**Set in AU, Darla never died, just went away for a while, and Spike stayed badass but did have some dealings with the Scoobies - Review, please!**
CHAPTER ONE:
Spike sipped on some uncomfortably warm bourbon and wished he could have a cigarette. As far as he was concerned, the inconvenience of flying wasn't the potential I'm-on-fire-because-it's-daytime landing, it was the new anti-smoking laws. He remembered the good old days when you could smoke anywhere and no one batted an eyelid unless you were killing them. Now he had been in the air for what felt like a billion hours (but what he was assured was only six) and he was starting to get irritable. Another bourbon would probably cure that.
"Fill that up for me, would you, pet?" he flashed a smile at the airhostess as she passed and was rewarded with a smashing view of cleavage as she leant over to collect his empty glass. Spike leaned over to watch her wiggle her way down the ailse and licked his lips. If it wasn't for the damned chip he would follow her back there and - "Take a breath, darling." Darla's sugary sweet tone broke through into his reverie and he blinked back into reality. She kept her smile fixed but lowered her voice into a sharp whisper. "I know we're surrounded by cattle, but they can still sense danger, you know."
Spike rolled his eyes, but noticed a couple of women looking round at the pair. It was always women - men had much more deadened senses in his experience.
"I wasn't even thinking about killing her," he muttered through a reassuring smile at the humans who's spidey senses were tingling. "Much."
The airhostess came back into view, with lipstick reapplied for Spike's benefit, and once more leant right over Darla to give him a peek at her wares. And very nice wares they were too. He thanked her and tipped her with a wink before throwing back half of the drink in one thirsty mouthful. He'd only seen Darla again for the first time in years about three hours ago and she was already making him feel like a naughty schoolboy. She had just rolled up to his crypt and bundled him into a car, flight already booked; like his plans didn't matter. Not that he had any plans, but still.
Next to him, Darla seemed to be counting to ten. She really couldn't stand Spike. He was arrogant and stupid and she was frankly amazed that he had lived for as long as he had, especially now he was neutered. Still, he was family, she reminded herself, that was the whole reason behind this escapade.
"How long is this flight again?" Spike was studying the last half of his drink and keeping an eye out for another airhostess just in case.
"You're one stage away from 'are we there yet', aren't you? Now shut up and stop drinking so much."
The streets of Paris at night were just like Spike remembered them. He hadn't been back here for years but it seemed like decades. He had shed his leather coat in deference to the warm weather and strolled along the Boulevard Saint-Germain in a loose fitting black shirt and his trademark black jeans and boots. He took in a deep breath of the evening air and tasted the particular scent of Paris on his tongue. Perfect. Well, almost. Last time he was here he was minus one chip and plus one Drusilla. Spike sat down on the nearest bench and plucked a cigarette out from the pack jammed into his jeans pocket. When did he become so negative? For as long as he could remember (or as long as he cared to remember) he'd always been a happy-go-lucky kind of chap; always up for a killing spree and a good laugh. And now? He was fast becoming an established drunk and he only smiled to win over the ladies. "Pathetic." Darla appeared from nowhere in that annoying way she had and sat down next to him with her usual grace.
"Funny, just what I was thinking." Spike sighed and offered her a cigarette which she surprisingly accepted. Darla looked amazing under the soft illumination of the street-lamps. She was dressed casually tonight, or as casual as she would allow herself to be, in a sheer red blouse and a tight pencil skirt. Spike raised an eyebrow. A very tight pencil skirt. "Guess what I'm thinking now?"
"I'd rather stay out of your mind, thank you," she breezed, her acidity coated with a veneer of sugar as it always was. "Anyway, we have better things to do."
Spike stood up and after one last drag threw away his smoke.
"Oh yeah, is this when we get me fixed?" his affected nonchalance wasn't too far away from the real thing. He wanted this so badly that the possibility of it being close at hand really hadn't sunk in yet. Darla nodded and brushed a wayward blonde curl behind her ear. Spike decided he would like her to loosen up a bit. He smoothed his hair back, straightened his collar, and faced her with an exaggerated bow. "Shall we then, madmoiselle?" Spike offered her arm and was gratified to see Darla give him a real smile as she stood up and rested her hand in the crook of his elbow. The pair set off into the night, off to some prearranged appointment with Spike's salvation.
