Author's Note: This story assumes that Spike learned about Angel's soul at some point between the flashback events of Why We Fight and the events of School Hard.
Betaed by All4Spike.
Thanks to everyone who followed, made a favorite, or reviewed. I really appreciate it. Please R&R.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter 3
Their room was dark.
Oh, it was as sunny as you please outside. A stifling Saturday afternoon and an irritatingly loud one at that. All the goodies waiting just beyond the threshold and Spike was stuck in the silent hotel room, cut off from those bloody crowds of people just standing about like the world's most convenient buffet. They were just ready to be picked off one by one. Or, at least, they would be when the sun went down. Could almost drool at the thought, he mused, who knew it was so hard to get a decent meal around here?
"Summer in Mexico City, never again, eh, love?" Spike directed to the couch in the hotel suite's most shadowed corner. "Can never get in a brawl and a decent kill. Nights here are too short for their own good, not even nights really, just…imitations…Know what I mean, ducks? Dru?"
Still no answer, just the slightest shifting of white silk. In the murky room, amid shadowed furniture and darkly papered walls, she shimmered and gleamed. Spike sighed heavily.
Don't worry, baby, I'll bring something sweet back for you.
"Tick bloody tock," Spike muttered. It would be a few hours at the very least. He was already starved. And so is she…
Knowing how hungry Drusilla must be only made his impatience grow. This, coupled with the hot and arid hotel room, made stuffy by the drawn curtains, had him squirming to get out and find something fun to do. Something distracting…
Even if he brought her a late night treat, there was no guarantee she would eat it. She turned her nose up at that pretty shop girl he'd brought just two nights ago. One of her favorites too. A ripe little thing, in the bloom of her youth…Dru, you're killing me. What can I do?
Drusilla hadn't had a decent meal since they'd arrived last week. The first night she'd gorged herself, surprising and pleasing him. That feasting was still in evidence every time Spike left the suite.
The foyer of white and grey marble was painted in delicate drops of red that ran down the walls to form serpentine designs. Maps to fairyland, she calls them, Spike thought with a gentle smile. The original occupants were dead. Drusilla's fairy maps all led to the same place in that pale room; a bloodstained couch that had once been blue. It was soaked through. The family sat propped up as if posed for a portrait; mum, dad, and kiddies, all in a row.
Dru had draped them herself and tied pretty lace cloths around their mouths and eyes. She spoke with a dreamy expression lighting her face as she went about the task.
"A lovely picture they make," she'd whispered as she'd tied the last cloth with a giggle. "Now my secrets are safe."
The father's body had sagged as she'd spoken and Drusilla had been there in a flash.
She'd slapped the corpse's cheek lightly and put a finger to its lips.
"Shh," she'd said, "naughty."
To finish the game, Dru had held the youngest child to her and danced a slow waltz, humming a quiet lilting ditty to the little girl's corpse; something her mother had sung to her in life. Before Angelus, Spike thought. Soon Drusilla had become too weak to continue and had needed her rest. Spike regretted not disposing of the bodies when he'd had the chance, but Drusilla had wanted to let the game go on. Now she was attached to them.
It had been all right for a few days or so, but after that the smell had started to wear on him. It was beyond unappetizing, it was the nauseating smell of blood that had pooled and clotted, going bad within their veins. The stench mixed with the dry heat was almost too much to bear. All Spike could do was ignore the unappetizing stink of their rotting flesh and try to keep his sick girl happy.
When Spike had complained about the stench, Dru had said the family knew sweet things and must be kept. Spike heard her laughing that night, lost to the murmurs in her mind.
The things I do for you, baby, Spike thought, coming out of his reverie. He threw another glance towards Dru on the couch, wriggling and restless.
"Spike," Drusilla crooned. Her voice was soft with sickness and lethargy.
How had she grown so frail? She sounded like a flame that flickered and fluttered on a low burning wick. Someday she would snuff out. And soon. Spike tried to push the thought from his mind as it choked him with images of waking curled around a pile of dust. He turned his attention to where Drusilla lay on the plush upholstery of the fainting couch.
