Series: Mortal Allies

Story Title: Episode 3, Postcards From the Edge

Chapter 12: My Turn

By: Passion4Spike


Author's Notes:

Thanks to everyone who is reading and extra slobbery doggie-Spike kisses to everyone who has left a comment or a 'like'/'kudos'. It seriously means so much to me, like churros for my muse!

Warning: This is the other part I warned about at the start of the story. Trigger warning for sexual threats to a child. Also some Sprusilla smut (not overly graphic).

As always, my everlasting gratitude to Holi117 and PaganBaby for their betaing, encouragement, idea-bouncing, banner-making. Holi117 was instrumental in bringing this whole story to life – I had originally intended to skim over it. I'm so glad she talked me out of that idea! Thank you!


Chapter 12: My Turn


Mexico.

After his day of fitful sleep and disturbing, tequila-fueled dreams, Spike had awakened alone in the hotel room. Dru hadn't left a note – nothing unusual there – and still hadn't returned after Spike had taken a shower and gotten dressed. So, he headed out into the night, looking for a meal and contemplating if more Patrón would make him feel better or worse. A stroll down by the ocean walk told him that it had been a while since the scene in the alley – just how long had he spent in that bar, anyway? The tequila haze wasn't particularly helpful in counting sunsets. The tattered remnants of crime-scene tape suggested it had been a few days, at least. The flimsy yellow barrier had been haphazardly taken down, leaving only scraps marking the area. He kept walking, keeping his head down and his eyes averted from the spot where he could still see the accusing, dead green eyes staring up at him.

He bumped into a few tourists – literally – slipping supernaturally-fast, nimble fingers into pockets and open purses and coming away with cash and cards. He pocketed the cash but dumped the rest, aware of the changing times, of the ability to track the credit cards, and of growing prevalence of store security cameras. It certainly was getting more difficult to be a proper vampire these days. It almost made him nostalgic for the years when vampires ruled the night, when streets were dark, there was no six o'clock news, and cameras were the size of houses… or at least suitcases.

Of course, there were no tellies then or Sex Pistols or blooming onions. So, maybe he didn't miss it that much.

With his pockets refilled with colorful 'Banco de Mexico' notes, Spike began looking for a meal. He turned off the well-lit El Malecon and onto the darker side streets. Tourists still meandered here, where slightly less expensive restaurants and shops operated, just a bit off the popular beach walk. The vampire's well-honed hunting instincts automatically began considering prospects, weighing options and risks, following behind tasty-smelling meals, waiting for his chance. But, for a myriad of reasons, chances didn't seem to present themselves.

The reasons were all logical, prudent even – the prospective Happy Meal went into a crowded bar or restaurant, they met up with their group in the street, they got in a taxi, or went into a well-lit shop. They were all perfectly good reasons and had nothing whatsoever to do with green eyes watching him from his dreams and nightmares.

Spike lit a fag as he turned to look into the window of a small boutique, waiting for a new dinner opportunity to wander past. A sparkling necklace in the display caught his eye and he moved a couple of steps down to look more closely. The ruby-red stones glimmered brightly, were shaped like teardrops, and seemed to trickle down the delicate chain like drops of blood.

Dru would love it – and, though he wasn't sure what the current date was, he was sure her birthday was coming up soon. A fond smile curved Spike's lips, remembering how gentle and caring she'd been after his drunken return, how she'd stayed with him, murmuring comforts when he'd awoken from nightmares. Maybe the worst was past now. Maybe they'd both needed a reminder of just who he was and what he was capable of – plenty monster enough. He imagined her child-like delight as he gave her this bauble, how she'd titter and fuss over it… and over him. He took another drag of his cigarette, considering. He looked around to judge the foot traffic and find escape routes. Smash and grab would be the fastest and easiest option… He tapped experimentally on the glass, only then realizing it was heavy plexiglass – not easily smashed.

Well, he had a pocket full of banknotes, he'd just see how much it was. He took one last inhalation of nicotine before dropping the butt on the sidewalk and sauntering in the shop. Once inside, he meandered around, not wanting to appear too eager, looking at different jewelry in the cases and art on the walls. There was an intricately-painted, bold and colorful ceramic wall hanging which caught his eye. An eclipse, a crescent moon covering one side of a sun. The sun and moon both had faces, their lips nearly touching as the beacon of the night encroached on the symbol of light. Inlaid within the curve of the moon were small white stones which twinkled like stars, and around the circle of the sun were small dots of golden gems, which shimmered warmly.

It reminded him of the Slayer – of how she lived in both worlds, of how the darkness always seemed to be trying to swallow her light. But she shone too brightly for that to happen, the threat of the dark not enough to snuff her effulgence. He was suddenly reminded that her birthday was also coming up soon. Bloody poetic, that – the bane of his existence sharing a birthday with the love of his unlife. If he was good and drunk, he could probably compose a line or two about that.

