The Two Together

Emperor
You fill her thoughts with gold
When have-nots kill their foes
This wanting is wasted
We're not them
This wanting is wasted
Wanting is Wasted' by The Sheila Divine

Drusilla ran through the forest, her eyes overflowing with scalding tears that fell from her face and into nothingness. Her hands clawed at the undergrowth as it clutched at her, ignoring thorns and nettles trying to cut deep gashed in her skin. Her feet, in thin shoes, felt as if they were bleeding from the running she had been doing. But still she did not stop. She could not stop. Of that she was quite clear. Her angel was dead, she sensed it, but there was still her knight to save her from them.

She could feel her boy somewhere out here, in this vast expanse of forest, and she ran towards the tugging in her stomach. Their connection was like a lifeline that she pulled herself along, desperate to find him so that they could be together again. And leave this place to cause glorious mayhem for another hundred years.

The Vampire wasn't sure why she was running so fast to reach her creation. She was hardly ever in a hurry for anything. Time usually seemed to move around her to suit her will. But now she felt a certain sense of urgency telling her that if she did not rush, she would lose Spike as well. Her partner for over a hundred years, she would not give him up lightly.

Drusilla snapped a branch in half that happened to be blocking her pathway, not sparing a glance to her hands that were now decorated with splinters. She had come to Sunnydale weak, but had now rejuvenated to almost full strength and would not let a few shards of wood stop her. Bursting out into a clearing from behind a particularly dense patch of trees, she stared at the sight before her. The Vampire's eyes widened with childlike awe as she tilted her head back. Her mouth opened in a fanged-smile, her Vampire visage the only thing ruining the innocent posture.

So bright... In the dark... she reached out as if trying to touch the source of her amazement. A bright-blinding mist shining against a clump of trees. It hurt her eyes to look at it. A new sensation. The light bathed her in a way that she vaguely remembered, back from the days when she would play with her sisters in the daytime. But that was in another lifetime. One that she only had snatches of now and again.

The eerie illumination of her features was once again comforting, and she could almost have paused there for a while to enjoy it, but she remembered her purpose. She had to find her Childe, and leave, before it became too dangerous for her to stay. She again connected to that bond they had, and found that he was close. Startlingly close. Impatiently she tugged against the bond, expecting him to come running. But he didn't.

The light took on a more sinister air to her now as her gaze returned to it. She could not see its source, but she could tell that it was hiding something from her.

Naughty. Show Drusilla. Show Drusilla what's hidden... she murmured, stepping forward.

The mist, not heeding her calls, stayed exactly where it was. Her brows drew together, though it was barely noticeable through the already bumpy forehead. Things rarely disobeyed Drusilla, at least not that she noticed, if they tried she'd kill them. Stepping forward to the vapour she glared at it, her eyes flashing a yellow-gold. With the Vampire sight she could make out two figures.

Wrapped in the mist two bodies clutched at each other. It might have been mistaken by anyone else for a passionate embrace, but Drusilla could smell their fear. As hands ran along arms and fingers touched with skin, waves of terror emitted from both parties. But it was not their proximity to each other that seemed to produce the fright, that was clear. They looked like drowning swimmers holding on to each other as they floundered. Or frightened children clinging to an ideal of innocence. As if letting go of each other would cause them to lose everything. That was what they feared, Drusilla surmised, loosing each other.

Drusilla growled and one of the figures stirred, as if in dream he was recalling some bad memory. She now recognised her playmate of a hundred years, and was surprised that she hadn't earlier. Though the surprised lessened, even as her rage grew, when she realised who his partner was. The Slayer.

***

The doors swung open at the end of the Library and for a long moment neither of the occupying parties moved. Oz was slumped back in a chair, his eyes slightly glazed and fixed upon something distant. Willow was still perched upon the table cross-legged, her lips moved but the words that issued from them were no longer audible. She wafted about a wilted bunch of smouldering herbs which added a musky-earth smell to the already thick-scented Library. As sharp footsteps sounded upon the floor both parties seemed to stir finally, as if the trance they had been under was lifted at the same moment.

Willow questioned, her voice croaking. As soon as the question had left her mouth she started coughing and Oz leapt up to pour her a glass of water. The smile quickly faded from the Watcher's face as a quick glance around the Library told him that Buffy was not back yet. Kendra's eyes narrowed as she noted the situation as well, but she did not question. She'd leave that to Giles.