She groaned again, writhing in pain, in exhaustion, and drew her knees to her chest with a laugh against the anguish. Spike could see the tears in the corners of her eyes. Her mind was where it usually was of late. The mob in Prague and the dark place she'd been dragged to after.
Drusilla's eyes glazed over in her delirium, locked on whatever small object of the room merited her fixation this time. Spike knew she was trapped there, replaying countless agonies again and again.
Memories flooded him of her being taken away, swept from his arms in the crowd as he kicked in the teeth of unsuspecting humans, a wild cry on his lips as he tried to grasp her hand.
Then she had been strapped to a chair and tortured until she couldn't stand it anymore. That damn inquisitor had reveled in her screams. God knows what all he did to her, Spike thought. There had been something mystical involved, he was sure. She wasn't healing the way she should. Drusilla was getting worse, weaker, as time went on. Spike could tell by the furthered pallor of her skin, the shaking in her movements, but what could he do?
"Spike…" she said again, a bit breathlessly.
"Yeah, baby? I'm here," he said.
Spike knelt at her side and rested his cheek against hers. It felt even cooler than usual, chilled even in this hot air. He nuzzled her softly and petted her hair back from her brow with a gentle hand. It was achingly soft, like fine silk against his fingertips. The tension left her body under his caress and she shivered.
He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "What is it you need?"
"I need to find my sunshine," Drusilla said. Her voice was soft and surprised as if she had just been struck by something miraculous.
Drusilla stroked the hair at the nape of Spike's neck as she spoke, grazing his skin with her nails. It was his turn to shiver.
"What's that, love?" he asked.
Drusilla cradled his face in her hands and traced her thumb over his cheek. "Oh, my wicked boy…"
Spike smiled at her. She could be so soft and affectionate in her sickness. Some part of him almost liked her this way. Not the weakness or the pain—Never that—but the simple way she seemed to love him. The loyalty that came with dependence. There was no flightiness, no straying, no finding her flirting with her food or local demons when he was off in search of cigarettes or a something to kill. She was his, and his completely.
Spike savored it because he knew it couldn't last.
"My sunshine," Drusilla repeated. "We have to find it, Spike."
"Hmm? My pet wants sunshine," Spike said and Drusilla nodded in rapt agreement. He chuckled and stared at her in blind adoration. "You can't have sunshine, Dru."
She giggled as if he had made a joke. "My pretty, pretty love. You don't see…"
Spike smiled against her skin and brushed a kiss against her forehead. "What don't I see, ducks?"
Drusilla's voice took on a dreamy quality. "Sunshine, my sunshine…He should be here, brightening up my corners with his lovely dark." Drusilla stopped her pained writhing and pouted a petulant frown. "But he isn't, he's been covered. Ooh, presents need opening, bows untied…Spike, my sweet, we need to find my Angel."
No.
Spike jerked back at the mention of the name. White hot anger was flooding him, blinding him with rage and familiar pain. He might as well have been burned. If Angel came back, Drusilla would be lost to him. He would ruin their newfound closeness, her sweetness and love.
Angel would take her away.
Spike stood and turned from her, hiding his fear.
"No," he said, finding his voice, "No. We're not going to go looking for him. He'll only bollix this up, make it worse."
Drusilla rose in a fit of anger. She sat straight and insisted, "But he is the way!"
Spike exhaled sharply through his nostrils. She was staring at him furiously, accusingly, and her sharp nails dug into the couch's velvet upholstery. Spike took in a slow breath. An unneeded breath, but one that calmed nonetheless. Angel, oh God, she really was talking about Angel. If there was one thing that he couldn't take…
Easy there, he told himself.
Spike sucked up his anger as he breathed. He rolled her words in his mind and drank in their meaning. A shiver of hope ran up his spine. She knew her cure, or at least had an inkling of what it could be. Spike regretted his anger, but his irritation remained. He leaned down to press a kiss to her temple, another to her jaw, tiny apologies with his lips.