Spike ran his fingertips over the wall hanging, enjoying the feel of the smooth surface. The small, embedded stones flashed and sparkled as it moved slightly at his touch. He thought it would be dazzling in natural sunlight, and wondered if Buffy would like the vibrant colors and celestial design. Sure, there wasn't any cheese involved, but everything didn't have to be about food, did it? He was certain she'd get the deeper meaning of it, beyond the 'oh, pretty' aspect of the ornate Mexican design. Would she hang it in her room, above her bed maybe? Or on the opposite wall where she could see it as she fell asleep and woke up each morning?

The vampire stopped and blinked, his brain finally catching up to his traitorous thoughts. "Are you out of your bleeding mind?" Spike growled to himself, banging a fist against his forehead. "Not getting the sodding Slayer a fucking birthday gift. Every argument you've had with Dru is cos of that bossy bint," he asserted, turning away from the wall hanging. "What ya need to give her for her birthday is a painful and bloody death!"

An older couple, clearly tourists, looked at Spike with wide eyes and slowly backed away from him, dropping their selections and leaving the store in a rush. Spike rolled his eyes and made his way to the counter and the bored clerk, who was reading a magazine.

"Can I see the necklace ya got in the window, there?" he asked, not bothering with Spanish in this shop that catered to tourists, tilting his head toward the display window. "The red one?"

The young man nodded, setting his reading material down, and retrieved the necklace, laying it out on a black velvet display board on top of the glass case. Spike picked it up, feeling the weight of it and watching the jewels shift and glow in the light. His first impression was confirmed – they did look like blood against his pale skin, running down in heavy drops. He turned the little paper tag over and pursed his lips. Not as much as he'd thought it would be… still, wouldn't want to insult the bloke by not dickering a bit.

Just as he was about to make a counteroffer, a flash of what looked like sunlight reflected off another necklace in the case below him. He slid the velvet pad over a bit to get a better look at a stone that was a swirl of yellow and orange set in an intricately woven cage of gold.

"What's that, then?" he asked, pointing to it.

"Sunstone," the young man answered, his accent light, pulling it out, as well. "It is from Sinaloa, in the northwest, on the coast," he explained, handing Spike the necklace. "It is the same stone as in the Talavera wall sculpture, along with moonstone," the man pointed out, nodding to the colorful eclipse piece Spike had been looking at before.

Spike turned it over in his hand, once again watching the light flicker over the gem, this time though, it wasn't blood that the sight conjured, but the sun. Fierce brilliance blazing against his palm. He lost himself in the play of the light for several long moments, watching it dance against his skin as he turned the stone this way, then that.

Memories he thought were long lost cascaded through his mind as he gazed at the warm, shimmering hues of the gem. He smiled as he recalled holidays spent at the seaside with his family when he'd been no more than a lad. The glittering sun had been a beacon which called him to the shore each morning before the crowds appeared. The sand and the surf were a marvel to be explored with breathless abandon for those few days each summer. That marvelous world bathed in sun had been his playground, its rays warming him after splashing in the chilly ocean. Thankfully, his parents were lenient and tolerant of his larks. They always listened with rapt attention when he recounted his adventures to them upon his return to the promenade, where they passed the time 'taking the air'. Those had been truly magical days, full of love and laughter, long before illness had claimed either of his parents.

He looked between the necklace of blood and the pendant of the sun, feeling that painful tearing sensation in his chest return from his nightmares. In one hand he held darkness, in the other radiance. In one hand, death; in the other, life. In one hand his future; in the other his past. In one hand his destiny, his dark princess; in the other his mortal enemy, the Slayer. They both seemed to be pulling at him, each with their talons sunk deep into his flesh, tugging mercilessly. And it was bloody exhausting!

"Argh," he groaned, closing his eyes and shaking off the vision of the sunstone laying against Buffy's tan skin, of her megawatt smile, of her fingers dancing over it appreciatively. 'Not buying the sodding Slayer jewelry, for fuck's sake! Done nothing but cause problems for you, she has! Nothing but stir trouble with Dru and give you bloody nightmares!'

"Sir?" the young man asked, confused.

Spike opened his eyes, setting the sunstone down and turning his attention to the blood droplets. "Right, what's the best price ya can do on this, then?"

** X-X-X-X-X **

If it wasn't so poncey, Spike would've been whistling as he returned to their room in the early morning hours. The blood-drop necklace was in a velvet box in his pocket, his belly was full of blood, and the promise of a long day spent making slow, sweet love to his princess lay ahead of him. They'd nap and cuddle, watch a little telly, make love again – a perfect, romantic day. Then, at nightfall, they'd pack their things and head south, head for Brazil, just like they'd planned all along.

There was nothing that could ruin this day. Nothing that could wipe the smile from his face. Nothing that could take the bounce from his step.

