Buffy lets him drag her back to her room, mollified by the emptiness of the house, and only manages to untangle herself from him again just before sunset, despite his vigorous persuasions not to.
The shadows are long enough that he can make it back to his crypt without catching the last of the sinking sun's rays edging around some of the last pools of sunlight that shine through from gaps in the houses.
A hollow void fills his stomach. Like hunger but deeper. Like lust but more lonely.
God, not lovesick. Hell, you give that girl an inch and she always takes a mile.
You'll see her tonight try not to be so bleeding addicted.
He doesn't hold it against her, taking Xander and not himself. Enemies to lovers was all very well and good on the soap operas on TV, God knows he'd invested enough time in them, but the reality was far more complicated. He could get her to wear his ring, could persuade her to let him in just a bit more, could even wrangle those beautiful three little words from her lips, but it didn't change the past.
Seemed like it didn't change the present either.
He huffs, rubbing his chest to try and alleviate the tension lying over his heart. Give her time, mate. Her little drummer boy did a number on her too, girl can't be expected to chop and change without so much as a hitch.
You've been in this a lot longer than she has, you just don't want to admit it.
Even Dru knew it.
The photograph in the newspaper is bothering him.
Let it be nothing more than a coincidence. A doll is a natural thing for a bored kid to want to have on a long journey right?
Ok, maybe not now-a-days.
And probably not one that looked straight out of a toy chest from his own era. All porcelain features and black curly hair. Just the type Dru would've touted as being the spitting image of "their baby". The one they couldn't possibly ever have. How many times had he lost his temper at the damn thing? Screamed at her that it wasn't real. There's only so much grief a man can be expected to bear, surely? But God how heartbroken she looked every time, like he'd dashed their real baby on the rocks as she held a cold china doll to her chest.
Like a nightmare he can smell her perfume, wild violets and smoke from burning buildings. The copper tang of blood underneath.
He stops in his tracks over the graveyard.
He's not imagining it. That's her scent for sure.
The door to his crypt is open just a crack, nothing but pitch past the threshold, but not empty either. An occupied, waiting silence.
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
He has half a mind to walk away, let the mad bitch fester in the dark until she gets bored and leaves. She's not the kind to get bored in that way though. She'd maybe trip out for a day or two on her own inner voices and then start hunting about in the graveyard. Obnoxiously, and almost certainly loudly. Never one for subtle.
Likely get herself staked.
There may not be any love lost between them now, now that he's finally untangled himself from her prettily manicured talons with blood in the nail beds. Even so, the thought of her blowing away on the wind as if never there at all tightens his throat.
His jaw pops, teeth grinding.
Buffy is away downtown poking about in a bloody crime scene. Keeping herself busy. Maybe he can persuade Dru to leave quietly. The very idea seems laughable but it's the only idea he's got.
He pushes the door open wider, catching the deeper notes of blood clearer now. The dusty smell of the train she traveled in on.
Something crunches softly under his boot and he lifts the sole. A dark crimson rose petal is pressed into the dust of his crypt. And another. And another, as if some heartsick little girl had been playing 'he-loves-me-not' on an entire bouquet.
At first glance they looked red, dark ruby petals shining wetly.
But half of one petal is a crushed white, dark creases where his boot stepped on it.
The red is blood.
Oh Dru... no-
A rustle in the deeper shadows of his crypt prickles his ears.
"Spike."
The cabin is empty of everything but police tape markers outlining body shapes and pooled bloodstains on the upholstery.
"Not much to go on." Xander mumbles, shining his flash light carefully away from the windows so as to attract as little attention as possible. "I mean we could go ahead and be generous and say a big fat pile of nothing to go on. Definitely a vampire you think?"
Buffy bites her lip. There was the telltale creepy feeling at the back of her neck but that wasn't exactly tried and true. A lot of blood spilled, a lot of blood wasted, but that wasn't a clear yes or no either.
Maybe I should've let Spike come.
A little flutter of guilt tickles her gut. Still pushing him away. He's really trying to be trustworthy and you're doing the not trusty thing of pushing him to the back of your closet practically.
There had been no trust, absolutely mega trustless history between them.
Not quite true.
She could trust him to do the selfish thing to further whatever crooked scheme he had cooking that day.
She could trust him to say just the right thing to twist a knife right into her gut.
Trusting him not to be a villainous asshole and to... to have her best interests at heart... that seemed impossible.
Shouldn't have jumped the gun. That was careless and careless is the exact last thing you should be around Spike. He can sniff out opportunities to mess with me a mile away...
Love declarations aside, and boy had she meant them in that eternal writhing moment, forethought had been completely absent. No more fighting it. That was so much easier said than done. Physically and emotionally.
What if this is just a game to him? What if this is just a big stupid messed up twisted Spike game and I've fallen straight in it because he's smart enough and manipulative enough to know just how to tip me over the edge?
What if he's knows I'd rebound and just positioned himself just right so he-
God, and now I'm on the other side of it just waiting for the other shoe to drop, and jeez when it does I bet it's gonna be the biggest shoe ever.
She takes a deep steadying breath, and immediately regrets it as every drop of blood and dust and train smell assaults her nasal passage but it clears her mind minutely.
He'd been fairly understanding about it all. Hadn't pushed for her to say it back even when it had inevitably tumbled out of her. No goading, or jeering. Not even any triumphant crowing which, admittedly, had been what she'd envisaged.
He'd been... easy. Kind even.
Not words she would associate with him in the slightest.
And that makes her feel worse.
Maybe I'm being paranoid. I mean I definitely have ample reason for paranoia-ness but-
"Buff? Earth to Buffy?" Xander chimes, squeezing her shoulder and bringing her back to herself with a lurch. "Whoa, hey! Didn't mean to scare ya!" He chuckles. "What were you thinking about? Could practically smell your hair cooking."
