Spike's flight across the Manesuv Bridge towards Prague Castle with the injured Drusilla in his arms were the some of the worst moments of his life. Only slightly less painful were the days and nights he had spent by her side since she was hurt; he had not even ventured out of the tunnels to feed. The only inducement for him to show himself above ground and risk exposing Dru's hiding place was to get a message out to the Thorza demon who provided aid, medical and mystical, to the local demon population.

The demon doctor examined Drusilla thoroughly but had eventually to admit that nothing in his previous experience had prepared him to deal with what he found. Vampires simply did not react this way to massive wounds; they either recovered immediately or died.

'You know, there's not a lot to work with here,' he remarked to a less than impressed Spike. 'As a doctor I mean.' When the Thorza first saw the vampire woman lying there battered and bloodied he had been sure that she was dead already; it was not until she began to moan and move feebly under his not so tender ministrations that he considered seriously that he might actually have a job to do here. 'No heartbeat, no breathing, no blood pressure to speak of. No vital signs at all really,' he continued, wiping his mottled blue hands on a scrap of towel, leaving it sticky with his patient's viscid blood. 'Tends to make diagnosis a bit tricky.'

Spike gritted his teeth and swallowed an impulsive retort, asking in as reasonable a tone as he could manage, 'So – doctor – what do you think? Will she recover?'

The silver stake that Spike described to him had been forged magically, the Thorza suspected - he had heard of such things before - tempered in the blood of innocents and probably plunged into holy water to cool. What lingering effects that might have on the victim he had no idea, but the way the leather clad vampire was looking at him he was not inclined to voice that conclusion.

'Oh, I expect the brain will heal itself eventually but the damaged synapses may not reform in exactly the same sequences and of course memory itself cannot be restored – well, not physically anyway.'

And so it had proved. In time the grisly wound had healed and Dru regained consciousness. Within a few weeks she was well enough for Spike to leave her for short periods so that he could feed and bring back a little something for her too. Mostly though, he just let her feed from him.

On good days Dru was lucid, could sit up and smile, asking Spike to tell her over and over about his exploits when they were apart, even demanding, with no regard for his safety, that he retrieve her lost dolls from the old church. But she was still very weak and tired quickly. On her worst days she was feverish and raving. Spike, who had had little enough sympathy for the suffering of others when he was alive, bore it all with infinite and loving patience. In fact, he felt that her convalescence had brought them closer than ever before. His darling Dru needed him now, really depended on him, and he would not fail her.

Today was one of her worse days. Spike stretched out his legs, leaning back against the chill curved earth of the tunnel walls, Dru's head in his lap, his cool hand soothing her flushed cheeks. 'I'm going to see my daddy again soon,' she muttered. 'My daddy still loves me.' Spike knew there had been some unpleasantness between Dru and her father while he lived, something so hurtful that not even the vampire Drusilla would talk about it. But she had definitely done something about it. Dru's first kill was her entire family. 'And if he doesn't love me any more, I shall kill him dead!' Spike shushed her gently. 'It's alright, luv. Don't fret. Your daddy's already dead, remember? You killed him yourself, pet, long ago.'

I play at being William for you, he thought, writing my poetry still. It's all a game to you but not to me. We've parted over the years, many times, but always we seek each other out. He brushed his lips across her dark hair. Even though I know you created me out of peevishness, not out of desire. Angry that Angelus's passion for you was waning, your response was to try to fire his jealousy, hoping to regain his attentions, if not his affections. Yet I have always worshipped you, sweet Dru. With all your visions, I don't think you ever really understood. I think it's strange you never knew. You are my wife, mother, lover, goddess and I no more will part from you, my love.

[London's East End 1930.]

A shadow fell across the stoop, darker than the evening air that framed its maker. The little girl, her dress torn and dirty, left off chattering and playing with her doll to stare up at the man and lady who had interrupted their twilight stroll to stand smiling at her and her seven year old brother.

The lady, all shadows herself in black dress and fur-trimmed coat, her dark hair caught up under a masculine-style hat worn at a jaunty angle, leaned down to smooth the little girl's untidy blonde hair with an elegant hand. 'My, what a pretty little dolly!'

Something in the woman's tone, or perhaps in her crimson smile, made the boy tremble. He grasped his baby sister's hand ready to lead her back into the house and away from the too-intense scrutiny of those blue-grey eyes.