"Honey, I'm home," he called jovially as he opened the door to their room, knowing from the thrum in his borrowed blood that his sweet, dark plum was inside. "And I've got a treat for you."

Dru was curled up like a napping cat on the bed, her naked body blending in with the white sheets, only her dark hair, painted nails, and ruby lips giving away her presence. She unfurled like a flower, stretched languidly, unashamedly, and looked at Spike expectantly.

"A present for mummy?" she purred, her blue eyes filled with avarice as she sat up, graceful and sinuous.

Spike's smile was lecherous, his eyes roaming over his wicked princess like a physical caress. He pointedly adjusted the sudden bulge in his jeans, curling his tongue against his teeth. "Got lots of presents for my princess," he promised in a deep, rich rumble.

He stalked forward slowly, pulling the velvet box from his duster pocket. He held it out to her on the flat of one palm, opening it slowly with the other hand.

Dru's girlish shriek of happiness was everything he'd ever hoped for. Her pure joy was the thing that fueled him, that warmed him, that soothed his every ache, made him forget every past wrong and crave an eternity in her arms.

She reached out and lifted the necklace from the case, tittering with happiness. The blood-red teardrops tinkled against each other as she did, glimmering in the lamplight. "Oh, my Spike. It's beautiful. It sings such sweet songs… like bleeding roses and tears drowning in the ocean."

"You like it, pet?" he asked, her joy suffusing him, making his heart practically beat with love for her.

"It's wonderful… like candy floss for the sprites and spirits, it is," Dru assured him, turning around and holding her hair up for him to put it on her.

Spike took it from her hand and slipped the delicate chain around her regal neck, hooking it in place with ease. "Let's have a look at the birthday girl, then," he suggested as she turned around, her fingers caressing each of the shimmering drops of red that seemed to paint her pale skin in blood.

"Silly Spike, your princess' birthday comes as the new moon waxes to crescent slivers," she reminded him.

"Just couldn't wait, pet. Had to see you in it," he admitted, caressing her cheek lightly with his fingertips.

"Does it suit me?" she asked coquettishly.

"Perfect, my sweets. Just like you," Spike assured her, leaning in to touch a gentle kiss to her lips.

Dru wrapped one hand around his neck, returning the kiss with increasing fervor, making Spike's jeans increasingly uncomfortable. Spike pulled back from her grip, shrugging his duster from his shoulders and tossing it over a chair. As she watched with that same unbridled glee, he stripped off his overshirt, then his t-shirt, his sire's blue eyes drinking in each new swath of skin he revealed. When he shucked out of his boots and jeans, her wide, eager eyes devoured him greedily.

She reached a hand out in invitation and he took it, letting her pull him onto the bed. Their kisses were soft but deep, their touches reverent and loving. She pressed him down, taking the lead, the glittering necklace swaying above him, droplets of ruby-red fire just on the verge of falling. As he lay beneath her, Dru worshiped him with her lips and hands, not neglecting any part of his chiseled body. He watched her from beneath hooded lids, drinking in the pleasure she was pouring over him. Spike let her make love to him, relishing the sweet gentleness of her caresses, the way she whispered secrets into his skin, the way her long hair tickled his flesh. Then she settled atop him, taking him inside, and they were lifting each other to heaven, beyond the reach of any earthly worries, aches, or bonds.

It was gentle and slow. A rare treat. She was drowning him in passion and affection… dare he even think… love? "Dru… pet," he breathed as they neared climax as one, his eyes fluttering closed against the building rapture inside. His heart swelled with undying devotion for this woman who had been his everything for so long, the woman who had plucked him from insipid mediocrity and turned him into something fierce and powerful.

Dru's body stiffened, bliss rolling over her like a tidal wave as she screamed in a combination of pleasure and pain, her body convulsing wildly above him.

Fire seared through Spike's chest and belly a moment later. His eyes flashed open, a bellow of agony and shock joining Dru's scream. He bucked and rolled from beneath her, trying to get away from the blaze that suffused his torso. The scent of burned flesh filled the room, smoke rising from scorched skin, as he fell off the bed and crashed onto the floor.

Spike lurched to his feet in game-face, looking for an attacker, but all he saw was Dru, knocked to her back on the bed, seemingly lost in a rolling tide of sheer ecstasy. Her skin, from just beneath the necklace to the top of her thighs, was burnt, mottled in red and black, and still smoldering. In her hand was an empty bottle of holy water.

"Bloody hell," he growled, stomping toward the bathroom. "What the bloody fuck're you playin' at?!" He hurriedly saturated a towel with cool water and returned to her with it, dropping it over her burned skin, diluting the holy water and suffocating the rising smoke.

She moaned contentedly and her eyelids fluttered open, looking up at him. "My deadly boy… always makes his mummy hurt so deliciously."

