Disclaimers: Joss is God. I merely worship his creations.
Feedback: I really do enjoy it all . . . except I got this really weird flame the other day about why B/Xers suck and that I suck and it makes no sense . . . go check it out!
Author's Note: Sorry for taking so long to update. I'm lazy, that's my only excuse . . . my crippling laziness.
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Buffy sat on the edge of the bed, picking at her fingernails, waiting for Willow to finish the spell. Impatient, she turned to watch her friend sitting on the bed next to her, in deep concentration.
"Are you almost finished?" she asked, quieting her tone when she realized how harsh she sounded, "I'm getting nervous." When she didn't respond, Buffy added, "Spike could be dead by now."
Willow opened her eyes and glared at Buffy. "I'm working on it . . . it doesn't help me go any faster when you're breathing down my neck."
Buffy cast her gaze to the comforter in front of her, embarrassed. "Sorry," she said meekly.
"Now, shush," Willow scolded, closing her eyes once more. The map in front of her lay still, and Buffy couldn't help but wonder if maybe the Wiccan was doing something wrong. 'Shouldn't the lights flicker or her eyes go all black or something? Or is that white?' she wondered, 'Not that I'm a pro at this or anything. Maybe I should have -'
"Aha!"
Willow's sudden proclamation startled the Slayer from her thoughts, and she hurried over to the other side of the room to see what her friend was 'Aha- ing' about. Willow was seated on the bed, looking at the map triumphantly. A single pinprick of light stood out among the carefully drawn streets of Sunnydale, and Buffy stared at it, confused.
"What's that?" she asked.
Willow glanced over at her and back to the map. "You asked me to find Spike, so, I found him. See that?" she pointed to the little light in the far right corner, "That's his exact location. At least we know he's in Sunnydale."
Buffy leaned over the paper to get a better look, squinting to make out the names of the roads. "Hmm . . ." she said, "It looks like he's in the . . . business district." She paused, thinking. "That's odd, I don't think I've ever seen Spike in the - the Factory!" she finished with a gasp, her face suddenly pale.
"The Factory?" Willow stared at the roads surrounding the twinkling light and wrinkled her brow in confusion. "Why is he there? Isn't that place kinda filled with bad Drusilla vibes?"
"It is," Buffy admitted, biting her lower lip in worry, "This definitely doesn't feel right, Will." She paused, her mind flashing back to the previous night's events. "Shit!" she whispered, and Willow looked over at her, nervously.
"Buffy, what -"
"I should have remembered," Buffy chided herself, cutting Willow off mid- sentence, "I should have . . ." she drifted off, then addressed her friend. "Spike. Last night, at the Bronze, he was attacked. When I was leaving I saw these two vamps dragging him off . . . they had knocked him unconscious."
"It could have just been a bar fight," Willow offered, hoping to qualm Buffy's fears, "Spike isn't exactly the most . . . amiable person when he's drunk."
"No, I - he wasn't drunk. And it wasn't just a fight . . . I'm pretty sure . . . because otherwise they would've just beaten him up. But they didn't. They were trying to take him somewhere."
"The Factory?" Willow wondered aloud.
Buffy's heart leapt to her throat and firmly lodged itself there, her pulse racing. "Something bad's going on here, Will," Buffy said, her voice tinged with worry and regret, "and I'm not going to stand by and let it happen."
She stood up, making her way to the chest underneath her bed and opened it, removing a few stakes and a crossbow. Sticking the weapons into the jacket she had pulled on, Buffy opened the door quickly and strode out, a determined look on her face.
Willow peeked her head out of the room, worried. "Where are you going?" she asked the retreating Slayer, although she already knew what the answer would be.
"The Factory," she called out over her shoulder. Buffy stormed down the halls of the dormitory, fuming. 'If they laid one finger on him,' she thought, 'I'm going to rip their throats out, one by one. Nobody hurts my boyfriend and gets away with it.'
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Spike watched as Drusilla heated a poker over a bonfire in the middle of the room, humming happily as she rotated the pole for even heat. Absentmindedly he wondered if having an open fire in the middle of a crowded, highly flammable area was such a good idea, but he shrugged the thought off. One of her many minions had undoubtedly made it for her, knowing that, while it wasn't a very smart idea to make flames in the middle of the floor, it would be even stupider to disobey one of their Sire's orders. He watched drowsily as the flames licked at her face, and the embers popped a glowed, a few sparks landing on her skirts and dying.
'I hope the chit burns to death,' he thought with sudden malice, and the picture of a burning Drusilla filled his head. Spike chuckled humorlessly, wishing that he could just go back two years ago and tell Buffy to stake Dru, after all. 'Would save me a boatload of pain and anguish,' he thought, 'and singing. That damn singing.'
His weary eyes flicked over to the row of torture implements, neatly polished and shined for her pleasure. There were several vials of sorts, some filled with liquids he had yet to try out on him. Others were familiar, such as the near-empty bottle of holy water and the large can labeled 'gasoline', which Spike figured was less for torture and more for starting bonfires in the middle of the room. There were pokers and daggers, the used ones stained with him blood and the new ones cleaned and sharpened to perfection. Chains and nails (there were the only weapons left rusty), a staple gun (now -that- was a new one), and several boxes of matches.
