Disclaimer for entire story: I don't feel like posting this on every chapter. Anyhow, I don't own Buffy and co., k?
Ignorance is Bliss
Chapter 3: In Remembrance of You
"Not enough," she whispered. "More."
You will see.
He had seen. Flashes, glimpses of what 'could' come to pass, what 'could' be the future, turned through his head, repeating, changing. But the Dark One—that figure whom Drusilla wanted him to see above all others—was hidden from him. Xander could see his actions, though. He could see the new Master pick up a body, cracking it neck and tossing it aside like stale bread. He could see him burning so many, catching the prey he smoked out. The world was alive, but it lived in night, chaos overrunning. The human race remained cattle.
But that creature that did these foul deeds was a shadow, acting like a man, formed like a man, but his identity was blurred and misshapen by something deep within Xander's mind.
Drusilla's lips were on his neck, her fangs bore into his skin, taking his blood in an agonizingly slow way so that he would not die. She couldn't let his valuable mind fade away, could she? Xander knew her thoughts for the moment, her frustrations and her visions. The whys and the hows could not be answered. Xander didn't want an answer; he simply wanted to stop drowning in her madness.
You will see more.
"There's nothing more!" Xander cried out. "I've told you everything already. You chose the wrong person, you nut. Just finish this or let me go."
Drusilla looked up, her demonic features fading away to human beauty. "But, sweet boy, there is something, just beneath the surface." She cupped his chin. "All mummy has to do is dig it out. Be good, and I may give you a nice lollipop."
Xander shook his head. "I don't want to know what that could be a metaphor for," he said, coughing out a laugh. "There's nothing left in me, Drusilla."
The vampire stared at him for a moment, eyes dancing over him. "You're right."
Xander blinked his good eye and frowned. "You're agreeing with me?"
"And the one who sees will look upon the mortal death and taste its coldness, and he will be one with it in the spirit, where the mind's eye may look upon its cause and smile with knowledge." Drusilla giggled at his look of confusion. "Look, boy," she cooed. "Isn't it what you want to hear? They cheer, they cheer, the ones you hold so dear, but do they know their handsome knight will see in fright the true night. And that you will make the ones they hate cheer, darkness cheer, as the image becomes clear."
"Your rhyming sucks," Xander growled. "And I have no idea what you just said."
"They will hate you because you're special, just like them, better than them," Drusilla said. She leaned into him. "You'd know that, were you a better poet."
"So what now? I'm 'special'—you sound like you're my counselor," Xander sighed. "How does this change anything? I'm still tied up, you're still torturing me. I'm still not seeing, you're still nuts."
"Quiet." Drusilla raised a finger to her lips. "Speak softly." She looked to the other side of the room where a large male vampire who looked like a Soprano family cousin stood with his arms crossed. "It's not nice to speak so loudly to a guest." The other vampire nodded and stepped out. Drusilla looked back at Xander. "You're a tool. I was about to break the looking glass, when all I need to is point it in the right direction. Aren't we glad the stars told me to leave supper at the table!" she said, her voice cheerful.
"I think you're getting crazier . . ." Xander broke off, swallowing his words. The male vampire had returned with a body slung over his shoulder. The vampire dropped it to the ground.
It was the corpse of a young girl, no more than twelve. Her eyes, once bright and blue, were staring up at Xander. Drusilla moved to brush a blonde curl off of her face and run a hand over her dress to smooth it down.
"What a lovely dolly she'd make," the vampire commented, a frown on her face. "But we have better things for this one, yes we do."
Drusilla grinned at Xander, wrapping her arms around him to hold him close. "Look upon the mortal death and taste it's coldness. However could I have forgotten that part?" She pulled him down, tugging at the rope that held him in place until it released his raw wrists. "Are you ready to truly see?"
"You poofer!"
"You would have done the same thing!"
"The hell I would've, Captain Forehead. You'd think you'd have a brain behind that thick skull."
"Drop it, Spike. It was an accident."
"A likely story."