Spike clenched his jaw, looking down at his own blackened skin, then back to her euphoric face. He shook his head, running a hand back through his disheveled hair. He should've known better – known the gentle lovemaking was nothing more than a farce, a game; nothing more than a lead-in to the pain. That rising tide of adoration and love inside him was suddenly tinged with disappointment and sorrow. The smile that he was sure could not be tamed, was gone, completely forgotten. He should've known by now… shouldn't have let her fool him, but he'd needed a gentle touch so badly after their last violent joining in the alley. Couldn't she, just once, let him have that?

He sighed, knowing all too well that she couldn't. No matter how he tried to show her, to coax her, to play by her rules in hopes of her giving him something in return that he needed, she just couldn't.

"Fuck's sake, Dru… could give a bloke a bit o' warning," he grumbled, finally shaking off his demon and turning for the bathroom to rinse off his own smoldering flesh. "Could'a burned my fuckin' knackers off!"

"But surprises 'neath the tree make all the children merry and bright," she giggled, closing her eyes, a satisfied smile curling her lips.

Spike stopped and turned back toward her, a heavy sigh falling from his lips as he looked down at his smoldering stomach. She seemed utterly delighted, floating dreamily in the blissful pain she'd added to the pleasure. Pain that she craved. Pain it seemed that she needed to be satisfied. He shook his head morosely and headed for the bathroom again, leaving her to drift happily in the ether with the sprites and spirits.

In the shower, Spike immersed himself in the clear, warm spray, letting it rinse away the remnants of the burning holy water, wishing it could wash away the burning hurt and frustration inside, as well. He braced his hands against the broken tiles beneath the showerhead, shaking his head dejectedly, his eyes closed, his shoulders slumped.

Except for those times when she pushed him over the edge, infuriated his demon so thoroughly that he completely lost control, nothing Spike did was ever quite good enough for Dru. Never as good as 'daddy'. No matter how hard he tried, how much he gave, how monstrous he was, he was always in the shadow of the great git.

He remembered last Valentine's Day, the lovely necklace he'd managed to get her — no small feat from his wheelchair — had been completely overshadowed by the gift from Angelus. Angelus – who wouldn't have even known it was sodding Valentine's Day if he hadn't heard Spike going over what he needed with some nearly-useless minions. It had taken several nights, the daft fledges coming back with utter rubbish, before one finally stumbled on that beautiful bauble.

But none of that was appreciated for more than a few seconds in light of the warm heart – clearly a hurried, last-minute gift – from her precious 'daddy'. Her 'daddy' who always took such pleasure in hurting her, who had abandoned her without a glance back, whose arms she fell right back into when he returned, as cruel and uncaring as ever.

Why couldn't she just give Spike what he needed now and then? Why couldn't they just once have sex without pain, without violence, without bitter anger fueling it? Why couldn't they make love instead of shagging like bloody demons?

"Arrrghh!" he growled suddenly, slamming his fist against the already cracked and crumbling wall. "Cos you are a sodding demon! Stop being a whiny little Nancy-boy!" It wasn't like Spike didn't enjoy the cruder, more loutish points the life of a vampire offered. He relished a good kill as well as the next monster. He craved a proper spot of violence – a good fists and fangs brawl – just as much as any vampire. He relished the sting of the lash against pale skin or the tug of restraints just like any demon… and a fair number of non-demons.

So why did he feel so empty?

'Not monster enough.' The thought couldn't be banished. It just kept rearing its ugly head, over and over. No matter how hard he tried to be her perfect monster, to make her truly love him, it was never enough.

Buffy's eyes looked back at him from behind his closed lids, this time understanding and concerned. Her too-perceptive question from that road trip ringing in his ears, 'Do you ever get tired of being the one that does all the giving?'

Spike's throat constricted with grief and sorrow, a sob shaking his stooped shoulders. "Yes," he whispered into the warm spray. "Yes."

** X-X-X-X-X **

Dru was off with the fairies when Spike finally emerged from the bathroom, her mind lost between dream and fantasy. He sighed, too many emotions converging inside him to properly sort out. It was like a battlefield with Mongol hordes, Panzer tanks, and the Khmer Rouge all clashing in one confused and chaotic melee while rumbling aircraft dropped Napalm atop it all. Even if his jumbled feelings could be untangled, he was just too tired to try.

He pulled the soaking towel off Dru, tossing it in the general direction of the bathroom, then tried to find a relatively dry place to lay down on the bed to get some kip. Dru hummed and murmured to things he couldn't see, never once noticing anything amiss as she ran her fingers over the blood-red necklace around her neck. Spike turned his back to her and closed his eyes as the incendiary bombs fell on the struggle inside, devastating his heart with their orange flames and thick, black smoke.

He finally fell asleep as the war raged, battle lines blurred, and defenses crumbled.

