fired hottie.
“Spike is unwell.”
“That’s gotta be the smartest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Buffy deadpanned. Spike growled at her.
“I am very serious,” Giles insisted. “I found reference in Negra Malo of a vampire infected with something called El Poco Amor Serpiente.”
“’The little love snake’?” Spike grinned lecherously. “That being in no way suggestive of course.”
“Of course,” Giles repeated, distracted. “Demons can, and do, pass on infections in much the same way as humans, by sharing close contact or bodily fluids...”
“Ew,” Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Spike, did you swap spit with the Kera- thingy demon and it’s tongues?”
“That is beyond gross, Slayer. Besides which, it was male.”
“Hey, whatever.”
“...Or,” Giles continued, frowning at the bickering couple. “Psychic connection.”
“Psychic what?” Spike’s mouth dropped open. “I’m sick?”
“It certainly appears that way,” Giles said. “I’ll have to conduct some further research, especially as I can find no mention of the outcome of this case, symptoms, duration, or even if it’s curable.” He peered at them both over his glasses. “We will have to quarantine the shop until I can ascertain...”
“Quarantine?” Buffy blurted in disbelief. “You mean I have to stay here? With him?” She indicated Spike with a jerk of her thumb.
“And myself,” Giles smiled wanly. “I also had some kind of psychic contact with him.”
“You did?” Spike raised his eyebrows. “I don’t remember that.” He smirked. “Was it good for you?”
“Not particularly.” Giles put a hand to the back of his head, recalling the unpleasant feeling of pins-and-needles that had rippled across his scalp.
Buffy watched the gesture with interest. “He said something majorly icky, didn’t he?”
“’Icky’ doesn’t quite cover it,” Giles said carefully.
Spike ignored them. “I’m settlin’ in then," he said, shrugging out of his duster and draping it across the counter. "Where’s the telly?”
Giles flipped over a page of the book he held. “I don’t have a set in the shop.”
“What?” Sheer disbelief crossed the vampire’s face. “I’ll miss 'Passions'. Timmy’s lost, you know, and if they don’t find him in time...”
Buffy sat back at the table. “I’m sure you can pick it up in a month or so and still know what’s going on.”
“A month?” Spike placed fisted hands on his narrow hips. “Hopin’ that’s an exaggeration.” He tilted his head towards Giles. “An exaggeration, right mate?”
Giles adopted a distinct deer-in-the-headlights expression. “I’ll try to find out.” He hurriedly worked his way back up the stairs.
“This doesn't rate real high on my happy scale,” Buffy disclosed as Spike began pacing back and forth in front of the counter.
Spike made a disbelieving noise and kept moving. Buffy watched him for several laps, then said, “Have you ever been diagnosed with a personality disorder?”
He stopped mid-lap and glared at her.
“You’ve got traits that kinda point to ADHD,” she continued. “Have you tried Ritalin?”
“I’m not a subject in your bleedin’ psych class, Slayer. Knock it off.”
“Classic case,” Buffy said.
Spike came toward her then, moving with a slow, sinuous grace.
“I’m not a classic case of anything,” he told her. “There is nobody else like me." He leaned down and placed his arms on either side of her chair, bracing himself against the table. "I’m uniquely unique.”
Buffy gasped at his nearness, inadvertently inhaling the faint aroma of smoke and leather that was distinctly Spike. She shivered and closed her eyes, only to re-open them at the sensation of his fingertips under her chin.
He’d brought his face level with hers, so close she could see the tiny laugh lines radiating from the corners of his infinitely blue eyes. The sheer intensity of those azure irises was spellbinding.
Don't look directly into them! The thought came almost desperately, a cry of self-preservation. She pressed a restraining hand against his chest, feeling the soft jersey beneath her palm and the solid muscle beneath the softness.
But no heartbeat, her mind protested. No warmth. He’s a vampire, Buffy!
Neither noticed Giles pop his head over the edge of the loft and then retreat again like a scared rabbit.
“What are you doing?” she asked, not sure, even as the words were uttered, if the question was directed at him or herself.
“C'mon, Slayer, I know you feel it too.” Spike’s low voice was hypnotic, almost a purr. He smiled lazily as his thumb brushed across her lower lip.
