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Spike woke to a heaving stomach and the feeling that someone was using his skull as an anvil. He lay still, fighting down the nausea, while he gradually took in what he could of his surroundings without undergoing the pain of actually opening his eyes. He was lying on something soft - a bed? - flat on his back, arms stretched above his head; painfully, as it happened. He groaned and tried to move. What the f…? He risked opening his eyes a crack. Handcuffs! He was handcuffed to a bloody bed! He closed his eyes again and tried to marshal his memories into something resembling coherence. Although being handcuffed to a bed largely went along with some very enjoyable memories, he was pretty sure this wasn’t one of those occasions. The image of a crumpled body in a doorway finally came to mind and with it the memory of a sharp stabbing pain in his neck. Someone had drugged him – bloody effectively; whoever did it knew about vampire physiology – drugged him and brought him here. Which was… where, exactly? He opened his eyes and looked around.

Bed, wardrobe, chest – bedroom then. It’s a start. Blackout blinds at the windows, puddles of light from a couple of lamps casting as much shadow as illumination, no personal items, no ornaments. As far as he could see, the only real colour in the room came from a large print, glinting on the wall above one of the lamps – “La Vierge”, Spike recognised with a frown, couldn’t say Klimt was ever one of his favourites. Otherwise the room was a blank canvas, blandly chic and contemporary, like a better class hotel room.

“Good morning.” The soft female voice came from the shadows by the door.

Spike raised his head painfully. “’Morning. You room service then? Don’t like to complain, but handcuffs seem a bit of overkill. What, you worried I’d bolt without paying the bill?”

“I’m sorry the facilities aren’t to your liking.” She stepped out of the shadow and into the light of a lamp. Tall, slim, dark hair, brown eyes… Spike had the disorientating feeling that comes with seeing a half-familiar face out of context. He gave her a puzzled frown.

She smiled “You don’t remember me.”

A memory surfaced. “Wofram and Hart. You were… what his name… Pietro’s stand in.”

“True. But we’d met before.”

He looked at her through narrowed eyes. There was something about her… “Been around a long time. I met a lot of people,” he said carefully.

She pressed her hands to her chest and pouted. “I’m hurt! Girl doesn’t like to be forgotten.” She smiled. “Well, I guess it was over 50 years ago. And I’m not just saying this, but you don’t look a day older.”

A light suddenly switched on in the dimness of Spike’s befuddled brain. “Vampire.”

“Give the man a coconut.” She walked over to the bed and sat next to him. “And I have you to thank.”

He frowned. “Now wait a minute. I didn’t turn you… I never…”

“No, you didn’t. But still… You really don’t remember? Mary? Not that you asked my name…” She shrugged. “June 1954. Giovanni’s?” She leant closer and whispered in his ear. “You lured me with a promise of real English tea…”

The memory rushed back suddenly. He and Dru had argued, god knows what about – she’d probably been flirting with some loose-limbed Italian demon or other – and he’d stalked off in high dudgeon to get himself a drink in some watering hole in the backstreets of Rome. Pretty little brunette with a sweet English accent smiled at him, and he’d been feeling down and a bit peckish, so he’d thought… why the hell not? Took her off with… yeah, promised her real English tea… kid was homesick… down an alley and… she’d barely whimpered when he sank his fangs into her neck. He’d suddenly thought that maybe he’d take her back to Dru… little peace offering… so that’s what he did. Took just enough to knock her out and dragged her home. He’d not killed her, and he’d sure as hell not sired her.

“I remember.” He gave her a puzzled frown.

“Good!” She smiled sweetly.

“But I didn’t…”

“No, you didn’t.” She gave a cat-like smile. “Drusilla did.”

Right… Dru hadn’t been home. He’d dumped his unconscious gift on the floor and stormed off. Spent the next few days drinking himself senseless – hadn’t seen Dru for weeks. By the time he caught up with her she was well out of it – off wandering in Loopyville, talking to the pixies. So, what? She’d made herself a little playmate?