"The way to what, pet?" Spike asked in a measured whisper, resuming his soft stroking of her hair. He stomached his dark emotions. If Angel could cure her…
"The way to me and mine. He'll end it all. He'll make me well. He'll make me right. Angel will make me what I am supposed to be." Drusilla frowned and turned to Spike with a curious expression on her face. "And you as well…"
Dru was never wrong. Never. All right, things could be shaky, but she was always on the right track. It was all in understanding her, knowing what she meant. Spike knew better than anyone. Better than Nancy Boy. I do. Just the mere thought of Angel going anywhere near Dru made his stomach roil. But still, Spike dared to hope that her words meant that Angel could—
Don't get ahead of yourself, Spike thought in caution. He had followed one too many leads that had led to nowhere in his search to restore her.
"The ponce is in California, last I heard," Spike said, cradling Drusilla's cheek in his hand. She turned her face to lick the length of his index finger, nipping him there. Spike scoffed. "Living in alleys, sucking on poor unsuspecting rats. Pathetic."
"I need him to save me…and he can, Spike, he can…I will be complete."
Spike moved away from her and growled, "Dru, we don't even know for sure where he is!"
"I do. He's where the jaws," she snapped her teeth in the air with an audible click, "open up."
It didn't take long for it to dawn on him.
"He's on a Hellmouth," Spike said.
Drusilla smiled at him and touched a finger to her nose.
Spike was still impatient. "But which one?"
"The place where the sun shines down on hill…and dale," Drusilla said, drawing a slope in the air before her with one long finger. She smiled wickedly as it dawned on him.
"Sunnydale's Hellmouth", Spike said, a slow grin blooming on his face. "Well fancy that."
He had been planning to take Dru there as soon as he could. Of course it would be the kind of mystical convergence of evil that would attract that wanna-do-good wanker before Spike ever had a chance of using it to restore her. He was half-tempted to keep her away, keep her here, to keep her away from him.
Even with a bloody soul stuffed inside him, Drusilla would shag Angel six ways past Sunday with only a word. Hell, she wanted to. Even now, she wanted to. Just the thought made Spike's anger rise, fantasies of dusting the tosser overtook him. No matter what closeness he and Angel had shared in the past—taught me everything I know, he thought, rather fondly—the other vampire's countless trysts with Dru hung heavy over Spike's head. I can't. I can't watch it again. We're just going to have to find a cure without Angel. But Dru sounded so sure. What would become of her without him?
What's going to happen to you, baby? Spike thought as he looked Dru over. His beautiful deadly girl in such a state.
That terrible thought of her crumbling into nothing in his arms had Spike cold and afraid. Was that what would happen if they didn't find something soon enough? He was running out of hope, and ideas. Out of options and without a plan, Spike knelt back at her side and took her trembling hands in his, kissing each knuckle in submission.
"All right, ducks," Spike agreed quietly. "We'll take you to see daddy…"
School was over. Thank God.
No more awkward walks past polished tile floors and steely grey lockers. No more whispers in the hallway from frightened passersby. Now Buffy could have summer. There was no way that Ms. Davies would be able to keep her occupied with slayage every moment of the day.
Maybe I can pencil in some fun.
Besides, in the last few weeks living in her new house, Buffy had mastered the art of sneaking. Every morning, she'd sneak in a donut on the way to school, despite Ms. Davies' strict Slayer diet guidelines. At night, she'd sneak an extra hour to herself after patrol, taking her sweet time learning the city streets while her watcher slept, or sitting alone in a park in the Flats, watching the Cuyahoga River flow on its way to meet Lake Erie. Buffy had to admit, it was strangely thrilling having secrets in a life that had become an open book to a woman she barely knew.
The secrets weren't the only thrill. Slaying was surprisingly…satisfying.
It wasn't really fun, exactly, but there was something gratifying about plunging a stake straight through a vampire's heart or snapping the neck of a demon. It was a feeling of power and of control. With her mother arriving the next day, Buffy wanted a night out, a night to savor by herself.
