- ‘nature never did betray the heart that loved her’
William Wordsworth

// Spike’s thoughts //
dialogue borrowed from ‘Crush’

// I should have known from the moment I opened my mouth that it was useless. All my efforts of trying to change had up till then been ignored but I had decided then and there to do it. I was going to talk to Buffy; actually try and string syllables together that weren’t lathed with hate. It still sounds ridiculous when repeating it in my head that I can barely believe it. Spike the Bloody was going to attempt to talk to a girl with no intent of murder or debauchery.


It was complete lunacy.


It did help that her friends were busy dancing when I decided to try. Each was paired off with their significant others, ignorant of the Slayer and her loneliness. I even had an opening liner picked out and everything. I can remember sauntering up to her and throwing myself down into the Whelp’s chair. I had tried desperately to change my clothing, swapping the sacred leather duster for a brown leather jacket, with a blue shirt beneath.


“Bleeding crime is what it is” I remarked. “Especially since the flowering onion got remodeled right off the sodding menu.”


Her blonde hair seemed to glow around her as Buffy looked at me in disbelief. It made me wonder whether it was the surprise of having a decent conversation with a man after Captain Cardboard, or the fact that it was me, which made her speechless. After a moment she recovered, scrunching up her nose and narrowing her eyes. Even then she still looked pretty. Helplessly I continued on, leaning back into the chair and attempting to appear nonchalant. I think she got some small sense of pleasure just watching me try to entertain her, and just for a moment a smile would tug at her lips. Not that it did either of us any good. The bloody clothes I had picked out didn’t even seem to make an impression upon her. I should have known that shopping assistant was lying. A blue shirt does nothing for my eyes if she fails to notice it.


“What are you doing?” she demanded.


The hint of irritation in her voice didn’t even phase me. I just continued to lean back and look at her. Dressed casually in a red top and black leather paints she appeared glorious. Like a golden seraph come to wipe me out of existence, which I’m certain she felt like doing right then. When she wakes, I can only expect that desire to off me to become second nature. I stumbled out an answer of course, bringing up that Glory chit when she didn’t believe I was genuinely trying to be friendly.


It didn’t help.


The raising of her eyebrows and tightness of her lips warned me that rejection was imminent. I could almost feel the power which radiated out of her. Each angry breath spoke of a natural role, a calling, something so pure that Captain Cardboard had run rather than live in its shadow. I know that I would bloody well bask in it. As though seeing my insight, Buffy stared off into the distance, unable to hide her depression.


She mourned its existence. Her calling had become the thing that kept her from normality, rather than the role which gave her definition. Instead of accepting it she had dragged herself to a hell-hole of a club and watched her friends dance to exuberant pop music. If I didn’t play guitar I would have learned the violin for her. Played a couple of bars of ‘Misery Loves Company’ and be done trying to cheer her up. No one in their right mind should miss Captain Cardboard anyway.


“Hey evil dead, you’re in my seat.”


The sound of the Whelp’s voice didn’t surprise me. I had already known that from the minute I sat down the Buffy patrol squad would be notified. They of course did not disappoint, the demon hanging off the whelp as Red and Glinda followed behind. Looking at their gleaming faces I wondered how Buffy could stand it. Staring them in the eyes and knowing with clarity that they could never see you. The idea of them standing there, failing to recognise that half of your core was predatory and not human, made me sick. It stunk of the narrow minded views of my peers in the 1880’s. Mind you, my poetry was fairly awful, but the ignorance of their views was overpowering. The same condescending grin which had graced Cecily’s face was plastered on the Whelps.


I really need to get over that.


The Whelp within a few moments was successful in ousting me from the seat, yet I did manage to get some revenge. The boy was silly enough to have left his change within easy reach and I nicked it, deciding to get plastered. I knew that whilst the Slayer was around her mates, I didn’t have a hope in hell. After a few moments the thick git realised I had flogged his money and charged over after me.


Alot of what the Whelp says is rubbish, merely male posturing and a piss poor attempt at that. The way he lumbered over only made me snigger in my drink. Some idiots may have found him intimidating but after living with Angelus, the boy was like a child. I have to admit though, there are similarities between the two. Granted my poof of a grandsire has become skilful at brooding but with time the boy could come to match him. They also were equally pathetic at threatening me. From the moment I chose the name of Spike in a dirty sewer under London, the only way Angelus could truly hurt me was to steal Dru. I had no such worries with the Whelp. His joking demeanor hid knowledge of his faults, purely human in nature but nonetheless present. If Buffy ever did decide to darken his doorstep it would ultimately fall into ruin. The girl obviously needed a monster in her man to combat her own. Unluckily for the Whelp I was determined to let her know exactly what I was, well and truly before any such catastrophe could occur. You learn that lesson quickly, when forced to listen to the pleasured screams of your sire as she’s fucked into the wall.


The boy started to prattle on for several unending minutes before I decided to tune in. In retrospect it really wasn’t worth the effort. All he can ever seem to come up with as conversation is the chip and my subsequent limitations. I guess that maybe for him it is a shining beacon of hope, without the bloody chip in my head, I would have killed him long ago. A part of him hopefully has realised this; I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings when I finally do get the gadget out and give him a severe walloping for his mouth. And there I go again… can’t even kill the Whelp anymore because I’d feel guilty. Maybe it was better to listen to Xander and ignore my own issues.


“Listen bleach boy, I’m not the one with the chip in my head.” asserted Xander, looming over me.


I hadn’t caught his opening accusation but it seemed fairly clear where the big oaf was going with his speech. His meaty fists were clenched tightly against his sides as he regarded my stolen beer with anger. To taunt him I took another sip, pretending to relish the taste even as what I saw caused me to choke. Where moments before the Slayer had been sitting with her friends, she now was approaching another man. My demon was going insane with rage. The Whelp oblivious to the world as much to others, continued on, only halting for breath. A litany of questions began to fill my head as I watched her take a seat. What was so interesting about him? Where did he come from? How did she know him? I half turned to ask the boy beside but decided against it. I had had enough of his silly taunts. The slayer was sitting closer to him now, her blooming smile lighting up that part of the room. In response my demon began to shake in anger. What can he do for her that I can’t? I scanned his features and began to list them in my head for future reference:

- boring brown hair
- oversized chin, ungraceful when compared against Kirk Douglas
- shifty


Fidgety even, I noted when watching his eyes flitter back to Buffy and the ground. There was something wrong with him, beyond the normal issues of nervousness. Smelling the air, my eyebrows rose in surprise, besides an unhealthy amount of fear he stunk of… perfume?


Where in the bleeding hell does Buffy find these guys?//

Dialogue borrowed from 'Crush'
//Spike's thoughts//

//I watched her for far too long in hindsight. The Whelp after a few minutes of limited responses had departed back for his safety net, and left me alone to my anguish. Shots of whiskey began to burn down my throat, almost forcing the muscles to feel alive with the sharp bite. When my vision finally began to blur, I left, dragging my docs all the way back to my crypt. The one thing I wanted was to go to sleep and forget my pathetic attempts at wooing, however I had forgotten one thing: Harmony.


The stupid bint had obviously waited up for me, swinging her long legs off the bed as I stalked in. Every thing she did seemed to irritate and rather than lay down on the bed, I threw myself into the couch. It was decent enough in momentarily halting my foul temper but not for long, when Harm took an unneeded breath and began to speak.


I may be a demon yet I can testify that there is nothing more awful then listening to that bird rave on about sodding Paris. Tonight she was dressed up, or should I say down into the barest silk, all her curves flowing out of the negligee. Her blonde hair, dull compared to the slayer’s, flowed free, abundant and smelling of sunflowers. It did nothing for me. Before this whole mess started with the Slayer I would have laughed my head off at the poor bloke who didn’t find Harm attractive. I mean, she’s not the smartest bint to ever become undead but she didn’t hurt the eyes. Now I can’t help cringing whenever she touches me.


“Oh Spikey!” Harm sang the words out in a childish voice as she jumped from the bed. “Do you like my outfit?”


She sashayed her way over to the chair, the skimpy outfit appearing ghastly to me. It was an off purple colour which seemed to scream the word ‘desperate’. Her simple smile only made the outfit appear extravagant and excessive. All I could picture was the Slayer and her grumpy scowl, blood red top shining in the dark club. Poor Harm paled by comparison. I grimaced at her, looking away rather than hurt the silly bint’s feelings. I may be evil but I could identify with the chit after Cecily and Dru ripped my heart out. She obviously didn’t take the hint, practically straddling me.


“Really not in the mood right now Harm.” I growled.


She only stuck her lip out, before flouncing back to bed with talk of role playing. For once, Harmony had come up with a very good idea. My eyes drifted to the blue cashmere sweater lying on the floor in the corner, before I met hers. She may be too tall but she still had similar hair, close enough features that I could make do. I leapt up from the chair, reaching for her with my intent clear. If I couldn’t have Buffy then a replacement would be enough for the moment. Suffice to say, Harm didn’t seem to care that I yearned for the Slayer either.
………………………………………………………………………………………………

The next time I awoke, it was to the sounds of clattering and footsteps above. Someone was in my crypt. Harmony lay beside me, passed out with her hands flung back in dramatic formation. It made me grin to see that I could still act partly like a demon, even if it was the Slayer I wanted. A smashing of my vase drew my attention back to the ceiling with the human clumsily stumbling about. It was either Xander or a very drunk Giles, neither of which I could be bothered getting out of bed for. Shifting I scented the air to check, before recognising the scent as Dawn. What was she doing here? I raced to put my jeans on, nearly tripping on the stake which Harm had dropped during our game. It had been carved by Buffy at some point, before I nicked it, getting an odd sense of pleasure from hindering her weapon making. That’s at least the reason I give myself. The true explanation was that I was love’s bitch and sad enough to grab what tokens I could. The fact that this stake had killed my kind mattered little.


Dawn jumped at least a foot when I reached upstairs. The bit had anxiety written all over, doe like eyes imploring searching mine. They reminded me too much of Buffy. I turned from her, grabbing a cigarette from my Marlboro pack before grimacing; the nibblet wanted to hang out at my crypt. Inwardly I could feel a part of me rejoicing at the fact that she wanted any part of me, Dawn being one of the few women who ever chose my company. Yet I was also slightly insulted. Since when had I become the patron saint of little lost girls intent on being rebellious? I drew back a breath, sucking on the cigarette till I could feel the smoke in the pit of my lungs.


“You can’t bloody well stay here” I said angrily. “I’ve got things to do.”


Dawn had the nerve to roll her eyes at me, though if put in her position I probably would have to. She merely tossed her long brown hair back and fixed me with a stare.


I glared back.


“Bad, evil things that are not for a child’s eyes.” This time the words dripped out of my mouth with something akin to the menace I once possessed. It was aggravating having all the Scooby’s treat me as harmless. Dawn, either insulted by my tone or being called a child, drew back. I instantly regretted my words when seeing her face. It had twisted into a frown with the beginnings of tears swimming in her eyes. I sighed. The teen was like a hormonal bomb with nothing I could say making an impression, only more proof for me that she’s the slayer’s sister.