“So Dru sired you. What’s this then, revenge?”

“Revenge? Good god, no! Well, not for that. Being a vampire is about the best thing that could happen to a mousey little nobody from the Home Counties. Beats marrying a banker and rotting quietly in Surbiton.”

“So, what’s all this about.” He rattled the handcuffs. “Is this something to do with Immortal? Wolfram and Hart? Ilona?”

“Ilona?” Mary laughed. “No, although rumour has it she wouldn’t mind having you handcuffed to her bed. Seems she not immune to your… manly charms.”

“Well, you know, love, if you wanted my body, you only had to ask…” He tried out his best suggestive smirk.

She bent to run a scarlet fingernail down his cheek. “Pretty - but you’re not my type.” She straightened and walked over to the bedroom door. “No, you’re a present… for a friend. Now don’t go away and I’ll be back soon. Oh, and if you’re thinking of shouting? Don’t waste your time. No-one to hear you. Ciao, sweetheart.”

He watched her leave and then turned his attention to the cuffs binding his hands. They were serious, no nonsense titanium steel jobs. Not your average porn shop versions, then. Nothing to be gained tearing his wrists apart trying to break them. He examined the bed head – heavy, iron, pretty much unbreakable. He threw his head back against the pillow and growled in frustration. She’d clearly thought this one through. He managed to struggle into a sitting position – and immediately regretted it as the small but sturdy blacksmiths in his head started up the anvil party again. Whatever she’d stuck him with, it was bloody strong. Hadn’t had a hangover like this since… well, ever, as it happens.

He sat quietly, eyes shut against the heaving in his gut. Well, this is another fine mess you’ve gotten yourself in to. What is it about him doing the right thing that always seemed to end up with being beaten to within an inch of his unlife, drugged or fried? And how come it had only ever happened since Buffy came on the scene? Buffy. He gave a groan. He had no idea how long he’d been out; felt like hours, could be days. And he’d said he’d be back. He jerked the handcuffs in frustration. Here we go again – him and timing? Not good. About on a par with him and talking to Buffy.

He sighed and hung his head. He’d dreamt about meeting Buffy again. Like he’d said – a thousand different scenarios, a thousand carefully planned situations and carefully rehearsed words. But still he hadn’t been prepared for her reaction; or his own, come to that. He’d told Angel he was moving on and he’d almost believed he was. He’d always love Buffy, of course he would; she’d changed his life just as dramatically as Drusilla had. But he’d accepted they had no future together, despite the stupid niggling hope he tried not to acknowledge. So, although she was always going to be part of him, she wasn’t going to be the be all and end all any more. He’d got that straight. And then he saw her and she touched his face and the whole gut-wrenching, breathtaking, mind-numbing… stupidity of it all hit him again. And guess what? Turns out it was still all about Buffy, and he still hadn’t the first bloody idea where he stood with her. Moving on? Yeah, right.

The sound of giggling brought him back to himself. Seems his captor was back, and she’d brought a friend.

They came into the room together, and Spike felt a familiar lurch in the pit of his stomach, the stirring of deep, half-forgotten feelings and dark memories. Seems the girl had found her sire.

Mary was standing behind Drusilla, her hands over Drusilla’s eyes. “One more step!” she laughed.

“Mary, Mary… so contrary… how does your garden grow?” Drusilla’s voice was sing-song. She giggled. “What have you in the garden, my love? Silver bells for our toes? Pretty maids for our feasting?”

“Not quite!” Mary positioned Drusilla carefully in front of her, keeping her hands over Drusilla’s eyes. “Now. Look.” She took her hands away, sliding them down over Drusilla’s shoulders and wrapping her arms around her waist. She rested her chin on Drusilla’s shoulder. “Look who I found!”

Drusilla blinked and looked over at the bed. A slow smile curved her lips. “Well, Spike…” she said slowly. “What a pretty mess you’re in…”





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