((A/N: Tis my proud return to fanfiction... again. I'm losing track of my returns. I either promise an update that never comes, or I swear I'm never updating, then am hit with inspiration for something totally off. So, what the hell, anything goes. This is a oneshot for a series I've never done fic for before. Possibly because I don't have a very long history with BtVS. The style's pretty funky because I wrote it while recovering from the English Regents. I'm not sure what I hoped to accomplish with it. Other than there being another Spike/Dru ficlet out there, which is totally my new OTP. In conclusion, fanfiction(dot)net's updating system SUCKS))
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"I'm coming for you, Drusilla."
It was as if she was living a nightmare that she could never wake up from. Just as he promised, no matter where she went, no matter how hard she prayed, there he was. Standing just outside her window, smiling that cruel smile of his.
"Invite me in, Drusilla," he crooned.
She backed away from the window, shaking her head, putting her hands up in front of her face. "You're not wanted here! You're not wanted here, demon!" she chanted. Her hand flew to the cross that hung around her neck, seized it tightly for comfort. "Hail Mary full of grace…"
When her sisters came to comfort her, she tried to point out the man that was outside the window. They never saw him. They never saw him because they were good, pure, and she was evil.
I must be evil, Drusilla realized, because I see things before they happen. Mother tells me I should block them out, but I can't. If I wasn't bad, the devil wouldn't show me these horrible things.
Before the man came, some of the visions were of nice things, of pretty things. But then he started following her, that thing that called itself Angelus in mockery of God, and everything good fled in its wake. Her visions were full of blood now, and they upset her so badly that she had tried taking laudanum to dull them.
Even the simplest things were taken from her. She planted flowers in the spring, but he plucked out all their heads, and chilled them so they withered and died. She hadn't seen him do it, and her mother said it was bad luck, but Drusilla knew better. Angelus would make sure everything she put in the ground withered and died.
She tried to confess her sins, thinking God might try to save her, but he killed the preacher. Her confessions meant nothing. Her sins were too great.
Whatever she did, wherever she went, someone always died because of her.
When Drusilla wakes, she remembers none of it. Bits and pieces, but they don't mean the same thing that they used to. Her soul fled long ago, and her mind has broken and twisted beyond repair.
She giggles when she thinks of the tortures she witnessed, and she smiles when she thinks of Angelus. One thing has not changed. She knows she is evil. But it is a casual knowing, now—it does not bother her. Drusilla is a very bad girl, but she has a very bad boy to take care of her.
"How's my pet?" Spike asks, brushing his fingers over a strand of her dark hair. She doesn't answer quite yet. Spike is all hers. Angelus makes her smile, but Spike is hers, and this pleases her more than she can say. She knows that where she found him, the others wouldn't have picked him up the way he was. But Drusilla still sees things, as she used to before he made her one of them. She saw all that the man they called William could be. And she would not let him go.
Vampires cannot love. Spike knows this, as does Drusilla. It does not matter. They can feel.
"Dru?" Spike is irritated now. "You aren't still dreaming, are you?"
Drusilla smiles, staring up at the ceiling. "I had a good dream. I dreamt of Angel killing things."
The only part that bothers Spike is the mention of Angel. As long as he's known her, she's been this way. He finds it endearing after all this time. He presses his lips to her temple. "Would you like me to kill things for you, princess?"
She squeals like the child that she often is, and turns toward him. "Pretty things?"
"You can come and watch, love." He is pleased that she's forgotten about Angelus so easily. Vampires cannot love. But they can covet. They can envy.
Spike wonders why this is, sometimes. If one is capable of some emotions, why not all of them? Isn't love just another emotion?
As a former poet, he should not speak in vain of love. Yet he finds that he cares more for Drusilla than he did for any human girl. Once he assumed that this was because she was all he had left. But he does not believe it now.
Dru, who was curling up in his arms, becomes very still now. "My head feels all funny, Spike," she says slowly.
He frowns. She does not take a turn towards the lucid often, but when she does, he has to be very careful not to set her off. His track record in this is better than any other vampire he's met.
Angelus could never calm down a frantic Drusilla. In this, Spike is superior.
She lifts her hands up, and they examine them together. "The skin feels all wobbly on my hands. Everywhere. My skin's not on tight enough."
"Your skin's fine, Dru. You just need to eat."
"And…" she looks at him, her face just centimeters away from his, "what are we going to eat, Spike?"
He has to be careful of this question. Blood is not the answer. Angelus, who didn't seem to care if Dru was upset, used to say, 'Children,' which inevitably sent her into a frenzy.
That has only happened twice as far as Spike remembers. After he'd seen her reaction to that, he did his best to make sure he would always be around when Drusilla asked questions.
"Warm things," he answers. "Fresh and waiting for us." Spike presses a finger to her lips.
Dru bites it playfully, and he smiles. Crisis averted.
"My Spike," she croons. "Going to fetch us a meal, going to fetch us a tasty something…"
He pulls her onto him, closing the gap between them. Drusilla makes to make him on the lips, but he grabs her by the hair, and makes it into something more. When they do separate, Drusilla isn't thinking of Angel at all.