Buffy walked down the stairs with measured steps. She followed the downstairs hall to the kitchen. It was also paneled in dark wood, but there was something warm about it. Not the unworkable stove, Buffy thought. Regardless of her views on the appliances, it was cozy. She shook her head at the sight of the teal gas stove.
"Don't Watchers know you should always spring for a Viking?" Buffy said. She bypassed the stove and silver fronted fridge, opting for a ripe green apple from the fruit bowl on the breakfast table. Buffy took a large bite and smiled.
Quality apple, not too mealy, she thought.
She stretched her shoulders with a pop. Time to blow this popsicle stand.
The house was nearly silent, save for the soft clink of a teacup against a saucer as Buffy made her way down the hall. That was a sound that she had become all too familiar with in the last week. Sure enough, as Buffy rounded the corner past the arch which led into the living room, Ms. Davies sat primly in her favorite chair, reading a book with way too many pages, and sipping tea from her best china cup.
"Out for patrol, Miss Summers?"
"Yep. I'm cruising for a bruising," Buffy said and frowned. "Well, not for me, but, vampires had better watch out."
Ms. Davies didn't even glance up.
"I'll just go then," Buffy said, turning on her heel.
"Miss Summers."
"Lecture voice," Buffy muttered beneath her breath and turned. "Yeah?"
"You've haven't been logging your nightly Slayer duties," Ms. Davies said, shutting her book and holding it in her lap.
Stupid Slayer log, Buffy thought, who thinks of that kind of thing? Like I'm workin' nine to five.
"I've been busy," Buffy said with a shrug.
"Well, perhaps it doesn't matter to the Council just how busy you are," Ms. Davies said, her tone flat. "We have chosen a very traditionalist approach to training you, Miss Summers, and we certainly have our reasons. After Merrick's more…modern methods failed in Los Angles, it is only natural that we would be concerned that the continuation of such practices could lead to reckless endangerment. Do you now understand why you must abide by our approach?"
"It's not like I'm reckless-girl," Buffy said in defense, more than a little annoyed. "You don't need to know where I am every minute of every day."
"All we wish is that you are kept alive. The best way to do that is to know where you will be and when," Ms. Davies said in what was surely a conclusion. She opened the book and thumbed back to her page. "Log your slaying. That's an order."
Buffy frowned and shook her head as she left, although Ms. Davies was absorbed in her book.
She paused in the carved arch of the foyer and muttered, "I'm through with orders."
It was nearing one when Buffy wandered through the warehouses on the Flats' west side.
The Flats had seen three murders in the last two weeks with the cops reporting severe neck wounds in the autopsy reports. Now to find the vampires in question.
"Bull's-eye," Buffy whispered.
A chain link fence surrounding a shoddily unfinished building had already been cut to crawl through. By the looks of it, the perpetrator was someone far larger and taller than Buffy. She ducked under it easily and wandered through the yard. Piles of unused piping and construction materials sat beside rusting equipment. A crane sat half-raised, its red paint chipping.
"Not exactly the look I would have gone for," Buffy said as she passed a plastic bin filled with rusted pliers that had turned on its side. "Abandoned construction chic? Not so much my thing."
A rustle caught her ear and the fine hairs on the back of Buffy's neck stood on end. Every sense screamed, "Vampire", and close.
Buffy whipped the stake from the waistband of her pants and stood, ready and listening.
A frizzy sheet of long hair, bleached and supporting visible roots caught Buffy's eye. Looked as though the head it belonged to was sneaking along the side of the warehouse. Buffy turned and threw the stake just as the vampire dodged, then rose from her crouch with a snarl.
"What is it with you freaks and the leather fetish clothing?" Buffy asked, eyeing the vamp's leather bustier and pants combo. She strode forward on the attack just as the vampire launched herself forth.
"Slayer," she growled in reply, revealing fangs more yellowed than Buffy had yet seen.
The vampire sprang for Buffy, who caught her fist mid-punch and twisted, eliciting a yowl. Buffy attacked while she was down, sending Vampira spiraling through the air with a swift kick to the center of her chest. The vamp leapt back up and kicked at her with stiletto boots.