** X-X-X-X-X **

Night had fallen. The car was packed. Brazil awaited them. It was what Dru wanted – where she'd wanted to go all along. It was the only thing Spike could think to do – what he'd always done: follow Dru as she followed the pixies. It was his destiny, after all.

Spike was ready to go. The only problem was, Dru had slipped away while he'd been loading their bags into the car. He could've tracked her down, of course, but he wasn't sure he really wanted to know where she was or what, or who, she was doing. So, instead, he'd settled himself in the bar across the street for a pint… or two, or three, and waited.

He felt her return before the end of the Man U vs. Aberdeen football match that was playing on the telly over the bar. Man U was up 1-0, not a particularly comfortable margin. Spike watched a bit longer, finishing his pint, and really wished he hadn't. In the 64th-minute, Beckham signaled to the bench that his game was up – a groin injury – and not two minutes later Aberdeen leveled it at 1-1.

"Bloody ponce," he cursed Beckham before tipping the rest of the cerveza into his mouth. He stood up, dropped some bills on the bar, and headed back across the street to retrieve Dru and get on the road.

If he'd been paying attention instead of thinking about Beckham and whether the bloody poofter would be able to play in Sunday's FA Cup meeting with Liverpool, he would've known Dru wasn't alone in the room – but he wasn't and so he didn't, not until he stepped inside and his eyes landed on her.

"I've brought a tasty treat for my deadly boy," Drusilla cooed from the bed, her clothes having been shed, scattered haphazardly on the floor. The only thing adorning her lithe body was the blood-drop necklace.

Spike stopped short, the door clicking closed at his back, and stared at the 'treat' Dru was holding, unable to speak, unable to move. Dru held a girl in her arms, the child's back to the vampire's front as they both sat on the bed. The youngster, wearing a frilly, pink sundress, was held tight between 'mummy's spread legs. One of the vampiress' arms was wrapped around the girl's torso, pinning her small arms to her sides. Dru's sallow skin was a sharp contrast to the rich caramel of her captive, which was flushed and damp with fear. There was a gag in the child's mouth, keeping her from screaming, though it didn't stop her whimpers. The pre-pubescent girl had a pink ribbon holding up what remained of a ponytail, though most of her dark hair had come free and hung in tangled waves around her shoulders. She had only one shoe, the other apparently lost trying to get away from the vampire. The girl couldn't have been more than twelve, no part of her yet blossomed into womanhood.

"Isn't she scrumptious? We shall be a family… mummy and daddy and baby makes three," Dru trilled as one hand caressed the child's bare thigh just below the short hem of the dress.

Spike gawped at her, frozen in place by the scene. The youngster's red-rimmed eyes turned to him, boring through him like laser beams. Terrified. Shimmering. Green. The night in the alley came flooding back to him, along with every raw, painful emotion which was inexorably joined to it. 'My baby sister, Jillie – she's only twelve.'

He blinked. Blinked again. Not green. Brown. Brown eyes. Alive. Trembling. Crying.

"We'll make her ours, my Spike… forever and ever," Drusilla purred, running her tongue up the girl's heated cheek, tasting the salty tears. "She tastes of the sea, deep and wild, and cries so beautifully – a mermaid washed up on the waves just for us. She'll bleed so prettily… from the inside, like I bled for you, and we'll be a family."

Spike swallowed, the sound deafening in his own ears. Everything seemed suddenly too loud. The girl's heart fluttered like a frightened bird. He could hear the springs of the bed squeaking in time with her trembling. He thought he could even hear Dru's fingers as they slid slowly over the child's bare leg.

"Th—" he started, but had to swallow again before he could rasp, "That wasn't me, pet… that bled you like that. Wasn't me."

Dru gave him an indulgent smile. "All daddies must see to their daughters, my Spike... make them bleed so beautifully. Make them shriek in blissful agony and love with dead hearts."

Spike shook his head, his heart twisting in pain. "Not all, Dru. Some can love without… without blood … without screams."

"LIES!" she bellowed at him furiously, making the girl cringe and squeak from behind the gag. Dru's arm tightened on the child dangerously, threatening to crush her, while the vampire's deadly nails dug into the flesh of her thigh, drawing blood.

Spike held up his hands in supplication. "Okay, pet… you're right, o' course," he cajoled, stepping closer to the bed as if approaching a ravenous Velociraptor. "Let's have a look, then, eh? What sweet treat have you brought daddy?"

Dru pulled her hand away from the girl's leg, lifting a blood-soaked finger to her childe, offering it to him. Ruby-red droplets rolled down smooth, olive-toned flesh from five half-moon punctures, reminding Spike of the necklace his sire still wore. "Have a taste, my Spike… she's ever so ripe, ready to pluck, like perfect pomegranates in the chill of autumn."