“What brings you here?”


Dawn looked down at the ground before back at me, her hair acting as a curtain. Even without shifting I could sense her confusion and fear. My demon was drawn to it partly.


Her eyes trailed over the dirty floor and thick white candles for a long minute before she spoke. It was about being the key. I scheduled my face to remain like stone though inwardly I was relieved. I don’t know whether I could have stomached listening to Dawn describe some adolescent youth who would never be good enough for her.

All this mess with Glory had gotten to the bit, not surprisingly considering she was only 14. Even an adult would have been lost after knowing that every memory was false. I leaned on the sarcophagus behind me, its heavy stone providing some strength. What was it to be human? I was puzzled that Dawn had come to me in the first place to ask the question but then I realised why. Buffy and her friends would never understand her dilemma. None of them had ventured so far as to dare ask what they were… if their very essence had a benign purpose. Besides Rupert I was the only one with some semblance of evil who did not hide it. She certainly couldn’t ask her sister, what with all the bloody confusion surrounding the slayer’s calling and its nature. I breathed out a cloud of smoke with a sigh, relinquishing myself to the position of president of ‘The Forced to be Good Bloody White Hats’ club. I was the perfect creature to ask. I leaned more heavily on the stone considering an answer before finally replying.


“Originally I was human. I got over it. Doesn’t seem to me to matter much how you start out. I think its far more important how you finish.”


The bit trembled for a moment whilst I spoke. Maybe it hurt her to hear me recognise that her original purpose could be evil. But then, she had come to me and I am nothing if not brutally honest at the worst of times. I didn’t like the serious tone of the conversation and decided to venture away from it while I still could. Dawn would learn soon enough that humans can be just as bad, if not worse than demons. Even with their bloody souls.//

//Spike's thoughts//


//I can be a right poof sometimes and I’m not afraid to admit it, but sitting with Joyce and the bit in the kitchen was wonderful. I am nothing if not adoring of that woman. Joyce is in her own right, one of the few decent humans that even when chip free I would have left alone. There is something so caring about her and it shows in every part of the house, even in her daughters. The extra marshmallows she put into my cup is proof enough for me. She was telling an art joke, Dawn leaning on my leg as she giggled.


I smelled the Slayer long before she stomped into the room. Buffy had obviously been fretting over Dawn’s whereabouts and it probably didn’t make her feel any better seeing me in her home. Scratch that, it absolutely threw her when she saw me.


In mimicry of the night before, her face scrunched into a frown as she demanded what I was doing. If not for the fact that I’m completely in love with her, I would have laughed at the picture she made. Arms bent crossly with dangerous hands placed on her hips, she seemed itching for a good brawl. Harmony could never compare. Unconsciously I began to evaluate her features, feeling a twinge of remorse for my conduct with Harmony earlier. Hazel eyes glinted at me and I wondered whether she knew about the train full of bodies.


Clem had been hanging around Willy’s when the news broke that someone had snacked on six people all the way to Sunnyhell. The vicious tearing of necks and tell tale holes identified it as a vampire but one obviously a little unhinged. The kills had the mark of a fledgling trying out its fangs and would have been viewed as such, except for the unmistakable scent. A master had orchestrated this masterpiece. Though none of the observers could identify it beyond a master’s odor, it was still big news. Not many demons got away with killing large numbers of townies anymore thanks to the slayer. Clem, always a pacifist had not joined in the celebrations but had gone and looked for himself. If I hadn’t been completely obsessed with the Slayer I would have as well. Maybe its better that I didn’t, after living with Dru for a century I would have instantly recognised the trademarks of my sire; that and the fact that Dru had left sodding Miss. Edith on the bloody train.


Yet instead of checking out the latest bloodbath I sat in the slayer’s kitchen drinking coco. I was so desperate just to be alone with Buffy. In hindsight it was a rather stupid desire, considering my current situation. She rightly wanted nothing to do with me but I figured that the Slayer would jump at the chance to find the train murderer. And right I was. One moment alone whispering that I knew where the vampire was hiding was all it took for Buffy to climb into the Desoto. Right then I still thought that I could convince the Slayer to feel something besides hate for me.


I’m such a bloody fool.


I drove mindlessly for a moment before parking out of front of a warehouse. It looked deserted enough for me to assume that no demons would be scampering about. Buffy looked incredibly agitated and began to bounce in the seat next to me. If I was only a man I would have kissed her then. As it was, I pulled out a flask to calm my own nerves before offering her some. The response I got was merely a chorus of ewwww and gross, which I found slightly humorous after hearing all about Cave Buffy. The chit was nothing if not a hypocrite about some things. The silence grew for several more minutes with her breath whistling out like a kettle. I had to do something and since I couldn’t get there and snog the girl, I chose my next best love. Music.


I adore punk rock bands. Give me the Sex Pistols, Buzzcocks or the Ramones and I’ll be happier than Dru singing to the bloody stars. The rough lyrics and pure guitar symbolises for me an era of rebellion, one which Buffy had been cruelly deprived. I subsequently kept a tape in the car, switching it on before drumming my fingers along the wheel.


“Do you like the Ramones?”


Buffy only responded by biting deeper into her lip with barely controlled rage. She was obviously not a fan.


I sighed before attempting to ask another question when two ratty looking vampires ran directly in front of the Desoto. Either the god of torment had heard my cries and taken pity or the vampires had an impeccable sense of timing. I barely had time to question which before the Slayer was leaping out of the car and trailing after them.


I can say with no queries that from that moment on everything began to unravel.


The two vampires fled when Buffy charged in after them, reminding me of feral dogs. Their possessions consisted of a ratty couch and trash which littered the floor, all too similar to the broken stone and dirt in my crypt. What little existence they had made in the warehouse was pathetic but also over an extended stay. It was glaringly obvious that they hadn’t been involved in the train massacre. I was well aware this but had hoped naively that Buffy would fail to notice, having not picked up on the scent of a master. I shouldn’t have bothered.


“Looks like you wasted my time again.”


The sarcastic bite in her voice made me flinch for a moment. If I had thought the Slayer was pissed before it was nothing compared to her ire at that moment. In the blink of an eye she was already striding to the door, fingers reaching forward to wrench it off its frame.


Like a bloody ponce, I rushed after her, opening it for her and in doing so opening the door to a flood of trouble. She stared hard at me then, mouth gaping open as though swamped with water.


Inwardly I cringed. There was no way that I could escape this warehouse without explaining my actions. Trying to be brave I scoffed, slamming the door with a swipe.


“I wasn’t thinking.” I muttered.


I didn’t look at her, it was too hard to stare at the chit after the fiasco of last night and now tonight also. I was well and truly cursed.


Perhaps noticing the palpable embarrassment which hung over me like a cloud, the Slayer decided to add to it, questioning me with rising hysteria. As if my unlife could get any worse.


“What is this?” she demanded. “The late night stakeout, the bogus suspects, the flask? Is this a date?”


I scoffed in response.


“A date?! Please. You’re completely off your bird. I mean – do you want it to be?”


Why did I have to ask?


Silence met my question for a moment, far longer in my mind as she practically ran from me. Was it really that awful for me to love her?


Her shocked voice ran through the warehouse, a crescendo of “oh my god” ringing out.


Obviously it was.


For a moment I considered striding back out the door and leaving whilst I still had my pride intact. At least then Buffy would have only worried about this mess for perhaps a day and then return to normal, ignoring the whole situation. If I was still William I would have leapt at that option, but now it stunk of falsity and insincerity. I wanted her to see me.

“It’s not so unusual”, I said gently. “Two people in the workplace… feelings can develop.” My docs, heavy a moment earlier at her rejection, began to slide across the floor as my voice grew deeper. Bloody Drac had to use thrall in order to stop the Slayer, I only had to use my voice.


Buffy could only stare desperately me, her eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Glossy lips parted for a few moments before she finally found her voice.


“No. No feelings…” she whispered, failing to appear at all adamant.


I titled my head to the side, curling my tongue as some of my demon rose to the surface. If the chit wanted to continue this game, then so could I. The sound that came out was more of a rumble than actual words as I practically growled at her.


“You can’t deny it. There’s something between us.”


“Loathing and disgust” she retorted.


My growl only deepened, at her proclamation. “More like heat and desire Slayer.”


Buffy half turned then, her hazel eyes seeming to shimmer either from fear or embarrassment. Her form was shaking slightly, even in a large dark brown coat. I continued to watch as her eyes glazed over, perhaps with some old memory. Knowing my luck it would be one concerning my poof of a grandsire. No matter what I did, Angelus was constantly the mark I was compared against. Angelus this, Angelus that… it made me wonder whether I would ever stop being surrounded by women completely infatuated with the tosser. The Slayer quiet for far too long, only confirmed my suspicions, a whisper flying from her mouth.


“Angel was good you know.”


I held back the roar which threatened to spill from my demon at those words. If only she could have heard the tales of Angelus as human, the whoring and drinking he did even before he lost the bloody soul. There had never been anything truly good about the git besides a penance for brooding which in my eyes was not even a good quality. All it served to do was keep his behaviour in check and even then Angelus had to go screwing things up. One prime example being the girl who I watched, her face now firmly resolved as she stared at me. As if Angelus was good.


I partly began to say this before weighing up my options, knowing that for all the angst between them, the Slayer still treasured Angelus’ memory. Not that he ever deserved the recognition.


I steeled myself for a moment before plunging forward, already knowing that this battle was lost. “I can be good to Buffy, I’ve changed.”


Her reply cut me more than I had expected.


“What that chip in your head? That’s not change. You’re just a serial killer in prison.”

I spluttered a response before my brain could even react. “Women marry them all the time”, I yelled, arms flying wide.


The crossing of her arms showed all too clearly that such an argument was valid. Her eyes only held anger when looking at me, the prior uncertainty being masked by a layer of self righteousness. All the Slayer wanted to do was fight and hurt me, perhaps seeing it as some sort of twisted justice to rip up my declaration of love after Angelus had destroyed hers.


I didn’t want to fight though.


“Something’s happening to me. I can’t stop thinking about you.” My voice was weak and lost in the warehouse, echoing blindly as the Slayer regarded me. There was no way she would believe me, Angelus had ruined any other vampire’s chance. I had to try though. My breath, completely uneeded, whistled through my teeth as I looked at the roof for a moment. Even if she never recognised the significance of what I was telling her, my demon certainly did, my more bestial side cringing for a moment as the words flew out of my mouth. “If that means turning my back on the whole evil thing then I’ll do it Buffy. I love you.”


The Slayer’s face crumpled, anger draining away for a moment. She was too shocked to want to pummel me right then. Her arms hung uselessly at her sides and it took everything in me not to walk forward and sweep her into my arms. I didn’t though. Partly from a William like hesitancy I held back. Something in me refused for once to fold like a leaf and give in to her. I wanted to hear the words back. My demon, spitting and roaring inside me stilled, it instinctually recognising that she could not accept me or my feelings. Without a soul they had no validity.


