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Ignorance is Bliss

Chapter 5: Clarity

He had seen.

A stake. When had he picked up the stake? For that matter, when had he gathered the strength to stand again? Xander didn't know, but there he stood in an action-figure pose, one lunge away from Angel. All he had to do was move, just move. The vampire was down after all . . . It was time.

But this wasn't the way it was supposed to be. The way of prevention was long past—Drusilla should have died. Spike had done the stupid thing, following memories of his heart into the black abyss of irrationality. And now Xander was left with the dirty work.

We're screwed. The world is screwed.

The young man shook his head.

"This is how it begins," he whispered, slowly lowering his weapon. The stake dangled from his fingers and then fell, clattering to the floor. "There goes another chance to end it."

Angel grunted at the statement, grasping at the floor and pushing himself up on hands and knees. A blink later, he stood, steady gaze on the exit in front of them.

"Damn it, Spike!" he growled, clenching his fists. He turned, concern written across his face. "Xander? I need to get you to a hospital."

"No. We should. . ." Xander stumbled against the door frame. He shook the fog from his head and glanced up with a dopey, half-hearted smile. "On second thought, giving a few hot nurses my puppy dog face doesn't sound that bad."

Angel moved quickly, wrapping an arm around the young man's waist and leading him toward the stairs. Xander couldn't keep himself up on his own but still laughed faintly at their predicament.

"Didn't know you were into manly embraces, dead boy," he snorted, wincing as a wave of dizziness passed over him.

Angel didn't answer. It really didn't matter. Xander was no longer paying attention, his one good eye trailing back toward the abandoned stake.

So much for saving the world.

She was the Biblical serpent, curled up on the rug of scratchy briars and greenery, a bundle of temptation and danger. But she wasn't Lucifer. She was . . . A beast. And every beast has its innocence. And so long as it is innocent, it knows bliss. Only knowledge can bring it back to the hell that is the real world.

Drusilla didn't live here, in this time and place. She was somewhere else. Off in the stars perhaps. Or maybe she was everywhere. Even inside of him.

Spike stared down at her sleeping form as he stripped clean the cellar entry. He'd parked the car in a barn, spotting the old, abandoned homestead from the road. They were barely out of the town, but Spike knew that Angel would get Xander help before coming after him and Dru. Or, at least, he hoped so. Surely this place would do them for a few hours.

But why stop in the first place? Why not drive all night and day in that fancy vampmobile that you stole from the ponce?

No bloody answer for that one. He didn't really have a reason for running off in the first place. After all, he was a good guy now. Right? He fought the good fight, like damn Batman on a liquid diet. Only difference was that he killed the bad guys instead of sending them off to a poorly secured asylum (though, God knew, that would be a proper home for Dru). In Spike's world, the big bads tended to be the essence of evil, or simply lacking a soul.

A soul.

Spike reached down, an arm cradling his sire as he drug her down into the darkness. The stench of humidity, mold, and the little old lady who died in the house a few months past slapped the vampire in the face, far more of an assault than the wall of spider webs or the angry, screeching cry from a field mouse. Spike dropped her on the floor, reaching out to find the oil lamps and candles lining a shelf on the wall, lighter already in hand.

Light didn't flood the room, instead creeping like a cautious animal over the junk boxes and jars of preserves. Didn't matter—it wasn't like he had bad night vision.

"Where is my William, I wonder?" came a sweet calling. "Off to start a bonfire like his wicked daddy did?"

Spike turned. Drusilla wasn't lying on the floor, but he could see the subtle outline of the female vampire standing in the shadows before the stairs. She cocked her head, and he could practically see her pouting face.

"Be a good girl and sit down, Dru," Spike said. He purposely kept his eyes away from exit, daring her to make a move. Sure, he could probably stop her—if he wanted to.

"I felt it happen. . . Knew you'd gotten that horrid piece of the sun put back in you. Why were you such a bad boy, Spike? Why couldn't you just kill her . . .? But, no—you got a soul." She stepped into the light, her expression livid. "You went and did that, all for her. I gave birth to you, boy. And how does my prince repay me? He goes giving another girl presents."

She glared at him. "Giving her your flesh. That flesh that I filled with blood. That was inside me, and I inside it. That wasn't yours to give. That was mine."

"Enough, Dru," Spike snapped.

Drusilla raised a brow. "Just make it like it was before," she whispered, rubbing her belly. "Only a little different." She smiled, the rage vanishing from her face. "But you've been good, too. Tonight. I can feel it. You want to say so many things, make up reasons for what you did, giving nasty Angel a beating."

He looked away from her. Run away, luv. Run so that he can hunt you down, put a stick through your heart. As long as I don't have to watch.

He did have his reasons, though. Several of them made sense, too. He'd even seen something, a moment from the past, a little reel of the Bloody days that made the decision for him in the end. However, the reason that he used to throw his fist into Angel's face was Shame. He was the guilty party, after all.

Guilty because he hadn't given her a second thought when he was with Buffy.

Guilty because he hadn't staked her himself.

Guilty because he had loved her.

Guilty because he hated her.

Why should he be ashamed of himself? He didn't make her. On the contrary . . . But he had been her prince. And for the same reason he would not be able to put Angel in an urn, he could not let his grandsire kill her.

She was family.

"See? No reason, Spike?" Laughter. "You couldn't let him hurt your real mummy. Why couldn't you, Spike?"

Drusilla was a soulless being. She should die, be laid to rest, just like all of the other vampires he and Angel and Buffy and the Scoobies had put down. Just like him. But Buffy had let Spike live, because she needed him at the time. It was different with Dru.

"Because I wronged you, princess."

She needs me, too, to save her.

"And because I need you. . . To make things right again."

To save her soul.