Giles stepped forward, waiting until Willow had finished drinking before continuing, Has Buffy not been back yet?

Willow shook her head, looking tired and concerned all at once, I was hoping that she would have gone to help you two but... I knew it wasn't really true..

Because she hasn't used the spell yet. She waved a hand around in an expansive gesture, Uh, the talisman

How do you know that...?

Willow's eyes suddenly widened and she skipped straight to another topic, Where's Xander? To her surprise it was Kendra and not Giles that answered her.

He is at the hospital with Cordelia... She was badly injured.

Is she....going to be okay..? Willow questioned tentatively. Seeing as the girl wasn't around no-one could raise-brow her for caring just a little.

Kendra answered simply.

Giles pressed, torn between wanting to let the redhead know about her friends and helping Buffy. Helping Buffy won out of course, How do you know she hasn't used it yet?

What? Oh. Because when she does there's supposed to be this tug... or pull... or something's supposed to break. There's a sign anyway... Didn't you look this spell up?

Giles ran a tired hand over his forehead and through his hair in one movement. He could practically see the bruises begin to blossom on his body through the layers of tweed. He usually didn't feel old, or let himself feel old. But this time he felt as if he would allow himself that luxury. He almost fell into the nearest chair.

Yes... Uh... Willow. I must have forgotten.

Willow narrowed her eyes almost at once as she watched the Librarian. Not sure whether to leave him or question him. Or even to continue the spell, which she should be doing continuously to save Buffy. Guilt tried to creep in again but she beat it back down. Doing to spell as necessary. But...

Giles... You don't think Buffy's dead do you..?

The older man jolted up in his seat and quickly shook his head. An action that he almost straightaway deemed to be a bad idea as a headache blossomed like a disgusting flower.

No, Willow, she is The Slayer... he paused and then amended with a nod to Kendra, One of the Slayers, and this beast cannot kill her if... he glanced toward the talisman pointedly, but quickly his gaze softened. She must have been chanting the same spell for hours, she looked exhausted enough. Perhaps he should let her rest. The thoughts of rest he brushed aside immediately, even if his bravado was believed by her he wasn't so confident about it himself. Buffy could be in danger.

Willow digested his glance for barely a second before beginning to set the spell up once more. The meaningless actions helping distract her from the guilt that still kept trying to creep up her gut.

Giles protested weakly as he watched her, Perhaps I should...

No. I'm fine Giles. But maybe you two should go looking for her just in case... she drew a shaky breath, ... in case she needs your help.

Kendra shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she tried to get comfortable leaning against the bookcase. Oz silently offered her a drink of water which she accepted with her eyes firmly cast upon the floor and a blush growing on her cheeks. Unfazed, or unnoticing, Oz poured out the liquid and placed the glass into the embarrassed girl's hands. Any menial task to keep his thoughts from the speculating that was going on. He was glad that Giles and everyone from that group had returned safely, but he worried about Buffy. More than he usually would because her death would be partially his fault. That sounded selfish.

Do you need the first aid kit? Oz asked Kendra quietly as Giles and Willow talked dramatically. Kendra looked down at her bloodied knuckles and felt the ache of a previously dislocated shoulder. Finally she answered,

No. I will be okay. her eyes still fixed on the ground.

Slayer strength huh? Oz said, trying to tempt a smile out of the shy girl. It worked.

Being the Slayer... she said in a contemplative tone, ... Just means that you don't break your knuckles when you punch someone. Doesn't make it hurt less.

Then you need the kit. Oz persisted, turning to fetch it. Kendra grabbed his shoulder to stop him, but quickly let go as if she'd touched something very hot. Her face was almost scarlet.

I'm sorry. But I don't need it. she explained.

Oz said, smiling at the girl. But this time it didn't work, and she simply sipped from the glass of water in her hand, eyes averted.

How was the fight...? Oz asked, trying to draw her into conversation again.

It was... We won. she said simply, only expanding after a pause, We killed a lot of Vampires. Including Angelus. Well, Mr Giles killed Angelus.

He did? Oz grinned.

Kendra looked up at Oz, embarrassment forgotten as she described the long battle, ...The monster began pleading when he saw that Mr Giles was going to win. Apologising and saying he was sorry. But Giles just... Kendra made a motion with her hand to accentuate her word, ...threw the sword and it impaled Angelus though the chest.