Buffy was too good of a slayer to go against council protocol anyway. In a monotone voice I would have paired with Giles she proclaimed how I couldn’t love what with being a demon an' all. How I was empty of anything remotely like an emotion. I swear that my heart began to bleed then.


The Slayer paused for a moment, something purely demon sliding across her features before stalking out the door. It slammed with a crash, her words of “Don’t ever tell you love me” following closely behind. //

//Rejected.


The word seemed to stick in my mouth like barbed wire, cutting into my tongue whenever I tried to speak. As I trailed home, far slower than I ever had with broken ribs, it twisted forcibly inside my jaw, sealing any response shut. The Slayer had finally silenced me.


I couldn’t seem to function, my shoulders slumping physically downwards as my mind remained in turmoil. How could it of gone so wrong? And perhaps more importantly, what was I to do now?


Buffy was obviously a lost cause, once more hidden beneath her mask of cheerfulness and ‘Californian girl’ façade and I didn’t know whether I had the heart to face another cold dismissal. My demon didn’t relish the notion of coming across whatever it was that had slipped to the fore for just that split second either. It had scared both of us.


My crypt, fast becoming a haven after the Scooby’s constant jibes, loomed in the cemetery. It was bathed in pale moonlight, made more opaque through human eyes. It didn’t really matter though, even when pissed beyond all belief I could still manage to stumble all the way back home, bawdy songs a normal accompaniment. This time the whole cemetery was quiet, a particularly unnatural occurrence considering the noise fledglings make when rising. Too focused on blocking everything out and the amount of booze in my fridge, I ignored it.


Just one mistake of many.


I barely slid the door open when reaching the crypt, clambering inside like a child hiding in a closet. The room was covered in odd scatterings of stone and spider webs only adding to my mood, which at this point in time was focused on getting smashed beyond reason. Maybe a hangover would have snapped me out of this poofy brooding, at least I could forget ever having confessed loving the sodding Slayer.


I dragged my feet to the fridge, one hand resting on the handle when I heard the soft sigh.


“Who’s there?” I called out gruffly. I waited for a moment, part of me expecting to see the Whelp and Red clutching a toothpick or lopsided axe if I turned around. They had never been overly brave before but I could imagine them sneaking up on a chipped vamp with barely any effort. Knowing my luck, Buffy would have run home instantly, raising the cavalry with tales of her gross encounter.


“If you’ve come here to kill me for chatting up the Slayer then you better make it quick. I haven’t got all bloody night.”


I didn’t bother to look behind me, wrenching the fridge door open and staring angrily at the beer inside. Why was it taking so long? If they wanted to stake me so bloody badly then why were they hiding in the dark? It wouldn’t even take much effort to kill me, what with the mood I was trapped in.


The sigh this time grew to a laugh and for the first time since entering the crypt I scented the air. It was heavy with the aroma of Sire.


“Dru?,” I whispered, my jaw tensing in nervousness.


Only silence answered me.


“Is it you?”


My sire took pity on me this time, a sibilant hiss falling from her mouth as she stepped out of the dark. “It is my dear boy. I’ve come to make everything right again.”


I could only stare at her.


Dru’s form appeared more skeletal than ever before, wiry arms a pale cream tinged with blue from the windows. Her eyes, haunting and large with dark mascara seemed fastened wide, unable to blink and reminding me of twin bottomless pools. Both empty except for a strange primal nature which animated her frame.


I used to stare into them for hours. Now the idea slightly repulsed me, lines from Plath’s ‘Mirror’ coming unbidden to my lips. Drusilla’s very nature was like a mirror, laced with silver and exact in showing off her Daddy’s handiwork. She couldn’t be blamed for the acts she committed after Angelus had so viciously broken her. Dru, intuitively knowing that I was thinking of poetry, waited quietly, hands clasping together. She had loved to lie in my lap as I’d quote her sonnets of Shakespeare and Byron. So long ago I can’t even remember the words. Yet a sense of nostalgia seized me and I spoke the lines with a small sense of affection, my sire continuing to stare like a child.
“I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful.
A woman bends over me,
In me she has drowned a young girl”


Dru clapped merrily when I finished. “So my bad dog still reads and sings”, she said blithely. “They haven’t completely silenced you.”


Dru began to circle me, one blood red nail gliding across my frame. “Too bad you can’t sing songs for the sunshine though Spoike. All that talent is just wasting away.” Her lips, dipped in crimson, curved upwards then, as though finding some strange sense of pleasure out of my inadequacy. It suited her considering my sire was one of Angelus’ creations. There would be something wrong with the bird if she didn’t get off on suffering.


“What is it to you?” I demanded. “You’re the one who had to go off and snog a sodding Chaos demon! If you had just kept your bloody mouth shut about the infernal sunshine we could have been happy.”


Drusilla, still circling came closer then, the choker about her neck appearing to strangle her even as words slid out. “Not then. But we can now. Come to Los Angeles with me. I’ve brought back Grandmum and Daddy will soon be his old self.”


I barely showed a reaction but internally warning bells went off. So that was why the bint was here. Couldn’t take being by her lonesome and decided to do something about it. I watched her eyes glimmer unnaturally, probably imaging the blood which would flow if her dreams came true. It surprised me that she had managed to get to Sunnyhell without mishap, but then she had never stopped being full of surprises. This though was more than I could take. Dru’s idea of resurrecting the Scourge of Europe would never work, we’ve all become far too hot headed since our earlier days. Never mind the fact that I refused to be Angelus’ bloody whipping boy again. It was hard stomaching the fact that he only lived hours away from me, the idea of the tosser sharing my home and family, would be unbearable.


My voice showed none of this however. Rather casually, I took a step back from my sire and fully looked at her, taking in the sight of burned skin. “It does sound fun pet.” I looked to the side of the wall as though bored. Maybe Dru would get the hint.


She didn’t.


Instead Dru graced me with a smile, hands ghosting over her chest in mimicry of a lover. “It t’is, like lollipops in the circus, although didn’t care for Angelus setting us on fire.” Her narrow shoulders quivered in outrage and I could see the dark edge of one burn peeking out from her hemline.


“And this has what? Got you all nostalgic now?” My tone was harsh but I couldn’t seem to care. All these women were driving me mad, constantly wanting me to dance around while they clapped changing beats. I was sick of it.


Dru did not disappoint. “I want us to be a family again William.”


I wanted to shake my head at her but couldn’t, suddenly finding my arms full of sire. Funny how they still felt empty. Her mouth was pressed against my cheek, gasping with unneeded air as she made her plea. “Please come back with me.”


“To Los Angeles? I’ve done the whole LA scene Dru, didn’t agree with me.” I shook myself free of her arms, needing some space. I could barely think when around her.


I sprawled into the same chair, which the night before I had used to fend off Harm unsuccessfully. Maybe this time it would work. I spread my legs wide, leaning back leisurely in order to maintain my air of calm. It wouldn’t have done to let her see my anxiety or shame.


“Besides, I’ve got a sweet set up here in Sunny D… decent digs not to mention all the tasty townies I can eat.”


Dru had caught on though. She bent down towards me, one lithe finger pressed against her lips as though scolding a child. “Naughty shhh. You make up stories.” Her voice was tinged with a trace of pity that made me want to scream. “I already know why you’re not coming, poor boy” she stated, making my demon shrink in embarrassment. “Tin soldiers put tiny little knick knacks in your brain.”


Her fingers before had been weaving through the air, yet she startled me when they suddenly clawed their way into her hair, mimicking my stance whenever the chip went off. Disgust tinged her voice as with each statement her head jerked to the left, fearfully lifelike. “Can’t hurt. Can’t hunt. Can’t kill. You got a chip.” She drew in close, whether to smile in wicked delight or comfort me I’ll never know. I immediately jumped out of the chair as though singed by fire, wanting to escape both her pity and my own sense of uselessness.


“So you’ve heard.” I spat. “Poor Spikes become a cautionary tale for vampires.” I began to stalk the room, slicked back hair turning to a mass of poncy curls. I had forgotten till then how inept and redundant the chip made me. I’m neither man nor monster with the bloody thing and whichever way I choose I’ll forever be met with opposition. It was just like Drusilla to remind me.


For once though, my sire comforted me, a rough pure crawling its way out of her chest as she stepped in close. Her eyes were fastened on me, the dark depths all that more intoxicating as my demon responded to hers.


“I don’t believe in science, all those bits and molecules that no one’s ever seen. I trust eyes and heart alone.” She paused, almost forcing me to draw breath as she grew ever closer. “And do you know what mine is singing out right now?” One clawed hand settled on my chest as I shook my head dumbly.


“You’re a killer. Born to slash and bash and bleed like beautiful poetry. No little tinker toy could ever stop you flowing.” Her grin of wicked glee was mesmerizing.

Unbidden the word slipped from my lips, “Yeah.”


And then I remembered why this whole conversation was pointless. As much as Drusilla is captivating she is also purely instinctual, learning to enjoy pain simply because she could not escape it. The chip and its qualities were beyond her and little Miss. Edith. “Luv you don’t understand. The pain… it’s blinding, searing.”


Much as I had expected, she tapped my head like I was a doll before tilting it downwards. “All in your head,” Dru replied. “I can see it. Little bits of plastic spider webbing out nasty blue shocks, and every one is alive.”


“But electricity lies Spike. It tells you that you’re not a bad dog but you are.” Her lips were inches from mine and I couldn’t seem to think let alone move away, every part of my demon striving to be closer to its maker.


Maybe I should thank Harmony for interrupting.


The stupid bint dressed in some infernal pink jumpsuit, had chosen just that moment to walk into the crypt. I suppose that, if remorseful I would have begged for forgiveness and kicked my sire flat out on her ass. I’m evil though. Particularly to sodding women who can’t shut up. Harmony found this out quite quickly when I dumped her, throwing a gaudy unicorn after her hasty departure.


Dru watched the entire scene with amusement. A blood red rose was clutched in her hand, the thorns causing rivulets of blood to drip down to the tip of each finger. A common image less than a decade ago, my demon reveled in appreciation. Drusilla was something we could understand. All she had ever asked was for entertainment and violence, something inherent in every psyche, whether disputed or not. The Slayer however, made everything feel twisted and out of sorts. When around her, I was constantly drowning, grasping for anything which could help me forget my emotions. Dru though never asked anything of me than just a show of brute force. I was her bad dog, her play thing, a protector. It was both appealing and degrading.


Dru opened her arms wide to me and I felt my heart snap for a moment even as the demon rushed forward. It was like embracing a corpse.


“There you are my darling deadly boy.”


My demon burst forth with possessiveness, sharpening my features into fangs and the low forehead. Dru’s lips clashed with mine and in kissing her I sealed my own fate and Buffy’s.//

//Spike’s thoughts//

//Drusilla had quickly dragged me to some dark club, muttering about all the tasty treats we could eat. Everything about her was possessed, full of incomplete sentences and growls which only my demon really responded to. The rest of me was seriously regretting ever kissing the mad bird which had only gotten worse since I left her in South America. She rarely looked at me but when she did, a glint of need was all that could be seen. Her lips were smearing with hunger by the time we arrived and I began to feel decidedly sick.