'She always did love burning things,' he thought, 'What was it that the fire reminded her of? Oh, dancing. Can't get enough of the dancing.' He brushed his gaze over to the pile of whips lying in the far corner, none of which had been used on him yet. A particularly nasty one with nine knotted tails caught his eye, and Spike hoped now, more than ever, that Drusilla would have a change of heart. That, or catch on fire.
He was -really- hoping for the latter.
Drusilla had apparently finished with the preparations, because she started to approach him with the poker, glowing orange from heat. Her eyes shone in gleeful anticipation, and she held the red-hot weapon in front of her as if it were something precious.
Spike's heart gave a leap of joy when she fell to her knees, and watched with relief as the poker fell on the floor and rolled underneath a table. Drusilla moaned, pressing her fingers into the sides of her head, obviously having another vision. He watched her tensely, knowing that she would be seeing something about Buffy, more likely that not. 'If Dru's minions have done anything to her,' Spike thought, 'I'll stake the bloody bitch myself.'
"Ooo," she groaned, swaying from side to side, "Wicked girls are playing where they shouldn't go. The headmistress will be very firm with them if they don't watch for the crossing . . . the headmaster will arrive and will take back what is rightfully his."
Spike shook his head, confused. 'I guess you have to be insane to understand any of this,' he thought.
"Why does he scoff the methods which played in the fields with him? The years of blood soaked china and strawberries are useless now that they have rotted. He tossed them in the cabbage patch without even thinking of the consequence." A frown creased the girl's face, her brow furrowed. Drusilla stopped her ramblings and stood, finally, and left the room. Spike's chest was tight with anticipation . . . he had to know what was happening with Buffy, or he thought he might explode.
When she finally re-entered the room, he sighed with relief. "She's coming," Drusilla muttered, "to ruin the kingdom and scoff the princess. The knight will marry but the king shall be ever so cross."
She made her way over to Spike, still swaying slightly on her feet. "I will stop her," she told him, smiling wickedly, "I will stop the naughty girl from taking you. I can, the stars say I can. The moon agrees wholeheartedly."
"Buffy's coming?" Spike murmured, his heart swelling with anxious relief.
"Oh, yes, she's coming, dear heart, but we will stop her from taking you. She won't haunt you again. The minions will prevent the rising and all will be well." Drusilla looked at him longingly, before turning back to the table of weapons. Her grin turned to a frown again.
"Where did my poker go?"
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TBC . . .
Feedback: I really do enjoy it all . . . except I got this really weird flame the other day about why B/Xers suck and that I suck and it makes no sense . . . go check it out!
Author's Note: Sorry for taking so long to update. I'm lazy, that's my only excuse . . . my crippling laziness.
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Buffy sat on the edge of the bed, picking at her fingernails, waiting for Willow to finish the spell. Impatient, she turned to watch her friend sitting on the bed next to her, in deep concentration.
"Are you almost finished?" she asked, quieting her tone when she realized how harsh she sounded, "I'm getting nervous." When she didn't respond, Buffy added, "Spike could be dead by now."
Willow opened her eyes and glared at Buffy. "I'm working on it . . . it doesn't help me go any faster when you're breathing down my neck."
Buffy cast her gaze to the comforter in front of her, embarrassed. "Sorry," she said meekly.
"Now, shush," Willow scolded, closing her eyes once more. The map in front of her lay still, and Buffy couldn't help but wonder if maybe the Wiccan was doing something wrong. 'Shouldn't the lights flicker or her eyes go all black or something? Or is that white?' she wondered, 'Not that I'm a pro at this or anything. Maybe I should have -'
"Aha!"
Willow's sudden proclamation startled the Slayer from her thoughts, and she hurried over to the other side of the room to see what her friend was 'Aha- ing' about. Willow was seated on the bed, looking at the map triumphantly. A single pinprick of light stood out among the carefully drawn streets of Sunnydale, and Buffy stared at it, confused.
"What's that?" she asked.
Willow glanced over at her and back to the map. "You asked me to find Spike, so, I found him. See that?" she pointed to the little light in the far right corner, "That's his exact location. At least we know he's in Sunnydale."
Buffy leaned over the paper to get a better look, squinting to make out the names of the roads. "Hmm . . ." she said, "It looks like he's in the . . . business district." She paused, thinking. "That's odd, I don't think I've ever seen Spike in the - the Factory!" she finished with a gasp, her face suddenly pale.
"The Factory?" Willow stared at the roads surrounding the twinkling light and wrinkled her brow in confusion. "Why is he there? Isn't that place kinda filled with bad Drusilla vibes?"
"It is," Buffy admitted, biting her lower lip in worry, "This definitely doesn't feel right, Will." She paused, her mind flashing back to the previous night's events. "Shit!" she whispered, and Willow looked over at her, nervously.