Oz raised his eyebrows, lips parted, in what Kendra assumed to be an expression of happiness or awe. She didn't even notice the boy digging his stubby fingernails into his palms as his hands flexed in and out of fists.

That's great. he said finally, I wish I'd been there.

Giles called, and her attention was immediately transferred, We're going to go into the forest to search for... To see if we can help Buffy. I understand if you're too tired but...

I'm a Slayer. Kendra stated, again with simplicity, If you're not tired then I am not.

Very well, Giles said, vaguely aware that Willow had begun chanting again, Rest for a few more moments and then we will leave... He smiled at the small group, turning his head so that his eyes never left them even as he walked into his office. As soon as he was inside the small room, with the door firmly shut, he sat down again and pressed a hand to his ribcage which he assumed he housed a few broken bones.

His hand travelled upwards slightly to the place in his chest where his heart beat. He felt the metronome of his pulse even through the clothes, the blood rushing through his veins. He thought of a time when that sound had appeared from another person's chest as he reverently placed his ear against her skin. A person who he had left back in that mansion weeks ago, and he had not seen--not felt since. Even if her form had appeared tonight before him, offering him everything he had wanted over those lonely weeks, he had resisted. He guessed this pounding in his chest was what if felt like to be a better man. To choose humanity over lust. Life over death. To rise above. To work for the greater good.

Giles fisted the material of his shirt over his heart, as if trying to cease the movement inside his chest. To kill the pain and the ideals that peppered his mind at every constriction. But the organ kept pumping. And Giles found that he didn't have the strength to stop it, or to battle its beats of heroism with his tears of sorrow.

***

Drusilla marched forward, her face a twisted mask of rage. More twisted than the demon visage that pressed out of her skin. Her brows were drawn together, wrinkle touching wrinkle, her mouth was open in a permanent-silent-snarl and her eyes were stuck on a golden-yellow. She was not playing innocent anymore.

The Vampire's fingers plunged into the mist, and travelled through it with ease, but she could not reach the objects of her anger. If she tried to move in any closer the mist would not let her. It did not invite anything larger than her arms to enter. She let out a howl that had the figures inside the whiteness trembling against each other, but did not seem to affect their surroundings. She backed away, her eyes never leaving them even as her feet hit roots and stones on the ground.

Helplessness was not a feeling that she revelled in. She enjoyed the power of killing, power in the blood, the death. But now she saw her Vampire intoxicated with the Slayer and her helpless. If she wanted him back at all that was. He was in love with her... Or he would be soon. Did she want to keep such a disgrace in her family. But they were family after all. His feelings could be punished out of him. By her. It could be fun. Inflicting.

Drusilla found herself at the edge of the glade once again, her back pressing against a tree inviting her to relax backwards and watch the spectacle in front of her. She didn't want to. The wind blew through the trees making a whooshing sound and her Vampiric hearing pointed out all of the movement of animals amongst the grass and earth. It invited her to run, to hunt, a much more enticing proposition than resting.

As if the couple she was viewing sensed her conflict, they began to move with more earnest. Limbs flailed against one another and the two broke apart. Their mouths were opened in silence and their eyes closed likewise. Expressions of pain, excitement, wonder passed over their faces in no particular order, faster and faster until they lost expression all together. The mist around them became thinner and their levitating forms slipped a little closer to the ground.

Drusilla watched with amusement, tongue flickering out over her lips hungrily as she waited for the inevitable. The mist vanished in one quick moment. Their bodies seemed to hang for a long moment before rushing to the floor. In the last second Spike opened his eyes and snatched at the waist of the Slayer. He was too late to save her from impact with the floor. But he had tried. There was a crunch and a scattering of leaves, then silence.

She waited for a split-second before skipping forward playfully, anticipating disaster. Both of the bodies were sprawled on the ground, Spike's arm was twisted underneath him awkwardly, and a large cut was weeping blood from the Slayer's head. They were both unconscious, but both alive. Or undead. Whatever. A pout grew on Drusilla's mouth as she stared down at her lover. Ex-lover. Months ago she had pulled him out of the rubble of a church and eventually he had returned to health. This wasn't the same situation. She looked down at his broken form beneath her, and her nose wrinkled. The expression on her face was the look of a Lady who has practised at her outward emotions. It clearly read: disdain.

Drusilla turned around and walked calmly away from him. The trees were calling to her again, and the animals in the forest. The sun would not be up for a while, and she had plenty of time to find a new playmate. Plenty.