I should have staked the bitch when I had the chance.


Now though, I was being surrounded by the scent of sire and intoxicating pumping blood, my demon going frenzied with excitement. Pig’s swill is nothing compared to the thrill of a chase; particularly when your victim was scared out of their bloody mind. The animal part of me lived for it.


This however, was calculating and rather dreary in my old age, sparking a dark comparison to Angelus. There was no sport in it, no true competition of strength or guts. At least when fighting the slayers there had always been a very real chance that I could get dusted or at least my head beaten in. Dancing with those girls had been a real challenge and even pleasurable. Crowding docile humans into a dark corner could never compare and was a strategic poofter tatic. The fact that I was now participating in such a ‘hunt’ was downright emasculating. I didn’t tell Drusilla though.


I can remember as a fledgling, relishing the chance to watch my dark goddess slither towards some poor mortal and seduce him with her eyes into the back alleyway. I had thought her perfectly clever, though Drusilla had never used her demonic abilities to go toe to toe with a slayer with her back against the wall. Like Angelus she saw a beauty in planning and setting elaborate traps. They had perfected stalking around with an evil snigger. Tossers. Angelus liked to call himself the trap setter, the torturer. It made me want to hack off my ears. It was far more accurate to give Angelus the title of insufferable sod with loads of pent up sexual tension. Maybe my sire could be his court jester, twirling around and singing nonsense songs were already easy for her.


Dressed as she was, the bouncer barely gave us a glance before allowing Dru to slink in. My hand was grasped tightly in hers, knuckles unbearably cold wrapping around my own. I had hoped that maybe my sire would allow me to simply dance with her and let my demon bask in the familiarity of family, however she refused. Almost instantaneously, Drusilla began to watch the crowd, swaying in my arms with her back to me as she scanned for potential victims.


My demon began to feel uneasy.


Some song was playing, sultry beats sweeping through the club as around us humans gyrated and panted. The floor seemed to shudder with the impact and I braced myself from both the bass and Dru’s intentions.


I didn’t know whether I could go through with it.


My sire had no such qualms, the rose being cast to the floor as she pointed upstairs. There some poor boy was busy sticking his tongue down a girl’s throat unaware of the scene they created. For vamps like my sire they were drawn to such situations, almost voyeuristic. Dru only reinforced this fact, licking her own lips as she giddily ground back against me.


“Do you see them Spike?” Her voice was like silk against marble, barely a whisper in the thudding club.


I only growled back in response, seeking to extricate my limbs away from hers. They only seemed to lock further in place.


“Should we join them dearest? Do you think they would like to share with us?”


I shuddered at her malicious tone and fought harder against my demon which still clung fiercely. It still believed that things would turn out for the better and Dru would accept us where the Slayer hadn’t.


No one ever accused me of being smart.


All too quickly Dru began to cross the floor, me stumbling along behind her. Casting a glance back behind me, I could just make out the rose as it was crushed under the stamping feet of clubbers.


It was all too familiar.


The girl was petite, but thankfully a brunette, driving from my mind the image of Buffy. I probably would have staked my sire if the girl had looked anything close to my Slayer. As it was, Dru strode up to the kissing couple with calm only borne of practice or instinct and separated the two. She twisted the girl’s neck with a clean crack and slung her at me before grabbing the boy.


I didn’t even notice I was shaking.


Being with the chip had removed me from the actuality of feeding and something in me was mortified when hearing that audible snap. All I could think of was Buffy’s reaction, how her hazel eyes would shine with shock and horror at the sight before being overtaken with an all abiding need for retribution. My demon quivered in apprehension at the thought.


I didn’t even know if I could bite the girl with my chip and as much as I despised bagging it, chewing on the dead was not appealing. But inside I knew I was procrastinating, an inner William like emotion repulsed at the sight of the girl’s ebbing pulse.


The whole thing was wrong.


Warily I looked up at my sire, mouth hanging open as though to ask “What now?” Dru continued feeding for a moment, her body jerking spasmodically with the taste of blood. When she looked up, I was taken aback.


Dru is ethereally beautiful, effulgent even whilst still maintaining an aura of darkness. Right then, the shadows seeped from every pore, a coating of blood dripping from her lips. Her haunted eyes held nothing of her personality in them, a vibrant yellow signaling the full control of her demon. It was shocking.


My fingers, already pale from evading the sun for 180 odd years froze as I pondered my situation.


Buffy didn’t love me nor never can and it was hopeless now to escape the situation. The Slayer would blame me for even letting Drusilla live, no matter her role in my unlife. No, it was no use abstaining for the part of Buffy.


I glanced at my sire, who was once more watching the torn neck of her prey. As much as she wanted her family back, she would never want me. Everything would always be about sodding Daddy. Leaving me with the conclusion that even if this was some sort of proof for her of family connection, it could never be for me. It would have to be for a primal reason, a bestial one. Perhaps a pure need to prove that I still could be an animal, would always be an animal.


I wanted to roar then, remembering the thrill when fighting that slayer in the 70’s, Nicki something or other. She had smashed my head through a window, hoping it would scare me and instead I had cried out.


“I’m a bleeding animal!”


I looked at the tanned slender neck of the girl and let my demon take control, sinking my fangs deep into the skin. It tasted indescribable. Sensations of fire, ice and extremes of all colours whirled through my head and I became nearly dizzy from it. Drusilla watched me with glee, sending out approving growls which made my demon preen. My sire once more thought of me as hers.


What had I done?

………………………………………………………………………

My crypt stunk of fear.


I couldn’t make out exactly who the intruder was due to my overall intoxication with Dru’s scent but it definitely was distinctive. It had the underlying essence of power and demon yet was laced with feminine. It had taken me several long minutes to realise that this could only be the chit of a Slayer but at the moment I was fairly high. It wouldn’t have been that far of a leap to see infernal stars in the ceiling.


It was due to this state of drugged haze that I took no mind to Dru or my state as I waited by the entrance to the underground. If the Slayer was worth a penny at her job, the bint would have discovered my treasured stockpile of clothing and pictures, some drawn by Angelus in his stalker phase. I was betting every bone in my body that it would ‘wig her out’ and look at that, I can’t even keep my English heritage around those sodding Scoobies.


I was well and truly buggered.


The Slayer’s surprise when she saw me was almost hysterical if performed at any other time. However, Buffy was not so fortunate. I was pissed, both literally and in a foul mood. I blamed her, and still do for bringing me to this irrevocable point of decision where I would always choose her and thus would always fail. As she stared wide eyed at the blood which still trailed down one side of my mouth, my demon emerged seeking retribution for her earlier rebuke.


I was something to be feared.


William, being a ponce, was jumping up and down, shrilly exclaiming that it was wrong to treat the Slayer like this, even if she had shunned us coldly, but I was tired of it. Tired of these women, tired of my hesitancy, tired of loving women who could never want me back and most of all sick of playing around.


The bloody charades were going to end.


I softened my eyes for a moment, prowling still closer to her as Buffy began to back out of the door. If only I could speak to her as a man and she without the baggage of her friends. I could of won her then. As it was, Drusilla appeared in the doorway and bashed Buffy over the head. The Slayer dropped like a stone. Smiling my sire looked at me, daring to ask the question of torturing Buffy before death.


I grinned back at her before knocking the insufferable bint out as well.


I was sick of playing.//

// Spike's thoughts//
*/Buff's thoughts*/

“And she awakes.”


Buffy turned her head to the voice, groaning as she felt the jagged cut shift at the back of her head. She’d been knocked out hard. The room or crypt as she recognised a minute later seemed full of alabaster pillars, Spike lighting tens of thick white candles. They stood almost a foot tall, of varying thickness, the flames like bursts of sunlight in what was otherwise a silent tomb. Buffy watched the droplets of wax litter the floor, creating what looked like frozen puddles. */ This was so not good.*/


Just as she was about to call out for him, Spike strode out of the darkness, face impassive. Buffy could only stare. The vampire’s cheekbones, already striking were heavily highlighted by the odd reflective light, making him appear like an alabaster god. He wore all black, having cast away his earlier clothes as one did a bad habit. It only drew more attention to his eyes. */ Very yummy.*/ The Slayer shook her head at that thought. */This guy has chained me up in a dark crypt, full of bones and dead people, so not yummy or anything nice!*/


“How’s your head?” The question floated in the silence for a moment before Buffy sneered at the vampire.


“How do you think my head is? I just got knocked out by some random demon who is obviously in league with you and then chained up here. How would you feel Spike?”


The vampire shrugged, his form looking oddly naked without the heavy leather duster. “I don’t know pet. After a while I got used to it.”


The Slayer quirked an eye brow at him as though to say ‘you’re insane’.


“Huh?”


“Dru and Angelus pet” said Spike gently, already berating himself for bringing the topic up. “This used to be one of their favourite little games. I couldn’t even take a bloody nap without wondering whether the poof or my sire was going to tie me up and have a go at pin the crucifix on spike.” He sighed heavily. “I didn’t plan to copy them though. This wasn’t what I had in mind.”


The Slayer rattled her chains which were strapped to the ceiling. “So what did you have in mind Spike?” she asked bitingly. “Is this how you got your insane ho-bag girlfriend to date you cause newsflash, so not happening with me.” */Not even if you have the sexiest pair of abs that I have ever seen.*/


Spike growled in anger. If he thought about it rationally then the bint had every right to be mad as spitting hell, but wasn’t it sort of her fault for even entering the crypt? Not that he was complaining, but the Slayer had to have lost some brain cells in order to go snooping about. Either that or she didn’t fear him at all. Spike suddenly became angry.


//Right then. The silly bint thinks I can’t seduce her and has the nerve to sneak through my stuff. Must think I’m a git.// Spike’s hands turned into fists and began to clench. //I’ll show her.//


The vampire strode across the room, becoming more in his element with each second that passed. Buffy would have to listen to him now, what with the slayer tossing like a yo yo on chains that stretched to the ceiling. There would be no slamming of doors on his ego and definitely no talk of the sodding poof. Besides how badly could it go? She’d either recognise the truth in his words and declare she felt something for him or and this was a nasty possibility that he hadn’t thought to hard about… scream, alerting her friends who would subsequently stake him and leave the dust to be swept out on a broom. For Spike there was no other option.


And if the Powers that Sucked decided to make one, he’d just flip them the bird as usual and carry on anyway.


Perhaps not the wisest of choices.


“You must think that I’m insane for wanting you.” The words fled his mouth in a growl which just brushed the corner of the slayer’s ear.


She shivered.


“I mean what girl wouldn’t think I was a little off my rocker for still pursuing you, even after being told to royally shove off?”


“I don’t know Spike” retorted Buffy. Her breath had quickened with his increasing proximity and was now starting to come out in puffs. “It seems that you have finally picked up on what humans want instead of trying to live down to your ho bag’s standards.” She grinned sarcastically before continuing. “I’d give you a hug except for the fact that you disgust me.”