Buffy backed up as much as she could and lashed out with her foot, catching him just above the knee. He collapsed backward in an epithet-spouting heap.
“You’re doing this on purpose," she accused, rising from her seat in agitation. “You’re manipulating this whole damn situation.” She made to kick him again but he grabbed her booted foot and twisted it sharply at the ankle. Losing her balance, she landed on her back with a resounding thud.
Giles encored his scared rabbit impersonation at the noise.
Buffy panted, angry and a little winded.
A cool hand curved around her throat. “Like it rough, Slayer? I’ll remember that.” The hand squeezed gently, a tender threat, and then Spike released his hold. “I can’t hurt you, pet.”
Buffy turned her head to find him crouched at her side. He traced his fingers down her cheek. “I can’t hurt you,” he repeated. Then he stood and walked away.
*************
Jeez, Buffy. Confused much?
She remained on her back, lying on the Magic Box’s polished floor. Ten minutes had passed since Spike had executed his strategic retreat to the danger room. Ten minutes of trying to focus on something – anything – other than the effect the vampire was having on her.
It had to be something to do with the ‘love snake’ thing he’d been infected with. Had to be, or else it became too bizarre to even think about. No contemplating of the feelings here, Buffy. He’ll get over this bug and everything’ll go back to the way it was.
Giles appeared in her line of sight, peering down uncertainly. “Are you quite alright?” he inquired. “I didn’t think you’d fallen that hard.”
“Didn’t fall,” Buffy said, uncomfortably aware of the dual meaning of her words. “Haven’t fallen.”
Denial. That’ll work.
Giles glanced around the shop. “Spike...”
“Danger room.”
The Watcher sighed. “Good,” he said, relieved. “I thought he might have left.”
Buffy raised a hand to her face, remembering the cool caress of Spike’s fingers. “No, he didn’t leave,” she said, then moved to a sitting position. “Giles, what’s going on? Why is this happening?”
He said nothing for a full minute. Buffy counted.
“El Poco Amor Serpiente”, he stated finally, sitting down at the table. “The more I read about it, the less I like it.”
“That bad?” Buffy joined him. “We’re not stuck here forever, are we?”
“No.” Giles pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Well, that’s good, right? We like good. Yay for good-ness.”
“It is a consolation,” Giles admitted. “However, certain effects of this malady are lasting.”
“Oh.” Buffy’s spirits dropped. “Good of the not-so-much variety. Is Spike gonna die? More permanently, I mean?”
“Again, no.”
“Are we?”
“Buffy, perhaps it would be more advantageous if you would allow me to explain in full.”
“As long as it doesn’t involve a slide-show. Or lots of big words.”
Giles gave her a quelling glance. “It would also be best if Spike joined us for this.”
“Already listenin’, mate.”
Spike peeled away from the wall he’d been leaning against for the last few minutes and set himself atop the counter. He ignored Buffy altogether. “What’s the prognosis?”
Giles cleared his throat nervously. “This condition is usually confined to a particular tier of demon anthropology...”
“Big words,” Buffy muttered.
“...Those of empathic or psychic castes - the Keratos demon specifically being a documented carrier.” Giles opened his notebook and read directly from it. “The Serpiente infests the emotional core of its host. It cannot exist at all unless emotions are present. This is why it primarily infects those demons that have a capacity for, or who are already in love.” He raised his eyebrows at Spike. “Technically, vampires are soulless and incapable of such things.”
“Watcher’s Council crap,” Spike sneered. “Of course we can be in love, you pillock. Why else d’you think I stayed with Dru for over a century? For my health? For fun? Let me tell you, it was rarely fun. She’s not a well girl, you know.”
“Understate much?” Buffy asked. “Not like you to gloss over the truth, Spike.”
“So I’m loyal as well. Sue me.”
Giles sat back in his chair and resumed reading from his notes. “The Serpiente remains in a dormant state until it is activated by the host attempting telepathic connection with the object of its affection.” He paused as the implications of what that meant registered with his audience.
Buffy’s jaw dropped and she turned stunned eyes to the vampire. Spike said nothing, acknowledging the truth of the statement with his silence.
