Prologue
London, England
Spike lounged on the broken down green couch in the lair he and Dru had made in an abandoned utility room directly under the Piccadilly Circus tube station. He was waiting for Dru to get back from her trip above. He hadn't wanted her to go alone, but she had pleaded so prettily, that at last he had given in. Now concern for what she might be doing was rearing its ugly head. There was all sorts of trouble she could be getting into.
"Spike, luv, we've been down here for days. You can't keep me locked up here forever. I need to feel the wind on my face. Don't worry, I'll be good," she had said with that special gleam in her eyes. "I'll be really good to you when I get back."
Against his better judgment, Spike had agreed to let her go by herself. Now he sat feeling like someone was about to kick him in the head. She had been gone for five hours. It was getting on towards dawn, he knew she would have to be back before that, unless of course, she had decided to leave him.
Ever since they had left Sunnydale, Drusilla had been sulking. She blamed Spike for Angellus' destruction and to be fair he had betrayed him to Buffy, but after all he had been trying to take Dru away. There was nothing Spike wouldn't do for his lovely, even if it meant destroying her sire. Dru really shouldn't resent what had been done for love, but she had never been the most logical of thinkers. During the entire eleven hour flight in the cargo hold of British Airways flight 303 she had given him the silent treatment, a difficult task with the two of them sharing a large wooden trunk. She hadn't spoken to him again until they had reached their current hideout. And now she was late, letting him worry about her getting caught out in the sun.
"Tomorrow is Saint Valentine's Day, all the morning betime, and I am a maid at your window, to be your Valentine. Then up he rose and donn'd his clothes, Let in the maid, that out a maid never departed more,"
Spike could hear someone singing right above his head. He shrunk back into the darkness, thinking it was some maintenance worker singing their way home from the night shift. The sound of footsteps could be heard as the person was silent for a moment. It sounded like they were dragging something heavy. The singing started again and Spike could tell it was a woman's voice.
"Larded with sweet flowers; which bewept the grave did go with true love showers," sang the voice.
Spike recognized the voice at last, it was Dru. What was she singing? It sounded familiar, but it wasn't one of her typical blood-thirsty songs. Spike sighed and sat back down on the couch. He grabbed a magazine and tried to look nonchalant. From the next room came the sound of something heavy being dropped. Dru came in holding something in her arms.
"Hello, Luv," said Spike.
Dru held something out to him, "There's rosemary, that for remembrance; pray love remember, and there's pansies, that's for thoughts."
Spike stared at her and said, "Is something wrong Dru?"
"There's fennel for you, and columbine, there's rue for you; and here's some for me; we may call it herb-grace O' Sundays: O, you must wear your rue with a difference. I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died; they say he made a good end-"
Spike looked at the weeds in her hands and realized she was quoting Shakespeare, "Since when did you read Hamlet, Dru?"
"I didn't, I went to the all night picture house. I love the pretty lights, don't you? I saw Hamlet with that Australian fellow," said Dru, dropping the plants on the floor and arranging herself beside Spike.
"You mean Mel Gibson?" asked Spike.
"I don't know, but I liked the way he talked, but it wasn't very Danish. I've had Danish before and they sound different."
"I'm glad you like the movie, but why are you doing quotations?"
"I feel like Ophelia," this was said with a sudden clarity and Dru glared at Spike.
"Really?" Spike looked away.
"My father's dead and my lover killed him."
"Dru, you can't go on blaming me for his death. It was Buffy who killed him."
Dru stood up and waltzed her way back to the other room. She dragged in a body and plopped it down in front of the couch. Spike stood up and Dru threw herself onto the couch with a squeak of the ancient springs. Spike saw that the young woman Dru had brought in was no longer among the living.
"I told you we are trying to keep a low profile. Did you have to drain her all the way, you just had two homeless men last night," he said looking back at Dru.
"They tasted horrible. All drunk and sickly. Can I keep this one Spike, please. Its so lonely with just you and me," said Dru.
"No, you will dispose of her properly. We do not want to call attention to ourselves."
"But Spike my luv, she is so pretty, please can I keep her."
"Dru, dearest, I promise we won't have to hide for much longer. Please be a good girl and help me dispatch her permanently."
"Very well, but you'd better start being nicer to me or I will get very cross."
