Rupert Giles was not stranger to duty and responsibility. In fact, with the small exception to his Ripper days, he'd lived Duty his whole life. At first, he was Bound to his family and its long, honorable traditions. Then it was the Council of Watchers, never realizing that they had set him up to fail when they assigned him to Buffy. And finally, his Duty was to his Slayer, when he turned his back on the Council and sided with the daughter he would never have.
So it baffled him that he was having so much difficulty reconciling himself with his duty to William the Bloody. As the perpetrator of the Truth spell and Spike's only confidante, he had a certain responsibility to the vampire. Tara had so gently and innocently reminded him of that fact and he'd been struggling with it ever since. He thought perhaps things would be easier for him if Spike wasn't committed to making things so difficult. Even ensouled, Spike was argumentative, crass and irritating, not to mention extraordinarily astute and bluntly honest. Time spent with the vampire almost always turned uncomfortable when Spike set out to turn everything he'd ever believed in upside down and on its head. And while those times were often- no, required to be- accompanied by massive amounts of alcohol, the resulting hangovers were made that much worse by the realization that Spike had been, once again, absolutely right.
Deferring graciously to the greater wisdom of a demon had never been one of Giles' strong points, and things weren't any different now, soul or no soul. Still, he felt he had to make some kind of recompense after his blistering taking-down in the Magic Box. He knew from experience that Spike often liked a few days to sulk before his acid tongue would fade and he would be anything other than condescending and defensive, so he waited a while before seeking Spike out in his crypt.
The tomb was dark and empty, even though it was still day. This surprised Giles because he thought Spike would still be asleep. Looking around, however, there was no sign of Spike and it looked as if he had been out for quite some time. The empty blood bags in the trash were completely dry and the liquor residue in the dirty tumbler next to the tattered chair had congealed on the bottom of the glass.
Wondering where the vampire could have gone in daylight, he looked around some more, searching for clues. He found nothing, or rather he found a great deal, but it was only enough to give him more insight into how the vampire lived from day to day and not on where he might have gone. He was surprised and impressed to find that Spike had amassed quite a collection of literature, which he kept on hidden bookcases behind a drape of black sheets on the lower level of the crypt. Some of the volumes were first editions and appeared very old.
A noise from upstairs caught his attention and he hurried to climb the ladder, not wanting Spike to think he was prying.
"Spike…" he called, rising from the subterranean chamber, but there was no answer.
He paused, looking around, his senses screaming that danger was lurking in the shadows. "Spike?" he called again.
"Bad man," came a voice from the gloom and a figure floated into the dim haze of diffused light. "Come for my Spike."
Ice washed through Giles' veins as he recognized the vampire.
'Bollocks! I forgot about Drusilla,' he had enough time to think before she knocked him out with a cattle prod.
*******
Spike was glad that SunnyHell police were considerate enough to put the crime-scene car inside the station house. If he hadn't known better he would have thought they had done it precisely so those fatally allergic to sunlight could get in. It was easy enough to force the door, the lock was pathetic really, and in moments he was inside the train car.
The police had taped the outline of the bodies, all sprawled in their seats, except for the outline for the station master who was on the floor, and he examined them, catching the splatters of blood the forensic crews had overlooked. He also found the dirty, blind-folded Miss Edith tucked away on the luggage rack.
Sighing, his heart heavy, he examined the doll, sniffing it to confirm that it was indeed Drusilla's doll. The scent was unmistakable and he would know it anywhere. There was no longer any doubt at all in his mind. Drusilla had returned.
'Bloody hell. Now what do I do?'
His first thought was to go to Rupert, but the Watcher wasn't home or at the Magic Box when he went looking for him so he returned to his crypt. There he found signs of a struggle and smelled both Giles and Drusilla's scents. The dread had already reached his throat when he found Giles' glasses crushed on the crypt floor, right where he would be sure to find them.
In a way, the broken eyewear gave him hope. Drusilla was sending him a message. That meant the Watcher was probably still alive. Besides, Dru always did like to play with her prey before killing them. Like a cat she was, a big demonic Hellcat- who had Giles.
Spike knew he had no choice, but he dreaded it nonetheless. He had planned to apologize to Joyce for not bringing Dawn home. Now he had another reason to go over to Revello Drive, one much less pleasant. Bucking up, he tucked Miss Edith into his coat and headed out.
Buffy wasn't there when he arrived, but both Joyce and Dawn were in the kitchen. They welcomed him warmly, Dawn preening like teenage girls were wont to do, her long brown hair in childish braids. Joyce made cocoa and talked about her duplicate shipments of Greek amphorae, making them chuckle while he sat on the counter.
"But they didn't get that it was a copy of the bill of lading... they thought it was another order form, so now I've got two shipments of Greek amphorae on my hands..." Joyce explained, smiling.
Spike smiled too. It was good to see Joyce vibrant and healthy again. A quick sniff revealed that the old blood was still there, but it was fainter. It warmed him and made him feel so much better. Joyce was going to be all right.
"Funny. And really, how many of them do you need. Amphorae," he commented.
Joyce looked to the kitchen entrance, her face lighting up, and Spike knew that Buffy had arrived home. Before, he had dressed smartly in grey pullover and black leather blazer, but this time, he stayed in his usual black on black. Having never lived through the other timeline, Buffy would never know the difference.
"Oh Buffy!" Joyce greeted. "Spike came over to apologize for yesterday," she explained, teasingly shaking Dawn's hands. "Our missing child drama."