"I mean," Buffy said between blows and kicks. "I wasn't gonna say anything because, hello, awkward. But the clothes? What are you? The stripper in a hair metal video?"
The vampire growled and attacked with renewed rage. Buffy dodged each blow, still marveling at how death could make her blood sing so completely.
"Oh, sorry! Was that what you were going for? How totally rude of me. But, hey, congratulations, I really bought the look," Buffy said. The blow she delivered sent the vampire flying.
She landed hard and stared at Buffy in horror before turning and scrambling over the chain link. Without warning, the vampire took off running down the street, her boots clicking loudly on the asphalt.
"For the love of…" Buffy took off after her and leapt over the fence in one swift movement.
The vampire was fast. She threw furtive glances back over her shoulder, yellow eyes widening when she saw that Buffy was still on her tail.
"Nope, you don't get away that easy," Buffy muttered, picking up speed.
The area was quickly becoming more populated. A drunken man at a nearby bus stop shouted as they ran past.
"Back off, Slayer!" the vampire yelled. She turned and grabbed a wrist, catching Buffy by surprise.
Both fell in a tumble, scraping and bruising exposed skin on the asphalt.
"Are you serious? With your nails?" Buffy cried as the vampire clawed at her.
Buffy elbowed her in the gut, eliciting a cry of pain, and pushed her onto her back. She pulled her stake.
"Say 'bye bye' 80's wonder."
The loud bray of a honking horn screeched just beyond them.
Buffy looked up with wide eyes as a late night semi barreled their way towards them at breakneck speed. She leapt off the vamp and rolled to the curb as the trucker shouted curses out his open window.
The vampire was already up and running.
Buffy struggled to her feet and took off after her.
They weren't in the west side of the Flats anymore, but a suburban neighborhood, the kind you could get lost in with houses all outfitted in the same beige paintjob. Loud music pounded through the air around them as they approached the largest house at the end of the street.
The vampire seemed to have a pretty good idea of where she was headed, straight to the inviting populated house teeming with bodies and loud music. The perfect place to hide and grab a snack while she was at it.
Buffy picked up her speed as the vamp leapt over the stone fence into the back yard. Some guys back there cheered as Buffy followed.
"Ladies!" one boy shouted from the back porch. "Come on in!"
The vampire gave Buffy a wicked grin. Looks like you earned yourself an invite, Buffy thought, just what I need. The vampire just reached the open double doors at the back of the house when Buffy tackled her. They tumbled inside, slamming into an end table and sending a lamp crashing to the floor.
"Chick fight!" a guy stationed by the keg screamed, sending the others into a frenzy.
Buffy struggled as the vampire pinned her, snarling and showing those yellow fangs. She wrapped her long nailed fingers around Buffy's throat.
"You will be the greatest gift that my king has ever received!" The vampire leant down, fangs bared. "And I'm getting the very first taste…"
Buffy bucked at the last moment and the vamp flew, giving her time to scramble to her feet. The vampire snarled and lunged once again, but Buffy had the advantage. She pushed her into a small room with a desk and computer.
"Ah man, I've gotta see this!" one boy shouted. He and his friends ran after them, eager for a show.
Before the boys could follow, Buffy slammed the door, pushed the vamp against it, and staked her. The stake went all the way through, splintering the wood. Someone outside whooped.
"Hope you kept the receipt on this gift," Buffy said, wrenching her stake from the door. Whoever it was she was planning on giving me to might be pretty bummed out. I'll buy him a nice coffee mug. No matter how glib her thoughts, the idea that something was after her was a little,daunting; frightening. A shiver ran up Buffy's spine.
A noise of surprise in the nearby closet startled her, making her jump. Two college kids in rumpled clothes peered out.
"What's going on?" the guy asked.
Buffy froze, eyes wide. She laughed, loud and forced. They just stared at her.
She cleared her throat and gave a shaky smile and a shrug. She realized she was still holding her stake and stored it in the waistband of her pants. "Um…chick fight?"