Buffy did not expect the dry chuckle which escaped Spike’s lips. Both of his lean hands now rested either side of her face, the knuckles blood stained and jagged as though from a recent fight. They were like blinders, the slayer finding it difficult to pay attention to anything but his eyes. They glimmered with a dark mirth usually reserved for Giles after several long swigs of whiskey. In Spike’s early chip days, Buffy had thrice found them passed out on the floor, old records by the Kinks and Stones sitting in a messy pile. When she had tried to mention it, Giles had grappled for his glasses, cleaning them furiously. Spike had called him ‘Ripper’ for weeks afterwards, even sometimes telling a blood filled story to the scoobies when feeling peckish. She remembered Giles staring back at the vampire, as though he could identify with that malicious element of the demon. */A ridiculous idea… which I really should just forget about*/ Buffy stared at the black clad T-shirt wishing for once that Spike liked logos. She was scared that it wasn’t exactly accidental that Spike knew about Ripper. That, maybe, and this was a very big MAYBE, Spike was good at finding out what was hidden.


Perhaps too good.


Buffy gulped, willing away the uneasy feeling that she was next.


“The thing about you pet, is that you aren’t just a girl. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being a chit but you’ve also got the demon in there. And –

All of Buffy’s soft feelings evaporated rapidly, the slayer rising up angrily at his comment. “I SO DO NOT HAVE A DEMON!”


Spike laughed again, chipped black nail polish flaking off as he ran a fingertip along her side. “Yes you do luv. What else explains that rush you get when killing something? That deep satisfaction that rips through you when a neck breaks… its clean crack ringing through the air?” He snorted in laughter, “you’re lying to yourself if you think any different Bufffy. Those flurries of punches are more than for show pet but they aren’t mortal shots. They’re for enjoyment. Part of the dance.” His mouth had shifted to her neck, the lips a hairs breath away from touching her skin. She was barely breathing whether from fear or something else that she refused to name. He continued on though. “That chilling snap is like a song to you pet, maybe not flowing out your mouth but definitely whispering through your veins.” He tapped the side of his head. “I can hear it whenever I’m near you, it calls out to every fiber of me. Screaming out its purpose, its beliefs, its fire. You can’t deny that it’s in there Buffy.”


“But its not!” she protested weakly. */ I can’t have a demon… I just can’t*/ She had to admit it was the first point that had seemed to make sense besides Faith’s rather dirty reason for enjoying a fight. Not that she would ever confess that to Spike. One small concession to his point of view would end up very badly, perhaps in a slumber party where Spike sang her sex pistol ditties… Definitely not something she was interested in.


Buffy grimaced, echoes of ‘death is your gift’ resounding all too clearly in her head. If that was what Spike thought was good about her, then he really did deserve Harmony. Buffy wanted nothing to do with slaying, she liked it, okay maybe more than liked it… craved it but it didn’t make her a better person. Hell, it made her worse. She had missed out on countless parties, chatted to the dead instead of boys, killed her lover for a sacred duty. Nothing that would ever get her anywhere except in a box of wood. Sometimes she could reconcile it within herself, people needed her to fight and of course the whole apocalypse had its own weight. But at the end of it, Buffy was alone. Willow, Xander, and Giles could never understand what she had sacrificed, lived with. The only other person who even came close was serving a prison term for murder and wasn’t considered all that right in the head either. The Slayer was isolated. And specifically on purpose if she thought about it, neither the Watcher’s Council or the Powers that Be could deal with an old granny slayer with tens of grandchildren. They needed young girls without a jaded attitude and as Spike pointed out, a death wish. If Buffy wasn’t so sick of the Wankers Council, she could have been made redundant long before now. The Slayer shook her head worriedly, reaffirming in her head what her heart already knew: she could never be the slayer and be normal… but she could certainly reject that element of her and pretend to be a girl. Ignorance is of course bliss.


The whole demon thing was another ball game. Definitely not something that Buffy A. Summers wanted to discuss whilst one stood in front of her. */ More like leant across*/ though Buffy with a half smile. Her arms, hanging for over an hour had become tired, causing her to lean her forehead across the vampire’s chest. If he was going to stand so close, she could at least take advantage. */And I am so not analysing that last thought*/


Spike sensing her turmoil, deciding to let the topic stand for what it was. Buffy couldn’t hide forever about it. “Let me ask you this then. Out of all the men that you have been with, demon included, has there ever been one that you didn’t fight against?”


The Slayer began to nod her head before Spike’s lips parted daringly close to her own. “Just think about it for a minute Goldilocks. You know I’m right.”


Buffy glared at him before actually considering his question. Spike possibly did have a point, not that she would ever tell him. Barring the awkward dates with Riley she’d first really met him in the college’s hallway whilst trying to save Willow. He had been dressed up in his toy solider outfit and she had quite happily kicked Riley and his men’s asses all the way down the hall. Even after they had become a couple they had still practiced sparred with each other, though if Buffy was honest with herself it was more like acting. Riley had always had an overly sensitive ego.


She didn’t even need to wonder about Angel. The one thing that both he and Angelus had in common was fighting and the thrill from it. All that pent up sexual frustration and brooding only helped Angel become an excellent fighter and spar partner. */ perhaps too good, what with all the puppy eyes we’d give each other when tackling*/ Retrospectively she could admit that Angel had quite often sat atop her far longer than necessary.


Which left only one person.


Parker.


Buffy shifted uncomfortably. It always made her feel ashamed when remembering anything to do with Parker. Trust Spike to bring him up. Her angry hazel eyes glared at her adversary who even now was causing mushy feelings to course through her belly. Spike had moved away from her, shoving both hands into the front of tight black jeans, and thrusting his hips forward in a way that should be made illegal. The vamp was a menace.


“I never fought with Parker.”


Cobalt blue eyes rose to meet her own, and for a moment Buffy was struck by the intensity of his emotions. Feelings swirled through them, far more powerful than they ever had with Angel and Riley. Her thoughts could not help singing out. */Maybe he does love me. No wait that’s stupid. People who love you do not chain you in the bottom of their crypt and swagger around. That is unless they are an evil vampire!*/ Buffy pursed her lips. The whole thing was ridiculous. Without a soul Spike didn’t have any feelings worth acknowledging.


//And she’s out again.// Spike stared at the Slayer for a minute before shaking his head despairingly. It had always confused him how women could completely zone out to the world around them and carry on a conversation perfectly by themselves. One moment the Slayer had been looking at him, eyes actually connecting with his before the little blonde chit had faded away, changing emotions creeping across her face with each thought. All Spike could conclude was that all women were absolutely off their rockers. Insane without hope of recovery.


Perhaps Spike was being driven mad by them too. He could still feel the pull of sire even though Dru remained unconscious. //A bloody blessing on us all.//


“Spike? Did you hear what I said?” Buffy, still hanging was rattling the chains irately. “SPIKE!”


The vampire winced in response. “Bleeding hell Slayer there’s no need to scream if I’m not torturing you.” He glared at her for a moment before curling his tongue in a suggestive smirk.


"You know since you 'don’t' like all the fighting involved maybe you could simply screech at demons, pierce their bloody ear drums It damn near worked with mine.”


Buffy snorted in response. “As if Captain Peroxide. Did you hear me before?”


“Yeah I sodding well heard you Slayer. You reckon Parker got away with the deed with no punches….lucky bloke.”


Buffy’s shocked face only made Spike feel like a ponce. Her face which had been turned towards him with no snide glances or glares, turned quickly away, hidden by a wall of hair. He always seemed to be fucking everything up.


“I hate you.” said Buffy quietly. “You can pretend all you want that there’s something in me trying to break free and maybe there is… but there’s definitely nothing inside of you.” Her voice steadily rose in tremor and anger with each sentence, Spike’s snark quickly deflating as a result. “I mean you tie me up, tell me how evil I am and expect what? Do you want me to kiss you Spike? Would that get you to forget about this whole fiasco and – “


Spike pressed his finger against her lips before she could continue, “Gods yes.”


Buffy, shocked and very much regretting ever mentioning the word ‘kissing’ gulped loudly. As intense as Spike was normally, it could never compare to now. Every muscle was stretched taunt with anticipation and desire? Buffy glanced at his eyes before checking that emotion off her list. */Definite desire residing here*/ A giggle escaped her mouth before the Slayer could blink, resounding oddly in the heavy mood that was his crypt. This was all a very horrible mistake yet Buffy could see no really way to fix it.


“Buffy?”


“Buffy, luv, if you don’t want to do this I understand… but you have to know that I love you.” Spike stepped back as she shook her head in denial. It was hard to not yell when she ignored his emotions so blatantly so the vampire turned his back to her. “You’re all I see pet, can’t help myself when I know there’s a part of you that responds to me. I couldn’t keep you out even if I tried…” He smiled despairingly when he heard her give a grumbled ‘hmph’ in response. “My demon knows you Buffy, loves you even and if you would just give me a chance, I could help.”


The slayer had watched somewhat confused as Spike’s shoulders quivered with emotion. She had trouble understanding why he couldn’t just let this go and return to the usual snark? Angel had left her so easily just two years before and thrown her out of LA not long after… how could Spike want her more than Angel? Angel was the one with the soul ultimately; Angel was the one who had loved her!


“Why do you say help?”


Spike growled his frustration, having had just about enough from the denying bint. If he didn’t love her, the demon would have already found some way to silence that infernal tongue.


“As much as all your little pals like to tell you how perfect everything bloody well is, it isn’t and neither are you! Moping about poor sodding Captain Cardboard who couldn’t buy a personality even if it was for free; carrying around all this bleeding guilt about the great poof who is too wrapped up in himself to even find out about this Glory chit; lying to yourself every night when you go hunting, trying to tell convince yourself that it isn’t a thrill and that some part of you doesn’t crave it.”


“Believe me when I say this. You Buffy Anne Summers are in desperate need of help.”


“So this is your grand solution Spike?” retorted the slayer.


A deep bellowing laugh ricocheted around the crypt. “Not in the least” smiled Spike rather darkly. This” he said, waving his arms between them “is my bloody revelation!”


“What do you mean?”


“Exactly this pet” Spike drawled, bottom lip jutting out in a defiant manner. “Unless you let me in, and by let in I do mean completely, there won’t be much more time for you to worry about how to be all sodding normal.” He pointed to a corner in the dark which Buffy had not bothered to peer at. “You do remember Dru right?” He paused for a moment, noting her frenzied nod. “Well she came back for me and was the one who knocked you out. I haven’t got her chained but I can keep her from you as long as you stop with this whole nobility rot. Really talk to me and stop hiding behind sodding walls. I don’t care about Angelus or your friend’s views pet, I just want the real you to show itself for once.”


“My demon as you call it.”


Spike merely nodded.


“And if I don’t you’ll let the insane bitch snack on me?”


Another nod greeted her amazed query.


Buffy shot her most hated look at him, shaking internally with fear as she considered his demand. She just couldn’t expose herself like that. Not to someone like him, maybe not to anyone. “I am so staking you later.”


