And You're How Old?

by Laura

"Spike." Wesley called out to the vampire who had come strolling into what had once been a hotel lobby, but now served as offices for Angel's Investigations. "You're just the person I wanted to talk to. I need to ask you a few questions." "And what makes you think that I want to answer them?" In one smooth nimble move, Spike hopped up to sit on the front desk. He did this one handed, as he was holding a bowl of ice cream topped with blood in the other. Sighing, Wesley debated with himself. {Appeals or threats? Which would work at this time with Spike?} "I've started keeping a journal of my life, my experiences with living and working with...with vampires. And of course much of my journal will be a historical record of you...Angel...your whole family. Now I'm *sure* in the interests of historical correctness, you would not want me to have erroneous facts in my memoirs." "Like I give a flying fuck if your facts are accurate or not." Sighing to himself again, Wesley realized that appealing to Spike's finer instincts was a lost cause. {Threats it is.} "I've already spoken to Angel about this project. He's behind me 100%. And I'm sure he will want the facts to be correct, as this journal will serve as recorded documentation of his life and the lives of his progeny. Perhaps I should go and talk to him about your attitude." "Ooh Wesley. Can't get your way, so you use the `I'm-going-to-tell- your-daddy' trump card. How manly of you." Shoveling ice cream in his mouth, Spike considered a moment. "What kind of questions do you want to ask me?" "Everything. Everything about, starting with your age. I have two sources here. One says that you're 120 years old, and the other vaguely states that you're slightly younger than two centuries. Now that's quite a discrepancy...almost 80 years." "Probably depends on who they have siring me." Spike stated between mouthfuls of ice cream. "Siring you? Oh...oh...yes...of course." Wesley quickly began perusing the two texts. "But how stupid of me! That indeed explains the difference. If one subscribes to the theory that Drusilla was your Sire, and she herself wasn't turned until 1860, then naturally you would have to be less than 140 years old." "127 years old." Spike declared simply, scraping the bowl and licking the spoon. {127 years old?} "What are you talking about? Since Angel..." "If you believe that Drusilla is my Sire, then I'm 127 years old." "On what are you basing that on?" "On what am I basing that on? I should know how old I am." "Since Drusilla is *not* your Sire...wait a minute. Are you telling me that Angel sired you 127 years ago?" "No." "Then where are you getting 127 years from?" "It's a well known fact that Drusilla sired me 127 years ago." Blinking at the vampire, Wesley was beginning to regret that he had asked Spike anything. "How can it be well known fact, when it's not a fact at all. It's a total fabrication. And besides, if one believes that Drusilla is your Sire, then according to this source, you were sired by her in 1880." "What? Give me that." Spike grabbed the text out of Wesley's hands to read for himself. "Who wrote this? One of your Council buddies? Can't subtract worth a damn. How the hell did he subtract 127 years from 2000 and get 1880? Is he still alive? Because if he is, then I should go and kill him. Anyone that stupid should not be allowed to live!" "Well it's all a little irrelevant, isn't it? Since Drusilla didn't sire you. Now when exactly were you sired by Angel?" "What does your book say?" "Well, the author is not very precise. He just states that you were less than two centuries old." "That's right." "What's right?" "Two centuries." "You're two centuries old? Exactly?" "We-lll." Spike cocked his head at the Englishman, pondering for a moment. "We vampires tend to just round up to the next century. The older you are, the more respected you are, you know. Probably if you add my human years, I would be close to two centuries. Do you count my human years when you're calculating my age?" "I suppose we could calculate it both ways. How do vampires do it?" Spike shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "Don't know. Most vampires lie about their age. They all like to pretend that they were around when Christ was crucified." "Well alright. When were you born as a human?" Seeing the blank look on Spike's face, Wesley realized that he had just hit another dead end. "You don't know, do you?" "My mum died when I was pretty young, and I spent the rest of my human years living on the streets. So I'm not sure of the exact year, but I can guess. Probably be within a couple of years or so." "Let's try working at it from another angle. What year did Angel turn you? Then we could work backwards. Figure out about how old you were when you were turned and..." "Don't know the year." "Don't know the year? How can you not know the year?" "I forgot." "You forgot the year that you became a vampire! How is that possible?" "It's Poofy's fault. He confused me." "You think everything is Angel's fault. And how did he confuse..." "You know." Spike interrupted the ex-Watcher. "You humans can't remember what you did the day before, so how do you expect that we vampires can remember every little detail of our lives for a century plus." "I'm not asking you to remember every little detail. I'm just asking for an important date. The day you were turned like a birthday for you. Don't vampires remember important birthdays?" "Right Wesley." Spike gave Wesley a look of scorn. "Do you think that vampires celebrate particular dates like birth dates and anniversaries like humans do? Did you think that every year on the date I was turned, I got a birthday cake and a pony ride? Earth to Wesley. We're demons. We don't do poofy things like that....But you know, I do remember the dates when I killed those two Slayers. Wanna know what those dates are?" Closing his eyes, Wesley was fast coming to the realization that this conversation was beginning to hurt like a toothache. "You can tell me about the Slayers in a bit. But first I just want to know your age. Now when someone asks how old you are, what do you tell them?" "Depends." "Depends on what?" "Depends on what age I feel like being that day." Deciding that he had had enough, Wesley stacked his books and papers together. Scooping them all up, he began to walk away, making his way to the staircase. "Hey Wes! Where you going? We're not finished here yet." "As far as I'm concerned, we're finished." Wesley turned to look back at Spike. "I'm going to do what I should have done in the first place. I'm going to go and ask Angel how old you are." "Oh yeah." Spike was now feeling a little offended that Wesley didn't want his expert knowledge. "Like Peaches, who's in the first stages of senility, is going to remember how old I am." Jumping down from the front desk, Spike began to hurry after Wesley. "He's just going to make up a number, you know. Probably going to give you a number between 127 and 200. Then you'll just have another age to pick from." Racing to the stairs, beating Wesley up the steps, Spike made a beeline to his Sire's room. He was curious now. How old would Angel say he is?