London, England
Spike lounged on the broken down green couch in the lair he and Dru had made in an abandoned utility room directly under the Piccadilly Circus tube station. He was waiting for Dru to get back from her trip above. He hadn't wanted her to go alone, but she had pleaded so prettily, that at last he had given in. Now concern for what she might be doing was rearing its ugly head. There was all sorts of trouble she could be getting into.
"Spike, luv, we've been down here for days. You can't keep me locked up here forever. I need to feel the wind on my face. Don't worry, I'll be good," she had said with that special gleam in her eyes. "I'll be really good to you when I get back."
Against his better judgment, Spike had agreed to let her go by herself. Now he sat feeling like someone was about to kick him in the head. She had been gone for five hours. It was getting on towards dawn, he knew she would have to be back before that, unless of course, she had decided to leave him.
Ever since they had left Sunnydale, Drusilla had been sulking. She blamed Spike for Angellus' destruction and to be fair he had betrayed him to Buffy, but after all he had been trying to take Dru away. There was nothing Spike wouldn't do for his lovely, even if it meant destroying her sire. Dru really shouldn't resent what had been done for love, but she had never been the most logical of thinkers. During the entire eleven hour flight in the cargo hold of British Airways flight 303 she had given him the silent treatment, a difficult task with the two of them sharing a large wooden trunk. She hadn't spoken to him again until they had reached their current hideout. And now she was late, letting him worry about her getting caught out in the sun.
"Tomorrow is Saint Valentine's Day, all the morning betime, and I am a maid at your window, to be your Valentine. Then up he rose and donn'd his clothes, Let in the maid, that out a maid never departed more,"
Spike could hear someone singing right above his head. He shrunk back into the darkness, thinking it was some maintenance worker singing their way home from the night shift. The sound of footsteps could be heard as the person was silent for a moment. It sounded like they were dragging something heavy. The singing started again and Spike could tell it was a woman's voice.
"Larded with sweet flowers; which bewept the grave did go with true love showers," sang the voice.
Spike recognized the voice at last, it was Dru. What was she singing? It sounded familiar, but it wasn't one of her typical blood-thirsty songs. Spike sighed and sat back down on the couch. He grabbed a magazine and tried to look nonchalant. From the next room came the sound of something heavy being dropped. Dru came in holding something in her arms.
"Hello, Luv," said Spike.
Dru held something out to him, "There's rosemary, that for remembrance; pray love remember, and there's pansies, that's for thoughts."
Spike stared at her and said, "Is something wrong Dru?"
"There's fennel for you, and columbine, there's rue for you; and here's some for me; we may call it herb-grace O' Sundays: O, you must wear your rue with a difference. I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died; they say he made a good end-"
Spike looked at the weeds in her hands and realized she was quoting Shakespeare, "Since when did you read Hamlet, Dru?"
"I didn't, I went to the all night picture house. I love the pretty lights, don't you? I saw Hamlet with that Australian fellow," said Dru, dropping the plants on the floor and arranging herself beside Spike.
"You mean Mel Gibson?" asked Spike.
"I don't know, but I liked the way he talked, but it wasn't very Danish. I've had Danish before and they sound different."
"I'm glad you like the movie, but why are you doing quotations?"
"I feel like Ophelia," this was said with a sudden clarity and Dru glared at Spike.
"Really?" Spike looked away.
"My father's dead and my lover killed him."
"Dru, you can't go on blaming me for his death. It was Buffy who killed him."
Dru stood up and waltzed her way back to the other room. She dragged in a body and plopped it down in front of the couch. Spike stood up and Dru threw herself onto the couch with a squeak of the ancient springs. Spike saw that the young woman Dru had brought in was no longer among the living.
"I told you we are trying to keep a low profile. Did you have to drain her all the way, you just had two homeless men last night," he said looking back at Dru.
"They tasted horrible. All drunk and sickly. Can I keep this one Spike, please. Its so lonely with just you and me," said Dru.
"No, you will dispose of her properly. We do not want to call attention to ourselves."
"But Spike my luv, she is so pretty, please can I keep her."
"Dru, dearest, I promise we won't have to hide for much longer. Please be a good girl and help me dispatch her permanently."
"Very well, but you'd better start being nicer to me or I will get very cross."