Darla was bored. She had done her duty as far as she could see - restored Spike's brain (as far as she could) and thus restored the family honour, and yet here she was still hanging around. The surgeon who'd removed the chip and practically ordered her to stay with the other vampire until he woke up in case there were any complications, and as much as she resented being ordered to do anything, she could see his point. If Spike woke up half brain-dead then she'd have to be there to make sure he was staked before anyone saw him. This family honour thing took a lot of upholding. She walked from the window in their hotel room over to the bed where Spike lay. He was as still as a corpse. Vampires almost always kept up the pretence of breathing, more out of habit than a need to blend in with humans, but his chest was perfectly still. Darla lifted up an eyelid and the blue eye behind it was totally vacant. The surgeon had told her to expect a coma-like state so she wasn't worried, she was just intrigued. She stood back for a minute, sighed, and gave him a sharp poke in the ribs. Nothing. Not a peep. Darla tutted and rooted through Spike's jeans which were hung over the back of a chair for a smoke. She lit up and then a smile flitted onto her lips. If Spike's jeans were here, then he wasn't wearing them; and she knew for a fact that he didn't wear underwear. She lay the cigarette onto an ashtray and sat down on the bed before peeling back the sheet a bit. Although he made no secret that he had an amazing body, it was always a pleasure to see it in the flesh. Darla touched each of the scars on his chest and stomach in turn and gave a little scoffing laugh. Most of the scars Spike had were from tattoos he'd gotten. Sure vampires could get tattoos, but they might as well be transfers. They always healed back to nothing after a few weeks and all they left behind were these silvery lines. He knew that but that seemed to make him more likely to get inked every other week. She trailed her hand down the soft brown hairs leading down from his belly button and swallowed thickly. That was the starter, and now for a look at the main course. Suddenly a hand like a vice gripped her wrist and Darla let out a yelp of surprise as Spike shot up and dragged her into his lap. He growled deep in his throat and despite herself Darla felt a thrill run down her spine as he gazed into her eyes, still holding her in a bone crunching grip.
He lurched forwards and kissed her with a fire she hadn't felt since she had first turned Angelus, and she melted in his arms, tasting his tongue as it delved into her mouth. He pulled her back by her hair as abruptly as he'd grabbed her and she desperately tried to catch her breath in the face of his radiant smile. She raised an eyebrow and took a deep breath.
"Well, morning sunshine."
Spike felt like crap. He felt amazing but he also felt like crap. He hadn't been sick from drinking too much blood since he was a fledgling and he'd forgotten how bad it felt. A totally different feeling from being sick after too much booze, which he was all too familiar with. It was even worse since Darla was stood behind him bitching about him and complaining on and on and on and-
"You're not making this any better." he managed, spitting out the last of the partially coagulated blood viciously from his mouth and wiping his lips on the back of his hand. "What did you expect, woman?"
"I expect that when I speak you listen," Darla hissed, narrowing her eyes and just daring him to try and interrupt her. "I expect that when I say 'give it a break' you give it a break. You're like a virgin in a brothel."
Spike spat again, dangerously close to her patent leather stiletto boot, and Darla took a step towards him. They'd come to blows before and he'd rarely profited from their exchanges. Spike apparently didn't remember, though, because he squared up and she could feel his muscles getting ready to spring.
"Look," he growled. "I've been neutered for quite a while, so -"
"Shut up." Darla stepped foward again and now they were toe to toe. She was already regretting having sex with him in the hotel room before they came out. She allowed herself to be blown away by his power and intensity and had forgotten what a bitch he was. "Now clean yourself up and try to behave with some dignity." the scorn which poured out of her was unfortunately fuel to the fire, and Spike reacted with a stinging right hook.
Darla snarled and shot out a stinging slap, raking her nails down his cheek and following up with a kick to the ribs. Spike crashed further down into the alley through his sick and his head whipped against the brick. He screamed and felt his stitches pop and then everything went red.
When he came out of it he was on top of Darla buried deep inside her. God he had missed this - this abandon, this blood lust, tihs recklessness. "Bitch," he growled, burying his head between her breasts and biting at the soft white skin. Darla wrapped her legs around his back and squeezed as she came near to orgasm.
"Bastard!" she cried out, grabbing a fistful of his bleached hair and feeling the blood start afresh from the wound on the back of his head. The blood sent her over the edge and the pain pushed Spike into coming fast and hard. They lay panting and sweating, limbs entangled, until their heads had cleared, then Darla stood up and brushed down her skirt with a tut of annoyance at a tear in the hem. She looked down at Spike pulling himself into a sitting position and lighting a smoke.
"Tidy yourself up," she said casually, trying not to climb back atop of him at the sight of him sprawled there half naked and smug. "I've got a flight booked later and I don't want to be late."
Spike chuckled and began lazily buttoning his shirt. "Come off it, love," he drawled slowly, savouring his new sense of power and assurance. "You know you're sticking around with me for a bit, no point kidding yourself, is there?"
Darla glared. No, there wasn't.
****Chapter 2 coming soon!****