“If the connection is made and the object returns even a modicum of feeling,” Giles went on, “Then a permanent link is established.”
Buffy had continued to gape at Spike, but was roused from her horrified perusal by the Watcher’s pronouncement.
“Permanent? How permanent? He’s not gonna be popping into my head for the rest of my life, is he?”
“It’s entirely possible,” Giles replied, almost sadly.
“Spike, you jerk.”
“Oh yeah, blame me,” he glowered at her and she tried to ignore the blue spark that flared in his eyes. “Returned feelings, Slayer. Want to explain that?”
Buffy crossed her arms defensively. “No.”
Spike smiled and turned to the Watcher. “What about the screaming migraine and the glowing? Also a permanent fixture?”
Giles rummaged through his notes. “From what I’ve determined, those are fairly typical indications of the union taking place. Both should abate in time.”
“And this Serpiente isn’t physical. I’ve not got a reptile-type thing taking up residence?”
“No, no. It’s only a metaphorical description.”
“Right then. All cleared up. I’m going home.”
“You can’t just leave,” Buffy protested.
“Tag along if you want, Slayer.” Spike pulled on his duster and tilted his head at Giles. He extended a hand to the Watcher and clicked his fingers. “Fags,” he said.
Giles retrieved the vampire’s cigarettes from a shelf and handed them to him. Spike flashed him that eerily genuine grin and left the shop without a further word.
Buffy pouted and eyed Giles. “He knows something.”
“His attitude was rather... cavalier.”
“Bet he knew exactly what he was doing and the Kera-thingamajig was in on it.”
“Still, that is a rather intricate sequence of events, Buffy. Not foolproof in any respect...”
“Guessing that means tricky,” Buffy sighed. “Spike’s not above being tricky. But then this wouldn’t have happened at all if I hadn’t felt anything.”
“I’ll admit that is the part that I’m having difficulty with,” Giles said. “You care about Spike?”
“Somewhere deep - way, way deep, is a part of me that kinda likes him,” Buffy reluctantly admitted. “I know how sad that is. But he’s strong. He’s brave. He’s extremely cute. If he wasn’t a vampire and didn’t have a tendency to annoy me to death, I’d date him.”
“Well, that’s...”
“Hey! Was that whole ‘Spike, you’re such a hottie’ deal because of this?”
“Unfortunately”, Giles couldn’t disguise his distaste. “Enhanced attraction is another symptom and you were, in effect, linked to him from the moment he initiated contact.”
“But that’s not gonna keep happening?”
“I hope not.”
************
Spike sprawled in his armchair, his sculpted features dappled with the light from the flickering television. He muttered at the set, cursing the bad transmission, but despite his earlier protestations about missing his favorite soap, the drama failed to hold his attention.
He wasn’t sure what he was feeling at this point. It was all muddled.
Everything had seemed so simple, at least the way Apollyon had explained it. Either his Kera-speak wasn’t up to scratch or the demon had skipped a few key points. Of course, he’d been so drunk at that stage, he’d latched on to the basics of what the Keratos had said and paid scant regard to the fiddly details.
He was linked to the Slayer.
The irony alone was murder. And, to quote the Scoobies, it was giving him a major case of the wigs.
Spike frowned. He’d hit rock bottom. Spouting Scooby gang vernacular just didn’t cut it as Big Bad. His unlife had become a complete and utter cock- up.
He leaned over and switched off the television set, leaving himself in relative darkness for a moment while he lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply and then eyed the burning tip between his fingers, contemplating his addiction. The Slayer was right, it didn't give him any pleasure. I was just something to occupy his hands. If he didn't have his fags he'd probably have pulled Sunny-D apart by now.
The Slayer. There was another addiction that didn't give him any pleasure. He really didn't know why he even bothered. Perhaps she, too, had become a habit.
He recalled the earlier admiration in her gaze, her reaction to his proximity, and amended the thought. Definitely not a habit - more like the reason for his existence. He sighed. You're hooked good and proper, Spike old boy, and you know it. Hooked and linked.
Spike pivoted in the chair, turning so that his head was supported by the armrest and his legs hung over the side, and wondered how this mystical linky thing worked exactly. He stared at the ceiling and concentrated, imagining her big green eyes and bouncy shampoo-commercial hair.
