Spike leaned against the brick wall in the alley behind the Bronze, waiting for his Slayer to show up. She had told him the previous day that they would meet here for patrol that night, but she was a good 40 minutes late. He'd half a mind to...But he wouldn't. He knew it. He may have gotten his rocks back, as he'd said, but he was still her soddin' lap dog, whether he admitted as much to himself or not. He knew he should leave, and he wasn't talking about the Bronze. He should leave Sunnyhell, and never look back. That would show her how 'convenient' he was. He'd planned it out a million times in his head, even packed once or twice, but he never went through with it. He would worry about her too much. And the Bit would be crushed. He would never leave his girls. Not even if they wanted him too.
He sighed and drew out a cigarette, lighting it and taking an angry drag. He listened to the strains of music flowing through the open back door of the Bronze, thinking (not brooding, never brooding!) about his Slayer. For the past week, ever since their illicit encounter in a crumbling building, she had been cold. Pretending as if it never even happened. When he mentioned it, she would either ignore him or storm off in a huff, so he had tried to push it out of his mind as well. But he hadn't succeeded.
Childhood living...
So easy to do...
Things that you wanted...
I bought them for you...
Graceless lady...
You know who I am...
You know I can't let you...
Slide through my hand...
He chuckled to himself at the words of the song echoing through the establishment behind him. He connected with it, of course, being the bleedin' ponce he had become. He knew he needed to do something, and soon, or she would slide from his hands. And he would never be able to reach her again.
Wild horses...
Couldn't drag me away...
And I watch you suffer...
A dull aching pain...
And you've decided...
To show me the same...
Damn right she decided to show him the same. He was addicted to her now, one taste and he was truly her slave. He angrily tossed the spent cigarette away from him and closed his eyes, listening to the rest of the song.
Wild horses...
Couldn't drag me away...
Wild, wild, wild horses....
Couldn't drag me away...
And I know I dreamed you...
A sin and a lie....
Well, I have my freedom...
Oh, but I don't have much time....
And faith has been broken....
Tears must be cried...
Lest' you stop living....
And after we die...
Wild horses...
Couldn't drag me away...
Wild, wild, wild horses...
We will ride them someday...
Finally, he thought, as his nerves tingled, signaling the approach of the Slayer. He opened his eyes and looked at her, tilting his head slightly. She looked like hell. Frazzled was the only word for it, frightened maybe. He knew instantly that something was wrong, and pushed away from the wall.
"What's wrong, luv?" he asked softly, staring into her eyes.
She blinked, and looked up at him, watching him for what seemed like ages before she spoke, barely above a whisper.
"Rough night. I'm fine." she turned, expecting him to follow, and headed out for patrol.
He sighed and fell into step behind her, watching as she wrapped her arms around herself, something she only did when she was very worried about something she had no control over.
"Buffy? Luv? Talk to me."
She stopped suddenly, causing him to nearly walk into her, and whirled around to face him.
"It's nothing, alright?! I had a Slayer-type dream. You know, the kind that has a tendency to come true. Freaked me out."
His brow furrowed a little.
"What was the dream about, pet?" he asked.
She sighed and turned away, hugging herself more tightly.
"I don't know. That's why I called Giles.... He's on his way.
Something to do with Drusilla, and Faith, and you...." she trailed off.
He blinked. Dru? Coming back? Not good.
"What about me?" he pressed, knowing a bit more about dreams and imagery than the average vamp, considering who his sire was.
"You...were hurt," she said. "Didn't tell me much."
Again, a blink. But he sensed that she was holding back on him.
"Well, luv, if the dream was about me, then I think you should tell me everythin' 'bout it. I have a right ta know what nasties will be comin' my way."
She shook her head swiftly, not meeting his eyes.
"I don't want to talk about it, alright? I'll tell you and everyone else when Giles gets here.... I don't want to tell it more than once." she paused, and looked at him. "Just...watch your back, alright? I'm tired. Can you handle patrol?"
He was stunned. Was she worried about him? Not likely. But before he could answer, she turned and stalked off.
"Thanks," she called over her back, and then she was gone.
He sighed and shook his head, lighting another cigarette.
"Bloody hell...."
///
He was tired. He knew he shouldn't have patrolled for her, but he did, and he was sore and achy from a fight with a demon of unknown origin. It felt good, pummeling the life out of it, but now all he wanted to do was collapse into his bed and sleep the coming day away.