Spike sighed, half expecting her to refuse. He started walking towards his sire, hoping all the while that she would call out and stop him. //Let’s hope she thinks I’m serious.//

Spike was very quickly finding out that women could be just as stubborn as him. The Slayer had remained completely silent ever since he started walking towards his sire, giving Spike the uneasy feeling that things were about to go horribly wrong.


A hard feat, considering the situation he was already stuck in.


For the unlife of him, Spike could not understand what was so bloody difficult in opening up to him. Sure he was the Slayer of Slayers but he was chipped now and couldn’t even pull a decent Halloween prank. Buffy had absolutely no reason to be so sodding scared.


His footsteps were heavy in the crypt, flames wavering as though in protest as he drew closer to his sire. Drusilla lay crumpled, the black dress she wore falling around her legs like a pool of black ink. //My dark princess//. Her shadowed face was pale with a slight bruise to one side where he had knocked her out. Spike could feel Buffy’s eyes boring into his back as he knelt down to pick Dru up, cursing himself all the while. If only he had ignored the bloody bint and gotten pissed. He could have evaded this whole situation and kept up pretences for a while longer.


The demon snorted derisively. The thought was so purely William like in tone that it felt a strong need to assert itself, yellow eyes flashing unbidden as Spike turned to look at Buffy.


//Mine//


Buffy’s breath was momentarily stuck in her throat, cut short by the vampire’s ethereal beauty. */Good gods he’s gorgeous.*/ The Slayer couldn’t help being drawn to Spike’s demonic visage even as he stepped closer with Drusilla in his arms. His eyes seemed to glow like liquid amber; a lighter shade by far than Angel’s mottled yellow. Spike was truly breathtaking. Each step he took was halting, heavy Doc’s scuffing the dirt in childish kicks. They seemed painful even, Buffy deciding promptly that there was little to no chance that Spike would unleash his sire. There was no hint of diabolical glee, only resignation. Perhaps in some twisted way he actually did love her.


She wasn’t going to let that stop her from trying to get out of this mess though. The chains above her were strong, but if she could keep Dru at bay there was a slight chance that she could dislodge them from the ceiling. A very slight possibility, if she was honest. So slight, that perhaps she may have to talk to Spike about more than the local baddies and fights. The Slayer squirmed unconsciously.


Spike was the absolute antithesis to her: rash, sometimes stupid in his devotion to his sire, impulsive and all too quick to lose his temper. He was a vampire who had lovingly drained the life from two of her sisters and then come hunting for his third. When that hadn’t worked he’d snapped the neck of the anointed and taken over as Master for a while. Only the snapping of his spine and Dru’s betrayal had done anything to dent the vamp’s ego or attitude. Even chipped, Spike exuded a personality well beyond any watcher’s capacity.


Befriending him, let alone loving him could never work.


Buffy sighed, both for the mockery that her life was and the Powers That Be sense of humor. Screwing her once was obviously not enough, they had to go and put her life on repeat. Fall in love with vampire, lose vampire, kill vampire. All she could see when looking at Spike was Angel. Angel and the sword jutting from his stomach as she kissed him goodbye, whispering useless nothings in his ear. Buffy shook her head in despair. She’d rather die than be forced to get involved with someone like him and have it all go to hell again. The Slayer had had enough of sequels.


She darted a glance at Drusilla, who was draped on the ground. The lack of breathing made her seem corpse like and oddly peaceful. Dru’s black wavy hair was spread out like a web, single strands splaying in all directions. Bones jutted out from her frame as though the vampire had not eaten for several weeks, only her lips, coated with dried blood remaining plump. */Definitely something I don’t want to be thinking about too closely.*/


As though to halt the Slayer’s internal monologue, Dru gasped a harsh breath, arching her back like a large panther. Her arms flew outwards and clutched at the closest object, in this case her childe. Spike who had been kneeling and staring at his sire, jumped abruptly as though shocked Dru had awoken. If possible, his face turned a lighter shade of pale, lean fingers running through his hair in agitation. For a moment all that could be heard was the scattered breath of Buffy, Dru quickly turning her head to stare at the slayer maliciously. If Spike didn’t stop her the slayer would definitely die.


Knowing this, Buffy forced a smile onto her face, all too common to the ones which graced her school pictures. Even though the very notion was irrational she still waited, hoping that Spike would bop Drusilla on the head, apologise and set her free. That misguided hope all but perished when Spike leant forward and lifted his sire gently to her feet.


Buffy was completely and utterly screwed.


Dru seemed to sense this as well, puffing out hollow cheeks to grin back. “Look at the pretty dolly all tied up in chains” she taunted, fingers twisting Spike’s golden locks into tighter curls. One hand reached out as though to pull at Buffy’s red shirt before drawing back. “Even now she still burns… burns like sunshine and nasty crosses.” Dru puffed out a lip petulantly, her tone whining like that of a child. “Why did you change the game, my sweet? Weren’t you having fun?”


Spike who had been staring downwards, wanting no part in the ordeal, flexed his shoulders in frustration. Both he and his demon were in utter confusion as to what to do. On the one hand Buffy was shaking like a leaf and most likely would give in if Dru so much as drooled on her. On the other hand, Spike wanted the slayer to give in of her own free will, particularly without bloody Dru hanging in the background like a talk show host.


“What do you want me to say pet?” he drawled, an element of the big bad seeping through. “I’ve always been bad and you haven’t been exactly considerate of my feelings lately either.”


Dru growled at his answer. The puppy was being far too insubordinate. “You shouldn’t say such things to Mummy Spoike. Not after I fed you supper and cake.”


Buffy’s outraged gasp only caused Spike to throw his hands in the air. If it wasn’t the chip giving him a headache it was bloody women and their standards. He was buggered no matter what direction he took.


“YOU KILLED SOMEONE?!?!” yelled Buffy incredulously. She had seen the blood for herself but to actually hear it spoken so blatantly was harder than she expected.


Spike kicked at the dirt, once more evading eye contact. It seemed to be the only way he wasn’t getting caught in a tug of war. “Technically Dru killed her luv and all the blood would have gone to waste anyway. I was just following my instincts.” He lifted azure eyes for a moment to gaze at the slayer beseechingly. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about his sire, or what she thought about that admission. All he wanted was Buffy.


The slayer obviously didn’t reciprocate the feeling.


“YOU DISGUST ME.”


Spike blanched for a moment, before his demon took control, all his patience snapping under the strain. Stalking forward, the vampire grabbed Buffy against him, the sharp edges of his chest melding with her curves. “Now listen here” he said, the unneeded breaths blowing cold against her ear. “I am sick and bloody tired of hearing how beneath you I am. You got that? There is nothing different between you hunting my kind down and me feeding off yours. The only factor is that I do it to feed, you because of some sacred duty that knocked you on your ass.” He growled roughly against her neck, the itch to bite her overwhelming. Even though the slayer trembled, it was no longer from fear, one leg rubbing gently against him. Immediately the demon softened its tone. “What happened tonight was a mistake pet. Pure and simple.” Spike took a step back, cradling her face with both hands. “I told you I could change and I have luv. If I was any kind of demon right now, I’d be asking my sire to snap your pretty little neck and drain you right here. But I’m not going to. And do you know why?”


Buffy shook her head in slow motion.

“Because I love you Buffy. Deep mushy love that can’t be burnt away no matter how many crosses you throw at me… and even if you don’t believe me, I’m willing to wait. All I need is a crumb Buffy. A sodding sentence that tells me I’m not alone in this.” Spike smiled gingerly at her before noting how dazed the slayer’s eyes were. Her pink lips were parted, leaning far too close for Spike to give a damn about the consequences. The vampire quickly leant forward, nearly brushing the slayer’s lips when he felt a sharp blow strike his back.


//Dru//


With a roar of pain and anger, Spike turned to halt his sire who gleefully was wielding a crow bar. //No wonder it hurts.//


He reached out a hand to stave off the next swing, but it tore his hand to pieces, blood falling like a waterfall. His sire merely smiled, before swinging again, this time striking flesh with an awful ripping sound.


Her childe dropped to the floor, badly wounded and clutching at his stomach. Wide eyes stared up at her, filling with betrayal.


“Why are you doing this?”


Drusilla smiled blithely down at him for a moment before kicking his head with one pointed shoe. “You were taking to long and I need to leave you a present. Miss Edith says that I must hurry before the Sunshine leaves.”


“What on earth are you talking about? The slayer’s right here, fine and dandy as a sodding thunderstorm… you really are off your nutter.”


Dru rolled her eyes in frustration, clucking her tongue at her errant childe. Sometimes she wondered why Angelus had not staked the bad dog. He could be far too inquisitive for his own good. Miss. Edith was being far too nice as far as Drusilla was concerned.


“For now, my sweet, but soon, this cavern will only be filled with tear drops and not those banging drums.” She raised her hands above her head twirling for a moment, much as a ballerina would do if stoned. “Can’t you see it Spike? All the light in here? The sunshine needs to darken, no one can see anything in only black and white.”


The vampire stepped closer to her childe, pitying him even as she imagined the fun that could be had. This would be far better than any circus. Lollipops included. Drusilla quickly raised the crow bar, knocking out her childe with just enough force whilst still making sure to not crush his skull. And they called her incapable.


Dru turned to the slayer and for the first time in a hundred years genuinely smiled.


The bad dog would love his new present.

Buffy had decided that maybe, particularly in such an instance as this, it was better not to think things could get any worse, because from the maniacal glint in Drusilla’s eyes they were about to. The Slayer inwardly cursed Spike for putting her in this position. If he had just left their ‘relationship’ alone instead of trying to change from arch rivals to lovers, then none of this would have happened. Either that or she would have naturally fallen for the vampire. Buffy balked at that idea. */As if*/


She was genuinely concerned about the vampire though. For all his snark and bravado, Spike would have ultimately let her go. Particularly after that near kiss they had shared, which Buffy on retrospect was going to ignore completely. The Slayer blushed before sneaking a glance at her now bloodied nemesis.


The vampire had not moved an inch, all life seeming to have been knocked out when his sire had abruptly struck him with a crow bar. The force of the blows was enough to have caused a bloom of blood to have seeped across his skull, the vibrancy of it contrasting against his white hair. She didn’t think he would be getting up any time soon, certainly not quick enough to save her from Drusilla who having now incapacitated Spike was involved in a happy dance. Who would have thought that Willow had anything in common with the insane? Knowing that Dru was too self involved Buffy cast another glance, some small segment worrying over his still form. Perhaps if she had listened to Spike this could have been averted. It was unsettling and even frightening not hearing a customary groan or whisper of breath escape from him. What if Dru had done permanent damage?


“Pretty Slayer should keep her eyes to herself.”


Spike’s sire had inched forward during Buffy’s examination, only her hands weaving aimlessly around her. The blood red half moons of her nails seemed to cut at the very air itself, reminding Buffy of the fateful gash in Kendra’s neck. The wound had been cut as though with a blade, a single swipe slashing its way into the dark slayer’s veins. The cascade of blood which had greeted Buffy during her discovery now seemed to shine in Drusilla’s eyes. The slayer had little doubt that she too would be forced to join her sister slayer in an early grave if she did not escape soon. The corset that Drusilla wore, plunged into a low neckline, ending in a sharp point at her waist. Loose strands were tucked behind her ears, accentuating the high cheekbones which now framed a deadly set of fangs. There was no way Buffy would be able to make it out alive.