Buffy, Buffy, Buffy...
And then he could feel her.
Deep in his inner self was the subtle hint of another presence, bringing with it the disturbing sensation that he was being watched. The hairs on the nape of his neck stood up. He attempted to focus on the nebulous feeling, and in a white-hot burst of static, coupled with a momentary vertigo, he was linked to Buffy Summers.
Spike lay utterly still, savoring the connection and trying to get his bearings. It wasn't the same as before. Not like being inside her head. That had been an impersonal reading-over-her-shoulder vibe. This was a warm, sharey-carey sort of deal, like walking hand-in-hand with someone you love. He also had a distinct sense of completion, as though someone had slotted in the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle.
He smiled, despite the tears welling up in his eyes. He hadn't felt this alive since... Well, since he'd been alive.
Spike was aware that he could speak to her if he wanted and that she'd be able to reply, or even initiate the contact if she chose. He didn't know how he was so certain of this, but he did not question the knowledge. It was just there.
He started as a burning pain stung his fingers and he dropped the offending cigarette stub onto the stone floor.
Bugger the fags - this was better than fags. Hell, this was better than sex. Then again, maybe not. Fervent speculations of sex with the Slayer proceeded to corrupt his train of thought. Sex while linked. Oh mate don't go there...
Spike had the sudden realization that Buffy could probably perceive what he was thinking and cringed. Sure enough, her deceptively calm voice was the next thing he heard.
"Get out of my head, Spike." A brief pause. "Now!" There was no mistaking the threat in her tone and he grinned.
"Make me," he taunted. God, he was happy!
"I mean it, you pervert."
"Oh right, like you don't feel how this is."
"How what is?"
"Don't mock it, Slayer." Her denial of what she was experiencing angered him. She was so stubborn. "You can't tell me you don't feel something. Not this time. It's like..." He floundered for a description.
"It's like coming home."
Spike heard the sighed comment a split second before their connection was severed. He floated for a moment, disorientated. Finally he comprehended what Buffy had said - what she had felt. Elated, he stretched and reached over to switch the telly back on. Unlife was looking up. All he needed now was a nice fresh dose of B-positive...
***********
Buffy fought the urge to scream. She wasn't about to spring a heart attack on Giles, especially when he was already staring at her like she'd lost it. Maybe she had.
At first, she hadn't understood what was happening. An explosion of white flashbulb had somehow originated from inside her head and then he'd just been there. She'd waited for the usual revulsion to set in, but all she could sense in his unwanted presence was comfort and an unconditional love, like childhood memories of her mother's embrace. She'd accused Spike of the warm and fuzzies, but she'd never expected the depth of that warmth. Or that the fuzzy would be so overwhelmingly soft.
In spite of that, or because if it, there was a part of her brain that couldn't get past the fact that it was Spike who was generating this blissful aura. It hadn't ever crossed her mind that he might feel stuff. She'd continually been told that you needed a soul for that and Spike did not have one.
So the Watcher's Council had screwed up again. Not surprising, really. They tended to have a bias when it came to vampires. Buffy just hadn't realized that she'd been harboring a bias of her own.
Angel - it always came back to him. Angel and the gypsy soul-curse saga had thrown her for an emotional loop and skewed her whole outlook on the vampire situation. Now Spike was creating a shiny loop all of his own. A brand-spanking-new roller-coastery loop so huge that it wouldn't have been out of place in a theme park.
Buffy smiled reassuringly at her Watcher.
"I'm okay. I just had a little Spike interaction going. It was kinda wiggy."
Giles' lips twisted, but he didn't comment. She knew that he didn't entirely get the vampiric attraction thing and that the Serpiente link was freaking him out. She'd have to deal later. For the moment it was best to act as normally as possible.
She forced an enthusiastic grin. "Are we getting the gang together on the research gig?"
"Yes, that's probably a good idea. Willow especially may have a better perspective than I."
"Sure. Wills is up with the psychic linkage. Tara, too." Buffy pondered for a minute. "Maybe we shouldn't mention this to Xander. He might wanna stake Spike or something. And who knows what that'd do to me."