'Where are your parents, son?'

The boy jumped as the man spoke, wanting nothing more than to scuttle away from the chic pair, crawl into the safety of his bed and pull the covers tightly over his head until they were long gone. But his sister, her four year old imagination beguiled by the beautiful strangers, had already answered.

'Mummy and Papa are at work,' she piped up, sweeping meaningless patterns in the dust with her grubby bare feet.

'Oh, the poor little mites!' Dru crooned, looking at Spike with concern and hunger mixed in not quite equal proportions. 'It just isn't right, is it my love, that they should be left out here all by themselves.' She turned her attentions to the boy, adjusting his too-large jacket and patting his blanching cheek. 'Who knows what terrible things might happen to two such little ones, all alone in the world?'

'We're not all alone!' the boy burst out. 'Our parents will be home any minute!'

A slow smile spread over the brown-haired man's lips, not thawing the ice in his sharp blue eyes one bit. 'Found your voice at last, have you lad?' He turned to the woman. 'He's right though, pet. We must be getting along.'

Dru, barely listening, already creating a fantasy world in which one of the children would soon play a starring role, spoke again to the little girl. 'What's your doll's name, sweetheart?'

'Dolly,' the child replied ingenuously.

Spike grunted and mumbled under his breath. 'Very bloody original!'

The girl's brother looked daggers at the couple. 'It doesn't matter!' he cried angrily. 'She only has the one!'

Spike let out a genuine chuckle this time. Lord, but the tyke had bottle! 'Come on now, luv. Choose and let's be on our way.'

'Oh, I just don't know!' she exclaimed, cooing over each child in turn. 'They're both so sweet!' She pouted prettily, not sure which to take. Spike's patience was wearing thin and he noticed one or two curtains twitching in the front windows of neighbouring houses.

'Bloody hell, Dru,' he snapped, 'just pick one!'

As Drusilla snatched up the little girl and followed Spike's departing figure down the street, the child's brother started to cry and ran after them. As they reached the corner and turned into a narrow alleyway Spike turned back suddenly and caught the boy a sharp blow across the face, knocking him down amongst the wet newspapers and rotting vegetable scraps. He began to weep in earnest now. 'Sorry, kid,' Spike said, not unkindly. 'Believe me, you're better off.'

The boy watched the pair walk on. His baby sister, still clinging tightly to her doll with one dimpled hand, raised the other in a tiny wave to her brother.

With tears trailing through the grime on his hot cheeks, he called out after her, 'Don't worry, sis! I'll follow you! I promise!' But they were already gone and out of sight. 'Edith!' he sobbed. 'Edith!'

Dolly, you're a naughty girl,

All your hair is out of curl,
And you've torn your little shoe!

Oh, what must I do with you?
You shall only have dry bread,

Dolly you shall go to bed.

Do you hear, miss, what I say?

Are you going to obey?
That's what Mother says to me,

So I know it's right, you see.
For sometimes I am naughty, too,

Dolly, dear, as well as you.

Author's Notes: Again, this is a fic that was languishing among my many works in progress until just the right impetus came along! So once more, a big thanks to Dana!

Looking for some details on the Prague Incident, I came across Meltha's wonderful site 'The Mulberry Patch' . and her marvelous essay . on the possible causes and results of Dru's mysterious illness. Although I began this fic over a year ago, including the method of Dru's injury, Meltha's idea that the that the symptoms may have been caused by some form of progressive poisoning by holy water was something that I used here. There are lots of other interesting points in the essay that I would love to explore some other time including the possibility that Dru used her illness as an excuse to hunt down her long-missing daddy - Angelus.

Mazzy Star - Fade Into You

I want to hold the hand inside you
I want to take a breath that's true
I look to you and I see nothing
I look to you to see the truth
You live your life
You go in shadows
You'll come apart and you'll go black
Some kind of night into your darkness
Colours your eyes with what's not there.

Fade into you
Strange you never knew
Fade into you
I think it's strange you never knew

A stranger's light comes on slowly
A stranger's heart without a home
You put your hands into your head
And then smiles cover your heart

Fade into you
Strange you never knew
Fade into you

I think it's strange you never knew
I think it's strange you never knew