“Now that the big bad dog is silenced, maybe you and I can talk sunshine.” Drusilla’s voice carried none of its usual lunacy; each word stabbing apart the slayer’s little remaining courage. Her tongue darted sinuously between her fangs, smearing a layer of dried blood.


“You know its not nice for pretty dolls to call puppies names, don’t you?” Dru asked the question quietly as though genuinely waiting for an answer. When Buffy didn’t respond she continued.


“The last girl who called my nasty Spike beneath her got all her dreadful locks pulled out and her traitorous throat cut into ribbons. You don’t want that do you sunshine?” Drusilla grinned wickedly, moving so closely to the slayer that if she chose to breathe out, she would have swallowed her breath and palpable fear. Her smile only seemed to bloom as Dru began to tap the slayer’s heartbeat into the wall. “Tick tock, tick tock, the web is falling down” sang Dru, the nails inching slowly across till they rested against Buffy’s cheek, “the spider has come for little miss muffet and now miss edith shall finally get her cake.”


“Drusilla please… let me go.” Buffy hated the desperation which filled her plea yet it appeared to stop Drusilla for a moment, the vampiress halting her inching descent to the slayer’s throat.


“And why should I do that? You’ve been nothing but a bad girl and I desperately want some cake.”


Buffy smiled brightly, watching as Dru’s eyes wandered away to the prone form of Spike to her left. “But wouldn’t it be better for Miss Edith to wait? I mean Dru, I can’t be that tasty, and plus there’s lots of cake Spike has been hoarding around here.” Buffy struggled to point towards the ladder, having to suffice with inclining her head when the chains would not budge. “Just think how happy the spider would be and you could even let me down to help you find it.”


Dru paused for a moment, a grin of childish delight crossing her face before pinning the slayer against the wall by her forearm. “You think your very sneaky don’t you Sunshine? Daddy and Spike have always wanted you but I can’t see the reason… Miss Edith says you should be a prize for Spike”, whined Drusilla, the petulant tone almost comical, “but I don’t think she’ll mind if I enjoy it at all.” Dru shifted to her human guise for a moment whispering something intelligible into Buffy’s ear before sliding her tongue across her throat.


“Please Dru… I’m begging you. Please stop.”


The dark vampiress lifted her head for a moment, tendrils of ebony hair thankfully smothering the vampire’s face from view. “Don’t worry sunshine it’s just like a thunderstorm, one small flash and you’ll be dead.” The words were barely a hiss yet sounded painfully close, Buffy feeling each syllable echo across her skin.


“Now if we are quite done, I’m going to have a piece” stated Drusilla biting down into the slayer’s cream neck before smiling from ear to ear. Each inch that the fangs sank into was pure agony, the slayer writhing in pain as her blood was pulled from her body.


Drusilla was oblivious.


The vampire began to hum to herself before breaking out of her reverie. Perhaps it would be polite to compliment the present. After all, they would be family.


“You taste like vanilla sunshine. Vanilla and strawberries” she whispered gently. Her tongue swiped at the blood which coated her lips like a child smothering itself in ice cream. For Dru this was far better than any circus imaginable, even those created by the pixies. She considered telling the slayer this before sighing. The present would die if she didn’t finish the job. Her fangs sank back down into Buffy’s throat, tearing a cry from the slayer as a barrage of images assaulted her.

***
The image of Christ, hanging inside a church as she whispered across its cold steps. “Forgive me father. I cannot help myself… the visions keep coming.”


Angel or maybe Angelus, tall and with a bloodstained moustache …. a sensation of connection and family. Dark and brooding as he crawled over the bed towards her….


A familiar man, almost Giles like in appearance in a dark alley fear lighting his features as the owner crept closer. He seemed to be crying, wiping lithe hands across his glasses as he spoke about purses.

The overwhelming sensation of blood, rich as chocolate washing over her throat and coating her insides as a man slumped across her.


Dancing under fake stars in New York with a blonde pale man, now recognisable as Spike.


Pained blue eyes and the connections of Childe. Worshipper. Accessory; contrasting against a dark brown: Sire, creator, protector, Daddy.

***

Buffy failed to dissect the images as they grew faster, interloping to include all of Drusilla’s dark history in a multitude of flashes. She wondered bleakly if this is what it truly felt like to die or if Drusilla was only taste testing. Her screams grew louder as the images assaulted her senses, her own heart beat fading away into the background as it all descended into darkness.


The abrupt sting of a forced wrist against her mouth and the taste of copper rich blood did not even register in the slayer’s mind, as she instinctually sank her teeth into the flesh.


The last thing before Buffy closed her eyes, was the dawning comprehension and horror within Spike’s as he gazed at Drusilla’s feast and the echoing of a single word:


Sire.

Spike stared at the slumped form of the slayer, a single thought running through his mind.


//I’m going to burn in hell.//


The entire crypt was lathed with the scent of blood, made all the more potent by its slayer origins. All the flames had been snuffed though no wind flew through the lower level.


All too dark an acknowledgement that something terrible had occurred.


Glancing about in anguish Spike could not make out his sire, Dru having decided to hide back and watch the fun. His whole body was wracked in a shaking fit, making it difficult for him to keep his eyes on Buffy. Despite this, he still tried, eyes burning with a liquid he’d rather not name.


She’d never forgive him.


He should have known that Dru wouldn’t be happy just standing in the background and letting him finally be accepted. That would have been far too beneficent; something completely outside his sire’s sphere of understanding. No, in Dru’s twisted way, turning Buffy was a far better option. She had observed Angelus’ teachings all too well: if you can’t beat it, kill it… if you want to control it, turn it.


Spike would rather dust himself than see Buffy go through the same tortures he’d been introduced to as a fledgling.


An internal shudder racked Spike’s body for a moment causing a roar of pain to sound from his mouth. It tore from him, blasting across the crypt where any candles still burning were quickly snuffed.


He’d never wanted this to happen.


Perhaps Spike should have paid closer attention to Drusilla. Maybe noticed that the glint of anticipation which had shone in her dark orbs upon seeing the Slayer was unusual. Yet Spike had always been guilty of missing her tricks. When young it was common for his sire to trap him in a room of the house for several days with Angelus. Back then he’d never had a clue to what she meant when singing about ‘Daddy’s spanks’ or ‘a naughty boy’s punishment’. It had taken several severe episodes before his demon took control and protected them. Despite this, they were both weak against Dru ultimately. As a sire she had a relationship so integral with his demon that to sever it could destroy him. If he had stayed with his nest and family consistently then the bond would have been just that much stronger.


Maybe Angelus’ soul was a benefit.


Spike tried vainly to lift himself, but found his legs unresponsive. Dru had done her work well. At this point he wouldn’t be able to get close enough to the slayer before she slipped into unconsciousness. Never again to wake as one of the living.


The tears which had been swimming in the blond vampire’s eyes began to pour, turning red as they washed away the blood. His azure eyes shone that much brighter, what little light there was in the crypt being reflected in their depths. Inwardly his demon howled.


They were both in mourning.


Drusilla had well and truly damned him.


There was a well known reason that slayers were never turned. Besides the difficulty in killing them, their souls were still painfully intact, constantly warring with the demon until one was subdued. Such an internal battle was never healthy and more often than not, the slayer had been driven battier than Drusilla’s little pixies.


Their madness was so consuming that any that did not dust themselves in a fit of shame were staked by their sires. It was expected protocol after the last slayer had wiped out the leading clan and over half of its members.


The Master had celebrated and moved up the food chain. The bat faced git had given Darla to Angelus as a present for the unexpected rise in power and then proclaimed the new law.


Slayers were never to be turned, on pain of ritual staking of any involved.


Angelus, like the poof he was had glowered about it from that moment onwards, searching for a slayer which he could seduce and turn. At first he had thought Drusilla would be the next slayer on account of her odd visions but the activation age passed and Dru remained pure, virginal but definitely not a slayer.


Angelus took her anyway.


Darla thought of the whole thing as a game, idly amusing herself with Dru whenever Angelus received the urge to go searching once more. Half of their destruction of Europe had been of young girls, odd in attributes and more often than not around the age of sixteen.


Spike was chosen as nothing more than a plaything for Drusilla whilst her sire hunted and as a result was completely oblivious when Angelus finally found his prize. He’d been a fledgling for less than a week when Angelus had entered their home, carrying a young girl. Her skin was dark and surrounded by thick black curls which hadn’t been washed in what smelled like months. They fell like a waterfall over Angelus’ arm as the demon swung her onto a bed.


“I’ve found her” he cried joyously, licking the slave girl’s neck with enthusiasm. “She was called on the slave ship and instead of hiding it, tried to fight her way to freedom. When I went to the docks they were dragging her ashore on accord of her ‘disturbance’. Only had three guards there to stop me” he chortled, flexing his muscles to a wide eyed Darla. “As if three guards could do anything against me.”


The demon’s eyes were a stained yellow, mixing with green as though every part of him was unclean. They consistently flickered over to the dead girl, a wave of possessiveness already established even before she awoke. At that time Angelus sported a beard, thinking it made him appear more gentile in the eyes of his victims. Superficial git.


Drusilla had come close to the bed, cooing in the dead girl’s ear before sweeping a hand down her body. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen and had obviously been beaten before coming off the ship. The galleys which held slaves bound for the Americas, often contained far more women and children then men, villages being far easier to raid than hunting groups of men. Her garb was a rough cloth, stained with food and dirt and stinking of human waste. Not uncommon of a slave during the 1800’s.


William nearly balked at the sight. Coming from the upper class had hidden him from the realities of plebian life or the practices that his country advocated. Faced as he was by a human example of colonialism, William was unprepared for it. Particularly when Dru began to kiss the fang marks where Angelus had drained the girl. The blood had long since dried on her skin, but where on pale cream, the blood remained a clotted bright red, on this girl it turned a deep shade of burgundy, mixed in with dirt. Dru’s face was coated with it.


The girl had lain on that bed for several hours, Angelus not once moving from his vantage point in the corner. He’d crowed about her power and the honour which he’d receive for successfully turning a slayer. Never mind the fact that he’d be instantly staked if any of the major families discovered his transgression. William kept away from the entire situation, unconsciously knowing that only trouble could come of this encounter. The word ‘slayer’ was tossed around randomly, no one but Dru bothering to give him an explanation. His dark princess had described the slayer as a ‘girl which loved to bash and kill vampires even though she was really one of them.’ This had only perplexed him more, as he couldn’t understand any vampire killing one of their own. It was Darla who finally had made sense of Dru’s twisted words.


