Spike watched in silence as Drusilla set up her tea party. They were in one of the uppermost rooms of the factory, a room that she had insisted be furnished much as an old Victorian drawing room would be. He'd managed a satisfactory job and was now slouched low in one of two wing-backed chairs set next to an old wood-stove, ensconced in the warm glow that it cast. His dark princess was kneeling at his feet in front of a lace-upholstered love-seat, placing delicate china cups and saucers on the low round table before her, arranging and rearranging them just so while humming a haunting tune. A fine spread to be sure, tea and cakes fit for royalty and all in her mind, but his own was more pressed than his easy posture suggested.
Truth be told, he was feeling a bit frenzied with all the thoughts running through his head. His instincts were telling him to go, to pack up the Desoto and move, get the hell out of hell before it swallowed them alive. But curiosity… it had caught hold of him well and good and wasn't letting go. A vampire Slayer. Jesus, what that would mean to the world, what that could mean for him, the Slayer of Slayers…
"You're thinking of the sunshine again," Dru said in a honeyed tone, pulling him from his musings.
"Not hardly luv." The words rumbled low and slow out of his chest, lazily, but he knew he couldn't fool his girl that way. Reaching down, he swept Drusilla up into his lap, burying his face in the hollow of her neck and nipping at her skin, making her giggle.
"Naughty boy," she chastised sweetly, clutching at the sides of his duster. "The sunshine smiles for you."
Spike pulled back, looking at her with a quirked eyebrow. Normally he was able to suss out her ramblings, but tonight, all the talk of sun and flame, strangers to come, none of it meant anything to him. Dru pulled away from him though he made a halfhearted attempt to hold her, ghosting around the furniture and into the emptiness on the other side of the room, trailing her hand delicately through the shadows that tickled over the walls.
"Smiles for my Spike," she repeated, sadness leaching into her voice. "But there's been an eclipse, and the sunshine must fight the shadows now."
Spike's eyes narrowed. That felt familiar somehow, like he'd heard it somewhere before. Sun and shadow, sun and shadow…
"Buffy?" he whispered to himself.
Dru burst into laughter, clapping her hands together happily as she spun in quick, tight circles. "The sun and stars are fighting," she sing-songed. "Moon and shadow and sun and stars. A beautiful war. They burn with it." Slowing to a stop, she turned to face him with a deadly seriousness. "They'll be here soon," she smiled. "And then we shall have our party."
Buffy found herself strangely pleased that the streets were empty. A damp, warm wind was sweeping through town, curling through her hair and around her neck, and the sensation was like nothing she'd ever felt. Strolling along the sidewalk, her feet seemed to carry her along of their own volition, leaving her mind free to be idle, to enjoy the way her body felt, the way she experienced the night around her. She could feel strength in her limbs, could feel speed and power tingling in her fingers and her toes. A twenty minute walk found her on the outskirts of town in the industrial circuit, staring up at a broken down, abandoned factory. Yes – this would do nicely.
Strapping her duffel tightly to her back, she began to circle the building looking for quick and easy access. The two doors she found were bolted closed, but there was a broken window about three stories up that she could probably get to. Taking a running leap, she vaulted off a dumpster and just managed to catch the railing of the broken fire escape, pulling herself up easily onto the metal grating. Moving lightly up the steps, she slipped carefully through the window, hissing when she caught her palm on the edge of a glass shard.
Just inside the window with the moonlight streaming in at her back, she lapped at the long, thin laceration on her palm, the blood tingling on her tongue. When the cut began to seal itself before her eyes, she tilted her head from side to side, contemplating the smooth, unblemished skin. She'd healed quickly before, but this… this was… A gentle clink sounded on the floor above her and her head snapped up, eyes quickly searching out the back stairwell in the dark.
There was someone else here.
Reaching out with her heightened senses, she listened carefully, confused when she could hear no hearts thudding away quietly in the silence. But there was someone here. Two someones, shifting gently over her head. She could feel them. But there were no heartbeats, no gentle wooshing of blood through veins – they weren't human.
Buffy felt her fangs break through her gums, felt her forehead bulge and a low snarl rumble up out of her chest. Stalking forward on silent feet, she crossed the room and placed her foot on the first riser, taking a deep breath in an attempt to scent the creatures moving about over her head. There was just the barest trace of perfume in the stale, dusty air, something vaguely familiar about the smell. Had she known these creatures… before? Curious, cautious, Buffy ascended the stairs.
Spike was nervous, pacing back and forth across the length of the room as Drusilla ignored him entirely, too engulfed in setting her tea party just right. She kept shifting Miss Edith from one pillow to another, muttering to herself about which chair their guest would prefer, but he wasn't sure at all that it was tea the Slayer was coming for. Fledglings were unpredictable, driven by their thirst, but from what he knew of the Slayer and what he'd seen in the Bronze that night, he didn't think that she would be quite like the rest. She wasn't all vampire, that much he did know – her heart had been pounding as she'd danced, and demon or no, she was all Slayer.
And that was the catch wasn't it? The part that the Watcher's journals didn't tell, the part that history turned a blind eye to… Sure, the demon took up shop, but that wasn't where you ended. Spike looked around the factory that was falling apart around them, the gouges in the walls, the drag marks on the floor, the scatty piles of debris banked in the corners. Buildings didn't forget their previous owners when the lease changed hands.
A low squeak sounded and Spike whipped around to face the stairwell, his demon coming down harshly over his face. Someone was coming, the creaking of old metal sounding steadily under sure feet. Drusilla had perked up, her eyes sharp and focused, her body tensed on the floor near the wood-stove, but she stayed deathly still, giving him no hint as to their intruder. Slipping silently into the shadows near the wall, he crouched low, ready to strike. Slowly, a blonde head emerged from the floor below, followed by leather clad shoulders and slim legs encased in dark blue jeans. Spike breathed in the swirl of air that she stirred as she passed; blood and vanilla and something like sorrow – but undeniably a vampire. He was behind her and she'd yet to notice him, but she'd locked in on Dru and she hissed nastily through bared teeth. Not sparing a glance for his beloved, he leapt from the shadows and grabbed her by the wrist, slinging her around and slamming her into the wall. His hand was around her throat before she could scream, and it left her dangling from his grip a good six inches off the floor. Her golden eyes flashed with fury and a cracked, broken snarl made its way out of her throat, the pressure of his hand on her larynx almost stifling the sound of his own name.
Spike's eyes went wide. It was the Slayer.