Killing Buffy Summers
Prologue: Just A Little Girl
"Spike?"
Her voice came drifting out of the passenger seat so gently and quietly that he almost thought he'd imagined it.
"Spike?"
But there it was again. He spared a glance from the road to see Drusilla gazing at him through her hazy eyes. She licked her lips languorously. "Where are you taking me? Why are we leaving?"
"It's for your own good, pet," he said tightly, returning his eyes to the darkness outside. "And mine, too. Can't stay in that bloody town any longer."
She didn't reply, just closed her eyes again and touched the glass of the window like a lover.
Spike clenched his teeth and turned the radio up another notch.
After a couple of weeks, he decided that Brazil was nearly as bad as Sunnyhell, but at least they didn't have a Slayer. No nosy bint to pounce in at mealtimes with her whole holier-than-thou attitude. God, he was so glad to be away from that sideshow.
Dru had gotten better, at least in body. She was real into the local flavor, thought the food gave the blood more taste, but she'd only eat when he'd bring it home. When he asked her why, she'd only sigh and say, "Even the pearls and the swine feel Angelus' grief." Whatever the hell that meant. He figured she was feeling a hint better, though, because she had started playing with her food again.
On an unusually lucid day, Drusilla looked him right in the eyes. Nearly knocked him over—he thought her pissy fit had at least another week left in it. "Spike," she said, in that irresistible voice. "Would you do Mummy a favor?"
A slow smile took over his lips. Her good moods were like…well, he'd compare them to sunshine, but he hadn't been much for that in a century or so. Still, she shone just as bright. "Anything for you, love," he purred in response.
Lithe as a cat, she slipped herself on top of him and stretched out her fangs. Spike took hold of her waist and allowed his own game face to make its appearance. She growled softly, eyes dancing.
"Spike," she said again, drawing out his name into a song. "Tell me something."
"What do you want me to tell you, pet?"
She repositioned herself to touch more of him. "Tell me what happened…with you and the Slayer."
Spike pulled back. "Nothing happened, baby. What are you talking about?"
Dru pouted, taking back her pretty fangs into her mouth. "You know," she said petulantly.
"No, I don't," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.
"She's tainted you," Drusilla whispered, very close to him. His arms slipped further up her back.
"I only worked with her, pet, that's all. Like I told you. I had to, to save you!" Spike narrowed his eyes.
"Oh…save me, from darling Angelus. Tell me again that you didn't kill him, Spike."
"For the last time," he said testily, "I didn't kill him, Dru. That was all the Slayer's doing."
Drusilla sighed again, wriggling on his lap. Then, leaning forward, she licked his neck sensuously. His lips curled back into a smile as she kissed all the way up to them, but then he felt her frown against them. She pulled back.
"Then why do I taste his blood?" she cried, dizzily throwing herself off of him. Spike rose, following her as she tore through the room.
"Dru! You're not tasting Angelus' blood, that's just the Brazilian bloke I ate earlier! I'll give you, they had the same ponce hairdo, but it wasn't him, pet."
Comfortingly, he reached his arms around her, but she shoved him off. Her breathing was heavy.
"You taste like the one who killed Angelus. Your little traitors told me as much, Spike. You're not a proper demon anymore!" Her voice was frantic. "You're not mine."
"What are you talking about, love?" he asked in a low tone.
"She's all over you. Why didn't I smell her before? You covered her up with the cigarettes and the flowers you brought me—" (she gestured to the long-since-dead blooms in a vase) "—but she was there all along, all over you! All over you!"
"Who?"
"The Slayer. On your lips," she pronounced.
Spike frowned, genuinely confused. "Dru, you've been mixed up. I never kissed the bloody—"
"Not yet," she interrupted, staring off at something only she could see. "But you will, Spike. You love her. Her with her dirty hands, the hands that killed Angelus, and you love her." Drusilla scrubbed at her own hands as if that would clean Buffy's.
"Dru, Dru," he said again, holding her shoulders to steady her. "Where the hell are you getting this? I am not in love with the bloody Slayer, for God's sake! I'm in love with you."
"Hush those lying lips," she whispered back. "Nothin' but trouble." Twisting, she pushed him off again.
Furious, Spike grabbed the vase and threw it at the wall. It shattered, making a satisfying racket. "Dammit, Dru! I am not in love with her!"
"Then why won't you look at me when you say it?" she hissed back. With all the strength she could muster, Drusilla hit him, sending him flying. "I didn't want to believe them, the ones in my head, but they were right. Spike, they were right!"
Dru leaned against the wall and slid down, tears pouring out her eyes. "They were right," she mumbled again. "Right all along."
Spike made his way back over to her and knelt down gingerly. "Dru…love…"
She hit him again, ineffectually. "Get out," she sobbed.
Taking one last look behind him at the broken vase and hysterical vampire, Spike sniffed, grabbed his duster, and walked out the door. If he'd been the praying type, he would have thanked any deity you like—night had fallen as they argued. He didn't too much fancy combusting, although an end to his unlife seemed almost pleasant at this point. Wiping furiously at his damp eyes, he growled to the night sky, "I'll kill that Slayer for this. That'll prove it to Dru. I'm still a…a proper demon, no matter what she thinks. I'll show her."
That pronouncement made, he stalked off into the night.
Endnotes: This story will be ten chapters, not counting the prologue and epilogue. The soundtrack will be available song-by-song on my tumblr as I update, and then in complete form after I finish. Each update is accompanied by and named for a song—this one is "Just A Little Girl" by Trading Yesterday.