Spike pulled her finger between his lips, his stomach writhing in disgust. It tasted of innocence, and of fear, terror, horror. It should've been an aphrodisiac; it would've been for Angelus. It wasn't for him. It never had been. Not monster enough.

"Delicious." Spike forced the word out through his tight throat as Dru withdrew her finger from between his lips. "Let's have a proper taste, then," he suggested, the beer he'd drunk bubbling and burning at the back of his throat, threatening to return. He swallowed again, forcing it back, trying to think, his mind racing. He could feel accusing green eyes boring into his back, could feel Buffy's disapproving gaze on him, feel her revulsion, her anger, her contempt; he could feel true hatred raging in her chest. 'I hate you,' echoed in his mind, the words not said lightly or half in jest, but harshly, bitterly.

And it wasn't just her revulsion and contempt he felt – it was his own. Not monster enough.

With the utmost care, Spike reached down and tugged the girl by her feet, pulling her down the bed toward him and out of Dru's grasp as she sobbed and quaked in terror.

"You must make her scream and cry tears like raindrops, my Spike. She shall fly through heaven 'fore hell can 'ave her," Dru advised, watching with undisguised, gleeful anticipation.

"Always make you scream, don't I, luv?" he asked, giving Dru what he hoped was a heated leer.

"Oh, yes…" she breathed, closing her eyes and running her nails down her bare body. She shuddered in pleasure as she opened barely-healed burns on her breasts and stomach. Droplets of blood oozed from the wounds, matching the shimmering necklace she wore in a macabre tableau of life imitating art.

As soon as Dru's eyes closed and she seemed distracted, Spike snatched the girl up, cradling her against his chest. Dru's eyes flashed open, alert to the change in his demeanor or perhaps warned by the pixies. She shrieked in outrage, lunging for him and the child, but she was a split-second too late. She tumbled off the end of the bed as Spike sprinted the few steps to the door.

"¡Vete! ¡Corras!" he shouted at the girl, yanking the door open and depositing her outside in the hallway. "¡Vete la mierda!" he yelled one more time, shoving her away, before slamming the door closed between them.

He hadn't yet turned around when Dru crashed into his back, growling and screaming her ire, clawing at his neck and head. Spike's face slammed into the metal door, his nose taking the brunt of the impact. Blood gushed and splattered the wall like a monochromatic Jackson Pollock canvas – an abstract in red and white. He growled, his demon rising, and struck back with an elbow, catching his sire in the ribs, then jerked his head backwards, trying to return the favor and flatten her nose. The elbow dislodged her enough that his headbutt was futile, but he grabbed her hands, her nails still raking at his skin. Twisting around with preternatural speed and agility, he managed to yank her completely free of his back.

"DRU! STOP!" Spike demanded, as he tossed his sire back onto the bed, but she just hit and bounced up again, driven by rage, and launched herself at him, screaming incoherently. Spike grabbed her shoulders and shoved her back again, once more imploring her to, "STOP! I don't want to hurt you!"

"Too soft to hurt me!" she sneered at him, standing back up but not attacking. "I'm the mummy! We play my games! My rules! Not Willie's!"

"Cos your games are so bloody brilliant?!" he bellowed back at her, his chest heaving with unneeded breath. Blood spewed from his nose and dribbled from scratches and gouges she'd left on his head and neck. He paid none of it any mind as he began pacing in a tight circuit, keeping between her and the door, lest she go after the child.

"Like jolly gnomes dancing around tiny elephants at the circus, they are!" she declared. "Frolicsome and merry!"

"Merry, is it?" he repeated sarcastically, his frenetic pacing not slowing as he ranged further from the door with each circuit. "Like screwing the sodding rainbow in the alley, and havin' half the policia in the city after us? Like helping Angelus end the world with his big rock? In case you hadn't noticed, we're in the bloody world, Dru!" Spike pointed out, swinging his arms out to encompass the world at large. "Did that little fact ever even occur to your daft pixies and jolly gnomes? Oh! Excuse me! You don't believe in sodding facts, do you?" he snarled, turning his exasperated, furious glare on her. "Enjoyed Prague, did you? Like Vienna before that? Like Petersburg? Like Budapest!? Was all that fun for you? Runnin' for our lives? Gettin' beaten half to death?"

"I'm the mummy!" she contended again, stomping her bare heel down like a petulant child, her yellow eyes flashing with fury.

"You're bloody insane, is what you are!" Spike shot back contemptuously, coming to a stop and jabbing an accusing finger at her. "Mad as a hatter and twice as bent! Always off plundering with the fucking fairies, leaving ol' Spike to clean up the mess, pull your ass out of the fire! I'm bloody tired of it, Dru!"

"You used to be a good doggie! Ripping and rending, making beautiful death draped in streamers and dripping rubies."

