Summary: Drusilla has a vision of Spike's soul. And she muses. Set immediately after Grave. Dru's POV, of course.
A/N: Woo! Since no one seems to be writing insane Spike fics any longer (and for that I'm deeply saddened; I miss insane Spike), I'll write a Drusilla fic. Sometimes I secretly think I'm insane. This should serve to amuse…me anyway.
"Dear Heart"
They whispered it to me, in my sleep while the sun peeked in at me quite naughtily. Pixies, with their dark wings and fickle hearts, giggled at the thought. And I began to laugh as well. It's so funny!
My dear heart, my precious knight (who was slain by that nasty Slayer), he gained himself somethin' that I don't remember havin' myself. A soul. A spark. The thing that snatches the darkness from you. Most like those knick-knacks in his brain (only the pain is not imagined; science is all in the head). My boy, he's gone the way of my Angel…I can see them. They stand together near the light, for her, and I can't tell them apart.
Or…yes? I can. I can see it come from him. Glowing. Shining. Somethin'…effulgent. I remember it now. Seen it that night when I gave birth to 'im. When my William became my Spike. It squirms like little girls before you take their heads off. Like dandelions. It strikes at him, a viper, all the time with the poison runnin' deeper than anyone can see. Much deeper than the dark waters we used to swim in. That is the difference. (The moon tells me so. I believe, although I do not like the way she sniggers at me for not seein' sooner.) The soul wraps him up in a blanket of hurt and confusion…and although my dear boy got too lost from the path, it pains me to see 'im hurtin' like that. He'll always be mine.
She can take him from me, and mold him into some monstrous beast to make peace in her heart, but I'll always have a piece of William with me. (I'd much like to keep it in a jar for all to see, but Miss Edith keep talkin' out of turn and must be punished immediately.) He can make choices that sting under my skin, he can leave me, but when he thinks of his Mummy, he'll also think of me. He'll never tell her though. Never speak of me in such high regard (that he always said I deserved: his dark princess). She'll never know I was his first. Everything, the first of.
I should think my boy is a slave to himself. Fightin' with shadows. He always did, was quite jealous of my Angel. Always trying to outdo him, even when Daddy had gone away. Nicer gifts all the time with poems written not in words. Always was guiding me away from my thoughts about him (though I never let him know I knew and didn't mind; Daddy had gone, my boy had not…at that time). About Angel. And with her…he'll do that same. He doesn't realise that I am to him what Daddy is to that nasty girl. He's colored green and has painted over all of the lovely red we made. I think he'll turn blue soon. Perhaps pink? I wonder…will he find delight with that girl? Or will he wish one day he'd just killed her (like he really should have done).
…Why do I think of him still? The ghouls tell me I miss him, like I used to miss Daddy. Like I do miss my Angel. But…hurts more when I think of my wicked dear, like crimson roses and their needles sharp. And hurts more when I think he hurts…And, oh, this all makes my head rumble in all the wrong places! All the lights went out and keeps have all gone away. I'm locked in for the night. Or the day…?
Perhaps I hold on to him still. 'S why I always leak from the eyes. They all weep for his loss. Much more on this day. But we can't help but to laugh, 'cause 'round it all…it's so very funny!
He can see it all…I see it all. Death and pain and red all around! Like cherries little Anne…Ooh! I hadn't remembered so much at one time! The dam was set loose and all the bodies spilled out. Piled high. Many piles. I can see them all. He does. He cried. He hurts himself. He mourns. I fear he'll go mad. Always did have such a tender soul, all the little things stung quite deep and under the skin. Salt in the wounds. Oceans of it. Oceans of salt…I giggle a bit. The thought amuses. All that he thought was fun and games is now the wrong kind of torture! I wonder, if now, he'll remember my songs…Maybe he'll hear them, too. And he can understand. Me, that is. Perhaps, perhaps.
See it now. His pain, his insanity. He's gone mad and all the naughty bits in the dark are talkin' to 'im. Tellin' him sweet little lies. He believes! I know the way he hugs them to him, lavishin' on the hurt to 'imself. That's not quite healthy.
But, you know, you can only pity the mad…And even so, I love him. Hers, his, mine, who knows? But a piece…will be mine only. Forever. I like that. He's still here with me, always my dear heart. My darling Spike.
A/N: Wow. I make a horrible Drusilla. Oh, well. Hey, that turned out a lil' S/D. Woo!