"It may very well solve the problem."
"Giles!" Buffy stared at him, aghast. "That's harsh."
"I could never comprehend why you had such a hard time killing Spike. Why you still haven't killed him, despite the chip."
"I know him! It'd be like ... murdering you or one of the gang. Besides which, he's harmless now. He can't hurt anyone." Giles opened his mouth to protest and she glared at him. "And why are you bitching at me? If you hate him so much, stake him yourself."
"Well, I - I have to concede that he can be quite ... charming at times. And he has been helpful on occasion, but this link already seems to have brought you closer together. If we take too long in finding a cure, it may be too late."
Buffy frowned at him. "What do you mean 'too late'?"
"You may be completely inseparable. Two parts of one mind."
"You didn't say anything about that before."
"No, I discovered that wonderful news after Spike had already left."
Buffy stared at him, and all pretence of normalcy evaporated. "Giles, I'm scared."
He gazed at her sympathetically. "I know."
***********
Buffy tossed restlessly on the danger room's battered sofa, Spike-related deeds moving through her dreams like a slow-motion horror movie.
Blood. There was so much blood.
Shocked into wakefulness, she threw her arm across her eyes as if to block out any further visions, drawing the arm back again when she realized her face was damp. She'd cried in her sleep. Why in the hell would she have done that? Sympathy for Spike's victims? Maybe. But it somehow felt much more personal.
She sat up and shrugged, trying to shake off the oppressive feeling. Dark and heavy wasn't her - it was more an Angel-type deal. At the thought of her ex-lover, Angel's face flashed before her eyes.
No. Not Angel, but the soulless Angelus, his yellow demon eyes radiating pure venom as he thrust a sinister-looking dagger into unyielding flesh.
Buffy shuddered, drawing an uneven breath. This was a memory, she realized with a sickening certainty, but not one of hers.
It was Spike's memory.
Those terrible things she'd been dreaming had not been caused by Spike - they'd been inflicted upon him. It was his pain she'd been feeling, his suffering. All that disgusting, unspeakable torture and he'd endured it with an amazing strength of spirit.
How could she even pretend to hate him now?
"Buffy?"
At Willow's tentative query, she straightened her shoulders and wiped at her face. "Hi Wills," she greeted the redheaded witch with cheery bravado, but was betrayed by the shakiness of her voice.
"Uh huh," Willow crossed her arms and gazed at her friend with concern. "Giles filled me in on the sitch. Are you, like, okay or -? No," she answered her own question, "Not okay. If I had Spike in my head that'd be..." she paused. "'Creepy' doesn't seem adjective enough."
"It's not," Buffy gave her a watery smile. "Creepy, I mean."
Willow raised her eyebrows in disbelief.
"Well, it is and it isn't," Buffy amended. She sighed and slumped back against the sofa. "This is so confusing."
"Understandable," Willow sat alongside Buffy and sympathetically patted her shoulder. Then she frowned. "No, it isn't. How can it not be creepy? I mean, Spike, he's like way high on the creepy meter. And, hello, tried to kill us. A lot."
"Weird as it sounds, I don't think he really meant it," Buffy said. "I can't get it across all explainy, but I can feel what he does. And there's a lot of feeling there. Major, major feeling."
"From Spike?" Willow glanced at the door leading into the Magic Box. "Giles did kinda mention that, in a skimming over way."
"He is so wigged about this."
"He's totally gone into super-research mode out there," Willow giggled. "The books are piling on up. Tara and me had to practically wade through."
Buffy took a deep breath. "Spike loves me."
There. She'd said it. Out loud. And it somehow became more real.
Oh God, Spike loves me! How bizarre is that?
Willow stared at her, nonplussed. She blinked owlishly. "He - he does? Is that even possible? I thought..."
"Apparently 'no soul' does not equal 'no heart'," Buffy snorted. "Bloody Watcher's Council got it wrong again."
"That link must be pretty strong, you're soundin' like Spike now."
"Huh?" Buffy frowned.
"'Bloody Watcher's Council'?" Willow quoted her eyes wide.
"Great," Buffy grimaced. "Like the dreams weren't enough."
"Dreams?"