"How many more hours do I have to put up with this?"
"Well, we would have gotten an earlier start if you hadn't parked your damn car so far away and gotten us lost in the sewers searching for the parking garage—a car, might I add, that you suspiciously had parked elsewhere the night that the whole bloody building collapsed. Getting it detailed, my arse—and it just happened to have been the Jag."
"It was in the shop! And why are you complaining? I thought you liked traveling by day."
"Not when I have an idiot driving who rolls down the window at noon high!" Spike shouted, rubbing his hand where the sun had scorched him a few hours earlier. Even though the burn had long since healed, the distinct smell of burnt skin still filtered through the car. Angel had only had his hair singled by the encounter.
"It was after noon, and how else could I have paid the guy pumping our gas?" Angel snapped. "Would you rather run out of fuel in the middle of no where?"
"I would have filled up the tank the night before," Spike answered.
Angel's mouth opened and closed, but he didn't answer. Instead he concentrated on driving. The sun was setting, sending brilliant violets and reds in every direction. The anti-sun complex usually did not allow for the luxury of watching a sun set, but the enchanted, vampire friendly vehicle, courtesy of an unaware Wolfram and Hart, had let him enjoy such daylight pleasures during the time he'd spent searching for Spike.
Having won the argument, the blond vampire leaned forward, turning on the radio. "What can I say—Idol hands." He watched Angel roll his eyes as the lyrics to "White Wedding" began to sound throughout the car. "Have you heard his newer stuff?" Spike asked. "I mean 'climb up my lemon tree'—what sort of metaphor is that. . . Not bad subject matter, mind you."
"What are we doing?"
Spike stared at his grandsire, faking confusing. "Well, on this planet we call it 'speaking'."
"Xander's already dead," Angel said. "I don't know why I kept looking for you. I think I was just trying to keep Buffy from breaking. All of this is in vain."
"Aren't we the voice of optimism . . .?" Spike stared out the window, and silence met the two vampires. He wanted to be able to say 'whelp' without flinching, without thinking of Gunn's broken corpse, but he couldn't. He also couldn't give Angel an answer. As far as he knew, the young man was gone—after all, Dru couldn't keep a bird alive for a few days, what could a human hope for? Spike kept these thoughts to himself.
They reached the first traffic light of a new town. It was a small place, stuck between two hills as if it was hiding from the rest of the world. The streets were all well lit, clean and tiny and quaint. It seemed like a happy place, a place where girl scouts sold cookies and the little old women in the salon knew your name as soon as you passed the city limits. It also seemed overly familiar.
"Where are we?" Spike asked.
"The sign said Russellville," Angel answered.
"Let's hope it wasn't lying," Spike murmured. His attention was fully on the buildings they were passing.
Angel ignored him. "We probably should have gone on to the next town—this place doesn't look like it has a butcher who stays open after five."
Spike saw it then, the praying angel. He shook his head slowly. "I've been here before."
"There! There! That's it. See her tears—they fall for him."
"This is a hell of a lot out of our way, Dru. We should have gone straight through—we'll never reach the hellmouth by tomorrow night this way," Spike complained, parking in front of the church. "Are you sure this is where you want to hunt."
The female vampire turned his way quickly. "Oh, not yet," she said, as if it were law. "Not for a long time. . . We can't go into this place tonight."
"Let me guess," the blond said, lighting up, "too many crosses."
"Not time," she sighed. "We'll see the white knight here one day."
"Who, Dru?"
"The one who sees."
"Gathered that much, love," Spike said, a small smile on his face. It was bound to fade soon, though. After all, who could blame him for getting grumpy when he was hungry?
"The Knight takes king, oh, but I will be his queen, and we will swim in blood up to necks. It will be so lovely," she laughed, clapping her hands giddily.
"You sure know how to make a bloke jealous, love."
"What?" Angel asked, breaking Spike from the memory.
The one who sees.
"He's alive," the other vampire whispered. "The boy's alive. And he's in that church."