“A slayer, dear William” said Darla in her usual cold tone “is a human girl with a very short life span, destined to kill our kind. She may share a demon like us yet it is primal, uneducated.” She grinned calculatingly towards William who really was a child in all this. If Dru didn’t need minding so often, they would have dusted him. So far his personality had been shown itself to generally be introverted…definitely not a trait Darla could identify with.


The girl stayed cold as a corpse for several hours before reawakening in her demonic face. Her eyes were a green colour, deep as emerald and unlike any other vampire that Spike had ever seen. At first Angelus had stood back, watching like a gloating father as his creation shifted back and forth between her two masks. No bonds covered her whatsoever and as the fledgling became more agitated, Angelus began to grow worried. A girl of fourteen had enough trouble dealing with a strange environment but now her demon and the essence of the slayer were also in conflict. Ripples coursed across her frame, causing the slave girl to jolt unnaturally as they warred for dominance.


After a few minutes in such a state the girl had fallen back to the bed, convulsing into what looked like an epileptic fit. It took three days before she could even speak. Angelus’ blood was the only thing that she chose to feed off and in true Darla like fashion, the two women became quickly bored with ‘Daddy’s prize’.


Spike shuddered remembering the ruined hunting parties which they had dragged ‘Cathy’ on, as they called her. Most of the time she spoke an African dialect but did pick up their names and words for basic items during the three weeks she lived. She did not enjoy Angelus’ idea of hunting but when she did fight, Cathy was a masterpiece in motion, ripping apart throats with barely a breath. Every kick, thrust or bite was natural and she soon out grew Angelus’ capabilities.


The old sod never got over it.


A controlled Slayer is difficult enough for a watcher to manage but when the bonds of childe and sire are strained, there is real reason for concern. Cathy quickly became irate at Angelus and came close to killing him numerous times, something Spike was certain the old poof deserved. During that time, the conflict had continued to rage between Cathy’s demons, her human side unable to meld with one or the other. As a result it would randomly gain control, conversing with Spike and dancing to odd rhythms that she taught him to play. The three managed to survive with varying rates of success. It was when she took the life of another slave girl that her human side gave up.


The last Spike had seen of Cathy, before running away from the sun’s rays was the slayer sitting along a dock in London, gazing out to sea, with the dead girl in her arms. Spike had called out to her for several minutes but Cathy had only waved him off, singing a tribal death song.


Angelus never spoke of the incident again.


The tears which Spike had continued to shed only ran quicker down his face. If Buffy was stuck in such conflict as Cathy had been, maybe it would be better if he did stake her. In his heart though he knew couldn’t… //rather die than be forced to live without her.//


Shuddering from the intense pain, Spike again tried to drag himself closer to the slayer. He had more success this time, a sharp shiver running along his back legs. Spike smiled bitterly. Keeping his chest close to the ground he slowly crawled his way across the floor, leaving a bloody trail behind. He didn’t dare look at his waist, feeling half his insides scrap the ground. //Bloody fucking sire.//


He finally reached the slayer several minutes later, and had to bite his tongue as sobs wracked him. He was too late. Two deep puncture marks stood out against Buffy’s cream neck, dribbles of blood leaking out. Her mouth was open in mimicry of Cathy, however was roughly stained with Dru’s offering. There had obviously been a great deal given, assuring Spike that Dru had turned Buffy into a childe rather than a minion.


A cold comfort in light of recent events.


Spike forced his back against the wall, ripping and biting at the chains until they finally gave. He held out his arms stiffly, as the slayer collapsed into them, biting back the cry of pain which rose unbidden from him. Chipped nails caressed her face, as Spike clutched the Slayer closer to him, not daring to move as he nursed her body like a babe. As sightless eyes stared back at him, Spike’s wall of resolve finally broke, the vampire crying out his loss in purely animal howls.


Dru struggled not to smile as she watched the pair. Her poor William was crying for now but soon, oh so much sooner than that other nasty Slayer, the sunshine would awaken. She’d need a sire but Drusilla had left that open for Spike to take if he wanted. When biting she’d whispered those special words Miss. Edith had taught her for just this particular moment. The bad dog would now have the chance to give his love to someone effulgent. Dru had known long before he did that their family would never be enough. She had tried though, even killing his food for the naughty puppy. Yes this was a far better idea. Spike could start his own little family and in the end Mummy could still visit with her Daddy and daughter.


The promise of bloodshed and mayhem that would come from her new present only made the vampire break into a grin. Not taking her eyes off her errant childe and the first slayer turned vampire in a hundred years, Dru walked out of the crypt.


In just a few hours, all her dreams would come to life.

The first sensation that she felt was pain. It crept along her spine, dipping into every nerve until Buffy was certain that she would pass out. She could feel cold arms around her but dismissed it the next moment, recalling the sinking of fangs into her flesh and need. There was a terrible sense that something or someone was missing. The Slayer numbly opened her eyes, wincing when her vision swirled. The edges of her mind were hazy, odd details like the taste of chocolate and words that couldn’t possibly be hers leaping to the fore in snapshots. What’s happened to me? she thought worriedly. Why can’t I see? The slayer rocked forward, clutching desperately at her head as another memory coursed through her.

“Why are you doing this?”

The voice spoke softly, haunting the cold room with its soothing tones. Looking up Buffy could see that she was below ground but where she had no idea. The scent of dust was coupled with the sloshing ground that she tread over, some water having leaked down through the room. Marble and other types of stone framed the four corners which were hidden almost completely by darkness.

This is just a little bit creepy.

Turning the slayer moved until her back leaned against the wall, waiting for that eerie voice to speak again. From what she had heard it was obviously English, upper class if watching that movie ‘Pride and Prejudice’ had taught her anything. Buffy shivered when a woman moved out of the shadows.

What the hell is Darla doing here?

Again the voice sounded, this time breaking into a harsh laugh.

“You know that there’s no point to this don’t you? I know what you vile creatures are and nothing you do will make me join you.”

Darla merely shrugged, “whatever you say Drusilla.” Her smile, half hidden by the lack of light appeared malicious, as though the whole situation was an act of revenge. The vampire was dressed in a blue gown of silk, the hem just skirting the floor. If it bothered Darla that water coated the edges she gave no sign, crossing the dust covered stone until she was only three feet away from the slayer. “We both know that Angelus will soon change your mind. He always was persuasive.” Her blue eyes, calculating and cold seemed to ghost over Buffy, not even registering that she was there. It gave the petite blond the confidence she lacked to move away from the wall and stand next to Darla.

The sight of Drusilla, chained to the wall and broken, caused her to gasp in shock.

The brunette who had terrorized Buffy’s dreams on more than one occasion hung on the wall, her feet dangling a foot above the ground. In this vision her skin still retained a healthy glow, soft curves rather than the sharp angles she would later sport making the girl appear vivacious. It was a complete contradiction to the vampire who later would cut Kendra’s throat to ribbons. Studying her, Buffy noticed that Drusilla’s shoes had been removed; trails of blood coursing down and dripping off her toes. The slayer jerked her eyes away from her lower form which lay completely bare and fixed her eyes on the woman’s face. How can a human sustain such damage?

Her hair fell in ringlets and thankfully had not been touched. It was a small mercy when seeing the deep scratches which were gouged into each cheek. The fingernail marks were still clearly visible. Blood coated her neck, thick lobs still flowing down until they stained what remained of the dress.

Buffy shuddered, wanting to help Drusilla who obviously was very much awake and sane. Obviously Angelus had not started the final stages of his ‘master piece’. The memory she was witnessing could only have occurred just before she was turned, a youthful glow to her face hinting that the girl was not more than sixteen, eighteen at best.

The slayer stepped forward, ghosting a hand over the suspended feet.

“Leave her be wench.”

Buffy whirled to see the hulking frame of Angelus make his way towards them, clad in finery that she had only seen in movies. His hair was long, brushing the edges of his shirt collar which flared out in a dramatic manner. Puffs of cloth centered down the middle of his chest, causing the slayer to widen her eyes in surprise. On any other enemy the slayer was positive that she would have laughed outright yet the cold yellow eyes stilled any feelings of merriment. Despite the odd attire Angelus still retained his vicious aura, made all the more plain by the snarl which erupted from his throat.

“You should’ve known I wasn’t done toying with her yet.” His gaze focused on Darla, causing his sire to shrug with indifference.

“You were taking too long”, she said dully. “What was I meant to do? It’s plain that she isn’t the slayer.” The vampire studied her fingernails in boredom, relishing the growl which echoed in the room. “I say that we just kill her and be done with it.”

Instantly Angelus moved forward, shaking his sire in anger. “Touch her and you will scream to be dusted Darla.” His chest rose and fell with unneeded breaths, echoing in the room and only emphasising his anger. “This one is special… she has a purpose.”

Buffy moved further away from the pair, glad that the memory was once more dissolving into the familiar blur she had seen before. Anything was better than listening to the soft lilt of Drusilla as Angelus began to reshape her mind.


What on earth was that? The Slayer moved her hand across her brow, still feeling residual tremors from the force of the flashback. There was no good explanation for its occurrence except to assume that somehow Drusilla had transferred her memories during the interrogation. She swept the edges of her fingertips along her face, recoiling back into Spike’s chest when she felt what could only be ridges.

This can’t be happening….

Again she pushed at the skin, a feeling of dread coursing through her when the vampiric mask did not dissipate like a bad dream. She had known that Drusilla had bit her but this? Buffy fought the urge to scream her terror, huddling further into the cold chest which supported her shaking frame.

What am I going to do? she thought. I can’t see anything and Dru could still be in here… waiting. The petite blond perked her ears hoping to catch a hint of the vampire’s movements before realising that she had been abandoned.

Drusilla has worse parenting skills then Hank.

The stench of blood filled her nostrils, overwhelming her senses until she could barely breathe. It was so strong that her throat seemed to clamp like a vice. Though she was partially blind, she could still see a shock of platinum hair far too close to be taken seriously. Buffy did not trust her senses enough to believe that Spike had moved and was holding her. Although that would make sense, seeing as I’m being held. She struggled to hold back the nausea which threatened at the scent of her spilt blood, moving her face closer to the other vampire’s. Surely he would be awake by now. The crypt absolutely stunk with the smell of blood and fear. Buffy felt a twinge of paranoia as she realised that it was her’s.

This is a nightmare.

Along her arms and particularly shoulder she could feel the rough coating that could only be her drying blood. The petite blond moved her hand down her neck, starting to cry as she felt the two puncture holes. Dru had ripped at her neck with a frenzy after she dissolved into consciousness, the taste of slayer obviously being too much. Buffy was amazed that she had survived.

Not survived, she corrected mentally. You’re dead Buffy. She moved her body more firmly into Spike’s embrace, Drusilla’s familiar scent soothing her subconsciously.

There still remained the constant ache of longing but it abated slightly when close to him. The petite blond dismissed the obvious fear that such a sensation was present, it could be ignored for now.

What I really need is answers.

Buffy moved her lips to Spike’s throat, growling low before hearing an answering rumble. Slowly his shocked eyes opened, gazing at her with a mixture of fear and awe. His azure eyes turned yellow at the sight of the ridges and fangs which peeked just under her top lip.

Buffy.