"Some kinda residual effect from the link. I'm getting Spike's memories in all their blood-soaked glory."
"Really?" Willow wrinkled her nose. "Gross. But, c-can you see ... um, what about, you know, Drusilla?"
Buffy's brow furrowed. "Actually her mega-psycho-ness has been a complete no-show." She glanced at Willow. "That's gotta be wrong. They were together for so long, how can he not have memories of her?"
"Maybe he's keeping them repressed," Willow suggested. "If he loves you, he might be getting all protecty or something."
"I don't think it works like that."
"You could ask," Willow prompted. "Or you could try linking up and having a little ol' look-see."
"Poking around in Spike's head is just too gruesome an idea. Can you imagine what kind of crap he's got stored up in there?" Buffy shivered again as Angelus' demonic countenance flashed behind her eyelids. She exhaled heavily, fighting a wave of nausea. You'd think that in her line of work a bit of blood would be passe by now, but she never usually saw that much of it. Vamps dusted, they didn't spurt.
"Are you okay?" Concern reappeared on Willow's face.
"Will, it was awful," Buffy blurted. "Angelus tortured him. I saw it - felt it. He did horrible, horrible things..."
A blinding white flash alerted her to Spike's presence. Completely ignoring Willow's startled gasp Buffy shot bolt upright. She could sense immediately that he wasn't pleased.
"Don't think of feeling sorry for me, Slayer," the vampire's tone was icy- cold. "The last thing I want from you is your bleedin' sympathy."
"How did you -? I don't..."
"Denying it won't work", his bitterness twisted in her gut. "I won't have it, understand? Any of it. Especially from you."
"Angelus?"
"You're aware of the hate there, pet. You never cared to know the why of it."
"I thought, because of Drusilla..."
"Don't mention her name," Spike's essence distanced itself guardedly.
"You're hiding stuff again," Buffy accused. "What don't you want me to know?"
"Hey, I'm tryin' for a bit of privacy here. If your Watcher succeeds in his cure huntin', we're not gonna stay like this. And I don't want to be giving you any more ammunition than you've already got."
"Defensive much?"
"This works on a two-way basis, love. You wanna keep something hidden, then you best lock it away."
Buffy hadn't thought of that. But then, there wasn't really anything that she couldn't tell him. That surprised her until she remembered that he'd consistently been there when she needed him - even when he'd been actively trying to kill her. He listened when she had something to say. Angel never had. It was always the 'That's nice, Buffy' and the patting of the head.
"Bloody poof," Spike jeered.
Buffy, for once, couldn't bring herself to argue with him.
"Right then," Spike said, satisfied. Buffy felt his wry smile. "Sod off, Slayer."
She laughed out loud as he severed their connection, drawing Willow's intrigued gaze.
"Was that?"
Buffy smiled self-consciously. "It must look insane from the outside. In a totally out-of-the-tree Dru-ish kinda way."
"Yup," Willow nodded. "You're also weirdly happy. That's nice. Leaning over towards twisted, but nice."
"It's all the love-vibes he keeps sending. I mean, even when he's pissed, it's there, like running underneath."
"Has he told you? Straight up, face-to-face?"
"He's ignoring it." Buffy tipped her head as something occurred to her. "You know, he was fine until he found out about the link. I think he probably would have kissed me if I hadn't kicked his legs out from under him."
Willow's eyes grew impossibly wider. "Did you want him to?"
Buffy blushed. "That's part of the link, right? The whole 'enhanced attraction' deal."
"Yeah, but enhanced being operative. The attraction part musta been there already." Willow blinked. "Wow. That's wild. I mean, um, Spike's cute and all, but..."
"Already up on how sick it is. Living the sick-ness."
"You hid it pretty well. With, you know, trading the insults and the frequent kicking of his butt. Not to mention the entire organ-dropping incident."
"It was way easier before the chip," Buffy said. "Since then, he's one of us. A Scooby. Patrolling. Killing demons. Kinda hard to be distant."
"Impossible now, huh?" Willow sighed in commiseration. "Why'd he come back anyway?" she asked. "He's been gone for months."
"Jeez, Will, wait till you see him!"
"That good?"
"Oh yeah! No! I mean, it's just his hair..."