"Sorry Xan- I was..." She tucks one side of her hair behind her ear and then immediately untucks it, aware of the scratches from his teeth still decorating her skin. "I dunno sort of thinking that maybe Spike could get more out of this-" she gestures vaguely towards the empty carriage.
"What, by sucking the blood outta the cushions?" Xander snickers, casting a spotlight on one seat that's practically black.
"He could help?" She says but it sounds hesitant, not like herself at all.
"Well sure, for the right price, right? How deep does the Spike kitty go?"
His eyes shut in a grimace, insides turning to ice. Every little piece of warmth he'd stolen from Buffy evaporates in the chill of the crypt, cold air rolling in as he turns to face her.
Her dress is black, and sheer. Black lace on whitest skin. It used to make him harden in a second but the obvious attempt at seduction just makes him angry this time. She thought she could snap those french tipped nails in his direction and he'd come running all over again.
Patches of the dress look wet. Blacker than the rest of it in the crypts shadows. Blood in the fabric. Blood in her hair too. Tainting her lips.
They watch each other in the dark, two predators sizing each other up to see which instinct is going to flit across the other's face and start this whole dance twirling.
Spike grinds the petal underneath his boot pointedly.
"So you're back then." It's not a question, and the statement has a knife edge around it.
Dru nods, eyes flashing wetly in the dark. "Come back for you, sweet William." Her lilting cockney accent twangs around her words, always stronger when she's been feeding.
She holds out a rose. What's left of it. A couple of pathetic white petals spattered with blood clinging to the stem. "My dark prince. Come to save you." That stills his anger momentarily, he cocks his head. She wasn't usually the heroic type. In fact she'd usually be quite happy to watch him go up in flames if it provided a molecule of entertainment.
"Save me?" He asks with obvious disbelief, stepping back away from the rose, refusing to take it from her. He hasn't eaten in a while, and though there's animal blood from the butchers in his fridge, he won't open it in front of her. Couldn't bear the mockery of turning domesticated from her. But God the smell of the blood on the rose petals is climbing up into his brain and nestling there. Wrapping wet bloody fingers all around his synapses. Washing away his resolve in a dark red tide.
"From your hunger." She chuckles and there's a bubble in her laugh of drunk madness. Her pupils are so wide in the dark he could practically fall into them. "My poor monster, my poor William on a rope." She closes the distance, ice cold hands on his chest and he takes her by the wrists, holding her gently at bay. "They put shiny little trinkets in that head of yours, didn't they?"
She flexes her fingers to reach for his skull and loses the rose between the two of them, sticky red fingers tacky with blood. "Little bits and pieces, little gadgets getting in the way of your poetry, your genius."
Spike's cheek twitches. He knows it's just flattery. Has fallen for it all enough times before but it stings anyway. If it weren't for the taste of Buffy still dancing on his tongue her words would be hard to resist.
"I found them, you know?" She hisses, hands still reaching for him as he holds her off.
"The... the chip pieces?" He asks, trying to follow her through her mad maze of babbling. She shakes her head slowly, her head turning all the way to one side and all the way to the other like a demented owl, giant black eyes not leaving his.
"The boys in green. The little men with guns. Found where they were hiding out in the woods." She laughs and he has to lean back out of the way of the smell of blood rising off her. "They didn't see me but I saw them."
"More soldiers? The Initiative?" He realizes afterwards that she doesn't know them as such but it doesn't seem to matter, she nods enthusiastically.
Well, well. He thinks, trying to feel casual about it, but the thought that those meddling assholes were still prowling around is all the way out past concerning and has settled deep in goddamn distressing territory.
"We could burn them all. Couldn't we?" She whispers loudly. "We could drown in their blood together. Swallow every drop until that glittery little piece burns right out of your brain-"
"No-" The thought of getting the little chip out of his head is tempting. Not to hunt again, but God, if he got it out and still stayed on the straight and narrow Buffy would have to take him seriously wouldn't she? She'd have to come to terms with the fact that he'd changed.
She'd just have to…
But another secret base means another secret lab, and like hell is he just going to waltz back into that fray. Who knows what they'd stick in his skull this time.
Or cut off.
Self preservation takes the wheel over tempting, yet completely hypothetical, daydreams of Buffy falling into his arms, all heart-bursting awe at his newfound moral compass. Big green doe eyes sparkling with tears of wonder, her face alight with joy the way it had during his spellbound proposal.
You're losing it mate. You'd more likely end up with another fucking tracker and a host of new shock collars. If you got out alive.
Big fucking if.
He shakes his head but Dru's nodding emphatically, her fingers curled into the collar of his jacket leaving sticky red stains.
"Yes. Come with me, my William. We can scrub you clean. Clean head." She snaps and tugs on his coat hard. "Clean heart." Another insistent tug. "Get all that sunshine out of you before she burns you to death."
He freezes. Her words are like an endless stream of consciousness but they always had a point.
She can smell Buffy on me.
"Enough Dru." She's tugging on his arms like a little girl trying to rush a parent dragging their heels at the fare.
"Come run with me William." She yanks yet again and he pulls back hard.
"Enough." The blood on her fingers is on his coat and in his nostrils and he can feel his demon shifting forward around his face. He pushes it down, much to Dru's obvious disgust.
"You have turned soft. She's got in you too deep."
Both heads whip to the door. There's crunching over the gravel. Still far enough away to just be at the gates of the cemetery. Buffy boots on their way over the graves.
Dru sticks two red fingers in her mouth and sucks on them with a wet pop before disappearing out of the crypts door into the dark.