Buffy came in, looking at them all, her guard up and her eyes wary, but he smiled and tried to put her at ease.
"Then I got started talking about the gallery. See, there was this bill of lading..." Joyce began, seeing Buffy's unconvinced look.
"Oh, don't get us all laughing again, Joyce. Anyhow, I really need to talk to your eldest," Spike interrupted, hopping down from the counter.
"About what?" she asked.
He beckoned her to follow him and led her away from Joyce and Dawn. She stopped in front of him, arms crossed and he wondered what he had done to make her angry. He sighed, not needing any more stress.
"We've got a problem. A big problem. I got a bead on the one who killed those people, the ones in the train," he told her, his stomach sinking as he reached into his coat for the doll.
"Do tell."
He pulled Miss Edith out and showed it to her. She stared at it for a moment, confused, then her eyes opened wide and she stared at him.
"Drusilla…" she gasped.
He nodded solemnly. "There's more."
"Oh great."
"I think she has your Watcher."
"Giles?"
"I smelled both their scents in my crypt, and there were signs of a struggle. And she left his glasses, all crushed up on the floor."
Buffy looked as if she were going to be sick and he hurried to comfort her. "I don't think she intends to kill him. At least not right away. The glasses were a message. It's me she wants."
Buffy huffed. "Oh great. Your crazy ho of an ex has my watcher and is using him as bait. Why do I have the strangest sensation that I've lived this before?"
He had to suppress a manic giggle. 'If only you knew, love…'
"Okay. We have to find them. Can you do your bloodhound thing and sniff them out?"
"I could, but Dru's another vamp and she'll know how to hide her trail. That said, I doubt she'll be hard to find. She only knows a few places here and she'll probably pick the place that's the worst for Giles," he replied.
Buffy's brow furrowed and she hardened. "The mansion on Crawford Street."
"'S what I was thinking."
The Slayer came out and was all business. "Let's grab some weapons and go."
*******
He was sore, and tied to a chair, but otherwise unharmed. Waking from his electricity-induced unconsciousness, Giles opened his eyes and took stock of his whereabouts.
'The mansion where Angelus tortured me. Oh dear god. And Drusilla… why didn't she bite me?'
"Don't like the taste of Watchers," Drusilla answered, floating into his field of vision. "All fish oil and old books."
She had him tied to a chair in one of the mansion's bedrooms. While dusty and neglected, there was still a large four-poster bed draped in dark velvet curtains. Drusilla had amassed quite a collection of weapons and torture equipment on the mattress. He shuddered.
"Shush," the vampiress scolded. "Not for you." She pulled out a set of manacles and placed them on the bed with a loving caress. "My Spike's been a bad boy. Helpin' the Slayer and killin' demons. I thought it was the pixies lying to me, but then the stars told me it was true."
The true motive for her kidnapping him and bringing him here became clear.
"You intend to torture him," he said.
Dru gave him one of her blank stares, half here and half in the past. "Bad children need to be punished. Like me, and Daddy. Daddy taught me how."
Giles shivered, remembering what he had suffered at Angelus' hands, and realizing that not even family members had been spared the demon's wrath. Angel had told him what Angelus had done to Dru. Could it be possible that Drusilla had tried the same tortures on her Childe?
"Oh yes. In the beginning. When William still cried," she replied, reminding him again that his thoughts were not protected if he didn't shield from her. "I would make him cry more. Sometimes Daddy would too. Then he learned that between my legs was better than across my knee, and he stopped crying. Became my beautiful, deadly boy who would be my darling… until the Slayer took him from me!"
She smashed a chamber pot that had been sitting on the floor, the porcelain shards scattering over the rug. Giles flinched.
"Pixies lie, they always lie, but I saw the Slayer floating all around him, laughing at me. He wouldn't push her away, and then he left."
She wandered, seemingly aimlessly, humming softly to herself.
"Grandmama helped, but I want my boy back. I want my family. Grandmama, Spike and Daddy."
She drew a cat-o-nine tails from an armoire, along with a pair of pincers, and looked at them dreamily. "But I can't get Daddy until I have my Spike. And William cries again. Need to teach him. Some lessons have been forgotten."
He watched her as she placed the whip and pincers on the bed, feeling sick to his stomach even as a new understanding came to him. Drusilla and Angelus had used pain and pleasure to mold Spike into the demon he became, and his suspicion that Spike was a persona used mostly as a defensive mechanism was confirmed. Not that William the Bloody hadn't been a killer, but he obviously hadn't met the standards of evil required by Angelus.
"Daddy said; 'Shut that miserable cur up or I'll hack him into bits!' And I couldn't have that. He was my playmate. My knight. The fairest and bravest in all the land. So I taught him not to cry. Then Daddy said I had to share. Didn't like that much. Daddy always made him bleed so much then made me clean the sheets."
'How inconsiderate of him,' Giles thought.
"Daddy always knew what was best for us," Drusilla sighed. "And I know what's best for my Spike. He'll be here soon. With the nasty Slayer. Left your spectacles for him to find." She looked at him, her eyes cold. "I'll kill her, and you, and then I'll get my Spike back, and we'll be a family again."
With that, she floated out, humming again, and he didn't relax until he couldn't hear her anymore. He took in the bed covered with whips and weapons that would do a Spanish Inquisitor proud and he shivered.
'God help them both,' he prayed.