He shed his duster when he entered his crypt, pulling off his shirt on the way to the fridge. He was halfway across the room when his tired senses finally picked up on something. He wasn't alone. He froze in his tracks, his eyes shifting about the room, trying to pick up on whatever it was's location. He scented the air, picking up something disturbingly familiar when suddenly, he was struck hard from behind, with something heavy and iron. He fell forward on his hands and knees, stunned by the power behind the blow. When he looked up, his foggy vision found Drusilla standing before him, a crowbar clutched like a baseball bat in her pale hands.
"Mummy's come to show you what it means to be a good dog..." she whispered, and then swung hard for his face, knocking him into blackness.
The first thing he noticed when he swam back to consciousness was that he was floating. His feet weren't on the ground. Then his head cleared a little more. Right. Chains. His wrists were cuffed, high above his head. And from the way his shoulders ached, he had probably been hanging there a good long while. He tried to open his eyes, but found that he somehow couldn't. Next, he tried his mouth. Same thing. So he contented himself with growling, mumbling curses around his closed lips.
"Oooooohhh...." Dru's child like voice sang. "Wakey, wakey, Mummy wants to play."
He, of course, just hung there. Little else he could do at this point, aside from growling.
"Things are coming, my Spike. To punish us all." He felt her move closer. "But you're mine to punish, Spike." She drew something long and sharp down his bare chest, and he hissed. "Mine. Thrice we'll be burned. We've been bad puppies and the stars don't like it." Again, she cut him, deeper, and dug into the wound with her fingers, prying. He choked and bit back a scream.
"But you don't see it," she whined, continuing her 'play'. "No one does. No one hears the songs. The cries for blood. Our blood, Spike." She stabbed him through the stomach.
He moaned and strained his arms, testing the chains again. Snug.
"The walls are crumbling. I don't like it. I won't be punished. But you will be. You're mine to punish..." He knew she'd soon break out the holy water. Knives didn't entertain her for very long. Yep, he thought as he felt the splash and the burn. Just like old times.
He screeched as well as he could, not being able to open his mouth. Of course it just egged her own.
"But you never listen, Spike..." he felt something long, thin, and hard slide into his ear, seconds before she stabbed his right eardrum. Again he tried to cry out, but to no avail. The pain was horrible, burning through his head like fire. He felt the coldness slide into his other ear.
"You never listen...." And that was the last thing he heard.
He sighed and drew out a cigarette, lighting it and taking an angry drag. He listened to the strains of music flowing through the open back door of the Bronze, thinking (not brooding, never brooding!) about his Slayer. For the past week, ever since their illicit encounter in a crumbling building, she had been cold. Pretending as if it never even happened. When he mentioned it, she would either ignore him or storm off in a huff, so he had tried to push it out of his mind as well. But he hadn't succeeded.
Childhood living...
So easy to do...
Things that you wanted...
I bought them for you...
Graceless lady...
You know who I am...
You know I can't let you...
Slide through my hand...
He chuckled to himself at the words of the song echoing through the establishment behind him. He connected with it, of course, being the bleedin' ponce he had become. He knew he needed to do something, and soon, or she would slide from his hands. And he would never be able to reach her again.
Wild horses...
Couldn't drag me away...
And I watch you suffer...
A dull aching pain...
And you've decided...
To show me the same...
Damn right she decided to show him the same. He was addicted to her now, one taste and he was truly her slave. He angrily tossed the spent cigarette away from him and closed his eyes, listening to the rest of the song.
Wild horses...
Couldn't drag me away...
Wild, wild, wild horses....
Couldn't drag me away...
And I know I dreamed you...
A sin and a lie....
Well, I have my freedom...
Oh, but I don't have much time....
And faith has been broken....
Tears must be cried...
Lest' you stop living....
And after we die...
Wild horses...
Couldn't drag me away...
Wild, wild, wild horses...
We will ride them someday...
Finally, he thought, as his nerves tingled, signaling the approach of the Slayer. He opened his eyes and looked at her, tilting his head slightly. She looked like hell. Frazzled was the only word for it, frightened maybe. He knew instantly that something was wrong, and pushed away from the wall.
"What's wrong, luv?" he asked softly, staring into her eyes.
