A/N:Italics means singsong. This IS Drusilla, after all.

"It's not me, Spike, it's you. You with the sunshine and the fire, burning, burning, you with the crosses and the stakes and the holy water, all around you. You're full of sunshine, Spike, full of summers. Full of Summers. When will Summers end, Spike? Do I have to make Summers end?
We're moons, Spike, my handsome dark prince. But you turn, lighter, lighter, lighter, break the window, shatter the glass, you're invited in, Spike, and you can't get out. You're obsessed with sunshine, Spike, infatuated with Summers. You're too good for me. I'll make you bad again. I'll make Summers end."
And with that, she walked out into the moonlight.
"Where are you going?" Spike asked.
"Home," Drusilla answered. "You're not invited."

Spike sighed. Dru didn't know what she was talking about. Especially since infatuated could only mean with a person, and since he didn't know any Summers...Wait. He did. Buffy, Dawn, and Joyce. He stopped in his tracks, overloaded with new information. Buffy. Dru was going to kill Buffy. That's my job.
Spike decided to let Antlers go. It wasn't the chaos demon's fault, any of it. And while he didn't want Dru to kill Buffy, at least he wouldn't have to. No. Dru said you were too good for her. Stop thinking like this or she'll be right. He walked to the nearest payphone. He had a call to make.