"Buffy, what -"
"I should have remembered," Buffy chided herself, cutting Willow off mid- sentence, "I should have . . ." she drifted off, then addressed her friend. "Spike. Last night, at the Bronze, he was attacked. When I was leaving I saw these two vamps dragging him off . . . they had knocked him unconscious."
"It could have just been a bar fight," Willow offered, hoping to qualm Buffy's fears, "Spike isn't exactly the most . . . amiable person when he's drunk."
"No, I - he wasn't drunk. And it wasn't just a fight . . . I'm pretty sure . . . because otherwise they would've just beaten him up. But they didn't. They were trying to take him somewhere."
"The Factory?" Willow wondered aloud.
Buffy's heart leapt to her throat and firmly lodged itself there, her pulse racing. "Something bad's going on here, Will," Buffy said, her voice tinged with worry and regret, "and I'm not going to stand by and let it happen."
She stood up, making her way to the chest underneath her bed and opened it, removing a few stakes and a crossbow. Sticking the weapons into the jacket she had pulled on, Buffy opened the door quickly and strode out, a determined look on her face.
Willow peeked her head out of the room, worried. "Where are you going?" she asked the retreating Slayer, although she already knew what the answer would be.
"The Factory," she called out over her shoulder. Buffy stormed down the halls of the dormitory, fuming. 'If they laid one finger on him,' she thought, 'I'm going to rip their throats out, one by one. Nobody hurts my boyfriend and gets away with it.'
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Spike watched as Drusilla heated a poker over a bonfire in the middle of the room, humming happily as she rotated the pole for even heat. Absentmindedly he wondered if having an open fire in the middle of a crowded, highly flammable area was such a good idea, but he shrugged the thought off. One of her many minions had undoubtedly made it for her, knowing that, while it wasn't a very smart idea to make flames in the middle of the floor, it would be even stupider to disobey one of their Sire's orders. He watched drowsily as the flames licked at her face, and the embers popped a glowed, a few sparks landing on her skirts and dying.
'I hope the chit burns to death,' he thought with sudden malice, and the picture of a burning Drusilla filled his head. Spike chuckled humorlessly, wishing that he could just go back two years ago and tell Buffy to stake Dru, after all. 'Would save me a boatload of pain and anguish,' he thought, 'and singing. That damn singing.'
His weary eyes flicked over to the row of torture implements, neatly polished and shined for her pleasure. There were several vials of sorts, some filled with liquids he had yet to try out on him. Others were familiar, such as the near-empty bottle of holy water and the large can labeled 'gasoline', which Spike figured was less for torture and more for starting bonfires in the middle of the room. There were pokers and daggers, the used ones stained with him blood and the new ones cleaned and sharpened to perfection. Chains and nails (there were the only weapons left rusty), a staple gun (now -that- was a new one), and several boxes of matches.
'She always did love burning things,' he thought, 'What was it that the fire reminded her of? Oh, dancing. Can't get enough of the dancing.' He brushed his gaze over to the pile of whips lying in the far corner, none of which had been used on him yet. A particularly nasty one with nine knotted tails caught his eye, and Spike hoped now, more than ever, that Drusilla would have a change of heart. That, or catch on fire.
He was -really- hoping for the latter.
Drusilla had apparently finished with the preparations, because she started to approach him with the poker, glowing orange from heat. Her eyes shone in gleeful anticipation, and she held the red-hot weapon in front of her as if it were something precious.
Spike's heart gave a leap of joy when she fell to her knees, and watched with relief as the poker fell on the floor and rolled underneath a table. Drusilla moaned, pressing her fingers into the sides of her head, obviously having another vision. He watched her tensely, knowing that she would be seeing something about Buffy, more likely that not. 'If Dru's minions have done anything to her,' Spike thought, 'I'll stake the bloody bitch myself.'
"Ooo," she groaned, swaying from side to side, "Wicked girls are playing where they shouldn't go. The headmistress will be very firm with them if they don't watch for the crossing . . . the headmaster will arrive and will take back what is rightfully his."
Spike shook his head, confused. 'I guess you have to be insane to understand any of this,' he thought.
"Why does he scoff the methods which played in the fields with him? The years of blood soaked china and strawberries are useless now that they have rotted. He tossed them in the cabbage patch without even thinking of the consequence." A frown creased the girl's face, her brow furrowed. Drusilla stopped her ramblings and stood, finally, and left the room. Spike's chest was tight with anticipation . . . he had to know what was happening with Buffy, or he thought he might explode.
When she finally re-entered the room, he sighed with relief. "She's coming," Drusilla muttered, "to ruin the kingdom and scoff the princess. The knight will marry but the king shall be ever so cross."
She made her way over to Spike, still swaying slightly on her feet. "I will stop her," she told him, smiling wickedly, "I will stop the naughty girl from taking you. I can, the stars say I can. The moon agrees wholeheartedly."
"Buffy's coming?" Spike murmured, his heart swelling with anxious relief.
"Oh, yes, she's coming, dear heart, but we will stop her from taking you. She won't haunt you again. The minions will prevent the rising and all will be well." Drusilla looked at him longingly, before turning back to the table of weapons. Her grin turned to a frown again.
"Where did my poker go?"
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TBC . . .