A/N: This takes place somewhere in S2, between "School Hard" and "What's My Line." It's a Spike story. Another somewhat unconventional pairing, which (I hope) has never and will never occur. Enjoy!

"A tea party, my Spike. Let's have a tea party with Miss Edith. The other dollies have all been very wicked, so they can't come. It'll be such fun to see them aflame with jealousy."

He felt the last bit of his patience drain away, like water down a drain. He'd put up with being dressed up, with playing along with whatever whims Dru had at the moment.

But a bloody tea party? No, he hadn't yet sunk that low.

"Come on, dear. We can sing and dance till the pixies drop dead, the three of us."

Those were the wrong words for her to say. A repressed memory fought to emerge and an old grudge, not one against Drusilla, surfaced.

"Get along without me, Dru. I'm a bit knackered. Think I'll head off to bed first," he stated shortly.

Ignoring her pout, he turned and headed for the interior bedchamber. Maybe he could find a minion to pick a fight with, clear his head a little. But of course they were off finding the next meal.

Besides, it was probably just an overdose of peroxide fumes that was wearing his patience so thin. After all, what were a few old words anyway?

"Fine!" the inhumanly high screech came from the entranceway. "Go away, you bad, bad boy!"

And then the small, blunt weight hit him squarely in the back of his bleached head.

"Dru!" he snarled, but she'd already departed for elsewhere. Only the mocking face of Miss Edith stared up at the vampire from the concrete floor, her skirts askew from being used as a projectile weapon.

With a sigh that could've doubled for a growl, Spike picked up the offending object and stalked through the bedroom door, slamming the wood so hard that it almost rattled off its hinges.

Tossing the doll onto Dru's side of the bed, he began to pace.

"Bloody Slayer. 'S all her fault."

If it wasn't for her he'd be kissing Sunnyhell goodbye and tailing it to France with his beloved Dru. She wouldn't be asking for a sodding tea party. And he wouldn't be letting her ramblings get to him.

Yes, it was the Slayer's fault. Everything wrong could be blamed on that stupid girl. Indeed, she was a very good scapegoat for all vampire problems. Now to butcher the creature and bathe in its blood.

That would have to wait.

Heaving another sigh, the vampire sprawled across the bedspread, oblivious of the porcelain doll crushed against his chest. He reached for the secret cache of Scotch under the bed frame…

***

Groaning, he groped about blindly for his spectacles, certain they'd curb the brain-splitting headache pounding inside his skull.

Then he realized he hadn't worn glasses for more than a hundred years. Yeah, that was right. He settled for feeling the surroundings for other things. Okay, there were sheets. Covers. A bed. That's right, he was on a bed.

Dru's bed. The parts not drenched in Scotch smelled faintly of her.

Now, what was he doing drunk in bed? Where was Dru?

Then he smelled her. She lay amidst the bed sheets, cradled into his coat. His fingers touched her long curls, her porcelain skin. She felt so…vulnerable. So…small.

I've probably had a little more Scotch than I should have. Senses are all distorted.

"There you are, ducks," he mumbled, continuing to stroke her cold body and taking in her smell. He was too hung over to think about opening his eyes, but that was okay. His olfactory senses weren't the least bit impaired.

A quick tumble was what he wanted, something to clear his head and get rid of the after-effects of drinking. Although God knows why he was drinking in the first place. Dru usually didn't like it. Still, a few shags and he would win her over, right quick.

But she wasn't responding to his ministrations, being just as cold and hard as when he first found her in the tumbled sheets.

Guess she's still upset about the inebriation.

"I'll get rid of the Scotch this time, promise."

Gently turning her unresponsive body, he kissed her curls and drank in her scent. At least she was letting him continue and not clawing or shoving him away. Maybe Spike had a chance after all.

But he was still too intoxicated to properly make love to his Dark Princess. He couldn't even find an opening in her silk gown with his fumbling fingers. All those petticoats…

The vampire sighed in defeat, stroking her soft, soft curls.

"Sorry, love. Maybe something else? Once I get woken up proper I'll make it up to you."

She still didn't say anything, but she didn't turn away, either. That was a good sign…

Then, feeling her silky curls against his fingers, Spike had an idea.

"I've got a proposal. If you don't like it, just speak up, love…"

***

Drusilla figured her naughty little boy had learned his lesson. And besides, she'd lost Miss Edith and needed him to find her.

When she got to the door she paused, turning up her delicate nose at the stench of liquor.

What a naughty, naughty boy! Drinking that vile alcohol on their bed. He needed to be spanked, that was for sure. She pushed the door open and glided through.

And stopped dead, her gray eyes growing wider and wider.

And then she screamed.

***

Her scream brought him out of his half-waking stupor. His eyes snapped open and looked from the doorway to…to the opened zipper of his jeans.

The slightly sticky doll dropped to the ground.

Dru ran shrieking from the chamber.

Miss Edith smiled up at him, a smug-looking little smirk peeping out from her disheveled raiment.

"Oh, bollocks."

A/N: I love Spuffy. Really. But too much Spuffy has been making me off those characters when I do that particular pairing. So the next chapter will remain non-Spuffy, where hopefully the main characters don't die.