She blinked, and looked up at him, watching him for what seemed like ages before she spoke, barely above a whisper.
"Rough night. I'm fine." she turned, expecting him to follow, and headed out for patrol.
He sighed and fell into step behind her, watching as she wrapped her arms around herself, something she only did when she was very worried about something she had no control over.
"Buffy? Luv? Talk to me."
She stopped suddenly, causing him to nearly walk into her, and whirled around to face him.
"It's nothing, alright?! I had a Slayer-type dream. You know, the kind that has a tendency to come true. Freaked me out."
His brow furrowed a little.
"What was the dream about, pet?" he asked.
She sighed and turned away, hugging herself more tightly.
"I don't know. That's why I called Giles.... He's on his way.
Something to do with Drusilla, and Faith, and you...." she trailed off.
He blinked. Dru? Coming back? Not good.
"What about me?" he pressed, knowing a bit more about dreams and imagery than the average vamp, considering who his sire was.
"You...were hurt," she said. "Didn't tell me much."
Again, a blink. But he sensed that she was holding back on him.
"Well, luv, if the dream was about me, then I think you should tell me everythin' 'bout it. I have a right ta know what nasties will be comin' my way."
She shook her head swiftly, not meeting his eyes.
"I don't want to talk about it, alright? I'll tell you and everyone else when Giles gets here.... I don't want to tell it more than once." she paused, and looked at him. "Just...watch your back, alright? I'm tired. Can you handle patrol?"
He was stunned. Was she worried about him? Not likely. But before he could answer, she turned and stalked off.
"Thanks," she called over her back, and then she was gone.
He sighed and shook his head, lighting another cigarette.
"Bloody hell...."
///
He was tired. He knew he shouldn't have patrolled for her, but he did, and he was sore and achy from a fight with a demon of unknown origin. It felt good, pummeling the life out of it, but now all he wanted to do was collapse into his bed and sleep the coming day away.
He shed his duster when he entered his crypt, pulling off his shirt on the way to the fridge. He was halfway across the room when his tired senses finally picked up on something. He wasn't alone. He froze in his tracks, his eyes shifting about the room, trying to pick up on whatever it was's location. He scented the air, picking up something disturbingly familiar when suddenly, he was struck hard from behind, with something heavy and iron. He fell forward on his hands and knees, stunned by the power behind the blow. When he looked up, his foggy vision found Drusilla standing before him, a crowbar clutched like a baseball bat in her pale hands.
"Mummy's come to show you what it means to be a good dog..." she whispered, and then swung hard for his face, knocking him into blackness.
The first thing he noticed when he swam back to consciousness was that he was floating. His feet weren't on the ground. Then his head cleared a little more. Right. Chains. His wrists were cuffed, high above his head. And from the way his shoulders ached, he had probably been hanging there a good long while. He tried to open his eyes, but found that he somehow couldn't. Next, he tried his mouth. Same thing. So he contented himself with growling, mumbling curses around his closed lips.
"Oooooohhh...." Dru's child like voice sang. "Wakey, wakey, Mummy wants to play."
He, of course, just hung there. Little else he could do at this point, aside from growling.
"Things are coming, my Spike. To punish us all." He felt her move closer. "But you're mine to punish, Spike." She drew something long and sharp down his bare chest, and he hissed. "Mine. Thrice we'll be burned. We've been bad puppies and the stars don't like it." Again, she cut him, deeper, and dug into the wound with her fingers, prying. He choked and bit back a scream.
"But you don't see it," she whined, continuing her 'play'. "No one does. No one hears the songs. The cries for blood. Our blood, Spike." She stabbed him through the stomach.
He moaned and strained his arms, testing the chains again. Snug.
"The walls are crumbling. I don't like it. I won't be punished. But you will be. You're mine to punish..." He knew she'd soon break out the holy water. Knives didn't entertain her for very long. Yep, he thought as he felt the splash and the burn. Just like old times.
He screeched as well as he could, not being able to open his mouth. Of course it just egged her own.
"But you never listen, Spike..." he felt something long, thin, and hard slide into his ear, seconds before she stabbed his right eardrum. Again he tried to cry out, but to no avail. The pain was horrible, burning through his head like fire. He felt the coldness slide into his other ear.
"You never listen...." And that was the last thing he heard.