"The sodding world is changing, woman! Wake the fuck up!" Spike insisted. "Where'd ya get that girl, eh? From the square? In front o' the church? Not a street urchin – someone's gonna come lookin' for her!" he pointed out. "And just what do ya reckon will happen when they find her here? The locals don't have pitchforks anymore, you dozy bint! They have big sodding guns that'll put big sodding holes in us! They have helicopters and SWAT vans and the bloody six o'clock news!"

"Piffle!"

Spike blinked. "Piffle? Piffle?!" he repeated incredulously, finally wiping his blood-stained mouth and nose with the back of his hand.

"It's not the world that changes – it's you!" Dru accused. "You won't kill the sunshine like you promised! Surrounded by Slayers, you are. One on your face, one on your back," she continued, waving a hand at Spike's scarred brow and the duster he wore. "And one squirming in your breast, carving out your lion's heart."

Spike clenched his jaw in frustration, his eyes closing, hands curling into fists at his sides. It always came back to the sodding Slayer. He wished he'd never even heard of fucking Sunnydale, never laid eyes on that blond bint, and most assuredly had never crossed paths with Angelus again.

"Forget the bloody Slayer, Dru," he ground out, opening his eyes and looking at her, his demon receding, his blue eyes boring into her saffron ones. He took a step closer to her, laying a hand over his unbeating heart. "My heart isn't in here, pet," he said softly, coming within reach of his sire, his palm pressed to his blood-soaked shirt. "My heart's here, next to yours," he vowed, reaching out and laying his bloody hand over her unbeating heart.

Dru let her demon fade, as well, her blue eyes big, her expression softening, almost childlike. "I have a secret," she whispered, leaning in near Spike.

"What's that, kitten?" he asked, just as quietly.

"Mine's not there," she revealed, placing her hand over his on her chest. "Daddy has it in a gilded box, keeps it 'neath his pillow, he does, next to his."

Spike stared for several long moments, his expression twisting first with pure confusion, then with pained understanding, and finally with heartbroken rage.

Fucking daddy! That bloody fucking wanker Angelus! He's all she ever wanted, where her heart lived, where it would always live. And in a moment of clarity, he realized that it's what she'd always wanted him to be. Bringing that child here and expecting him to take her, to break her, to turn her – it was just the latest in his sire's ongoing effort to turn him into a proper monster. Turn him into Angelus.

Joyce's words to him rang like a klaxon in Spike's mind, his entire body trembling with the reverberations of it, 'That sounds like a very lonely way to spend eternity, trying to be what you aren't.'

Thermal rage detonated in Spike's chest and exploded like an atom bomb. He felt something inside him split and crack. His world was being savagely ripped apart. Giant, dark chasms formed where once there had been reverence, love, and adoration, threatening to swallow him from the inside out. After everything he'd done, everything he'd ever sacrificed for her, every pretty girl in pretty dresses he'd brought her, every opera he'd sat through, every mob he'd fought off, every indignity he'd endured, every human and demon she'd ever fucked right in front of him… after everything, he'd never had any chance of winning her heart. She'd never love him, no matter how much of a monster he became.

He roared as it all crashed over him. Anger, frustration, and heartache warred for dominance, leaving him reeling, trembling with fury and despair. He pounded the palm of his hand against his forehead, trying to get it all to stop, for the chaos to settle, for some sanity to return.

Nothing settled, sanity had vanished, all that remained was mayhem and turmoil.

Spike narrowed his eyes and looked back at her, his blue eyes flashing with feral fury. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his chest heaved with unneeded breaths, and the battle within him turned outward. As she opened her mouth to say something else, his hands shot out and grabbed her thin arms in a bruising grip, leaving his bloody handprints on her skin.

Dru squeaked in surprise and pain as he yanked her bare body against his bloodied shirt. He held her there for what felt like an eternity, his chest rising and falling with unneeded breath as his wrath galvanized into sharp shards of ice.

"Dru, luv?" he rasped against her ear, his voice unnervingly calm.

"Yes, my Spike?"

"Have daddy and his sodding gilded box kill the Slayer for you," he rumbled in an even, smooth baritone that was a cold as glacial ice. "I'm fucking done."

The words hadn't even registered yet when he tossed her back onto the bed again. She tumbled ass over teakettle, bouncing off the bed, onto the floor, and came to rest against the wall on the other side with a dull thud. Before she'd even come to a full stop, Spike spun on his heel and had the door to the room open.

"It's still my turn!" Dru shrieked, picking up the child's shoe that had been missing and flinging it at him.

It hit Spike in the back of the head, and he paused to look back at her. "No, pet, it's my bloody turn!" he shot back with a growl, before disappearing. The heavy metal door rattled the entire wall as he slammed it closed on his sire – his eternal love, his world.

** X-X-X-X-X **

Spike threw himself behind the wheel of the DeSoto, his hands gripping it nearly to the point of crushing the ancient relic. He shook the steering wheel and pounded a fist against it, growling and cursing. Then he suddenly flung the door open, kicking it with a booted foot when it swung back on him, and jumped out again. He slammed the door with a resounding, "FUCK!" and began pacing back and forth next to the car, not sure what to do now. His world had been turned inside out and upside down. His blood was boiling in his veins and freezing in his heart, and the steam rising from where the two met was fogging his mind with a bone-deep ache of confusion.

All his kit was in the car, ready to go. All he had to do was get in and drive. Leave. Never look back. Could do whatever the fuck he wanted. No one to stop him. No one to whine and pout about it. Leave the dozy bint to her own devices – see how well that worked out for her!

He stopped and looked around, listening for sirens or other signs that the girl he'd set free had summoned the authorities. He should've just killed her; would've been the smart thing – the safe and prudent thing. But it wasn't what had come to mind in that moment – saving her had. Those bloody green eyes!

He pulled at his hair in frustration. What the fuck was wrong with him?

"That sodding Slayer," he muttered, beginning his pacing again. Maybe he should just go back to Sunnydale and kill Summers good and proper this time. Get everything back to normal, that would. Close those green eyes for good, stop them boring into his muddled brain. Stop Dru prattling on about the bleeding sunshine.

Suddenly tears stung his eyes. Dru. His destiny. His eternal love. Dru's heart wasn't his. Never had been. He'd known that, of course, deep down, but she'd never said it before – not so plainly. Never before admitted that her heart wasn't his to hold, that he could never win it, no matter what he did. Over a century of protecting her, catering to her every whim, rescuing her, healing her, pouring his love over her and… her heart was never there. Never with him.

"Bloody fucking bitch!" he growled, slamming his fist down on the trunk of the car parked next to the DeSoto and denting it with a squeal of metal. "It's not sodding fair!" he exclaimed, regretting it immediately, as the girl from the alley – Lisa with the dead green eyes – appeared in his mind, crying and accusing… 'It's not fair!'

Spike threw his head back and howled to the night, stirring every dog for miles to join him, their barks echoing through the streets.

"Sod it!" he snarled. Opening the trunk of the DeSoto and grabbing Dru's bag, he stalked back to their room. Spike opened the door with his key to find Dru still sitting on the floor where she'd landed after he'd thrown her. She wore only the necklace he'd gotten her, which still shimmered like blood against her skin.

She looked so small, so vulnerable there, with her big blue eyes staring up at him from across the room. His first instinct was to go to her, to fall to his knees and hold her as he begged forgiveness, but he clenched his jaw against those urges, feeling the tears he'd been fighting start to leak from his eyes. He didn't try to hide them or wipe them away – he was beyond caring what she saw now. They slipped down his cheeks, washing trails in the blood, and falling in watery red splatters on the tile.

He tossed her bag on the floor inside the door, then dug into his pockets and pulled out all the dosh he had left, and dropped it, too. Finally, he held his key up and let it fall from his fingers, landing with the money atop her bag.

It felt so wrong for it to end this way. Going out with a whimper rather than a bang. He and Dru were eternal. They were nothing if not passionate, fiery, and tempestuous. Creatures of the night, wild, untamed, and fierce. There should be fireworks. There should be buildings pounded into rubble. There should be angels littering the ground, their wings charred, white robes stained red. There should be shrieks of burning pixies filling the air. Stars should be falling from the sky, the sun should be nothing more than embers, and the moon should weep tears of blood.

There was none of that. There were blue eyes – his shimmering with heartache, hers swimming with confusion. The silence was deafening.

"My turn," he whispered, barely able to get the words out, before backing out the door.

It closed with what felt like a world-ending 'click'. He placed his palm flat against the cool metal and bowed his head, his tears falling unchecked. "It's not fair," he murmured before sniffing, squaring his shoulders, gathering his courage, and walking away.

The End.


End Notes:

The end? What do you mean THE END? There are too many dangling plots! That's not THE END!

Okay, you're right, it's not the end of the series, but the end of this part of the story. The saga will continue with the next episode called, 'My Turn', which is complete at 38 chapters. I will begin posting it tomorrow (Sunday). The next story will deal primarily with Cruciamentum, the lead-up to it and the aftermath, and, of course, Spike figuring out what he wants to do now that he's declared it 'his turn.'

Also, yes, Buffy and Dru do share a birthday. Both are born, according to Wiki, on January 19th. The party Dru was planning in 'Surprise' was actually her birthday party.

Thank you sooo much for reading! I love and appreciate you all much more than I can say! I was really worried that people wouldn't like this story because of Spike and Buffy literally being in different countries the entire time. I'm so pleased that you've all enjoyed taking this ride with me! After discussing it with Holi117 A LOT, we decided no one would believe Spike would leave Dru if they didn't see what he'd been through. Thank you for all the love you've shown this episode! I promise Spike and Buffy will meet again soon!