Drusilla had to will her mind to stay clear. The madness could come later, if she ever got free.
But Angel had other plans. "Time for me to right a wrong," he said aloud to no one in particular, though maybe for the benefit of the Powers-That-Be. Obviously, they had made sure Dru happened to be in London at the exact time he was.
The younger vampire's heels kicked into Angel's shins as he held her tight, but the effort was wasted. The longer he clenched her small frame to his own, the harder it became for her to struggle. He was stalling, but only because he couldn't decide on how he wanted to end this. Snapping her neck was pretty passionless, a stake through the heart was too common; surely, their relationship, though strained as it was, required something a little more personal. Liam thought up something that Dru would enjoy, and Angelus rose to the surface in agreement.
Angel's hands tore at the bodice of Drusilla's dress, drawing blood. She cried out, reminding him that, although they were alone, they were still outside. So he moved himself, pressing her back against the rough brick of the building so that he could cover her mouth with one of his hands. His knee moved between her legs, locking them in place as it nailed her dress tight.
He could see the emotions playing across her eyes. Desire and fear roiled, each vying for dominance. His demon surged at that, nearly uncontrollable. Leaning down, he lapped at the blood that had pooled across the upper swell of her breasts.
Dru whimpered between his fingers, finding it harder and harder to stay lucid while Angel was tormenting her as he once did. She felt his fangs bury themselves in her soft flesh and the strong pull of blood. Her breast was already blossoming in bruises. So this was how he was going to do it, then? Fuck her and drain her dry? She'd have laughed at the wonderfully-perfect idea if she didn't feel such devotion to the prophecy. No, no, she couldn't let herself enjoy this. She couldn't let herself go.
But a snap and a whizzing changed everything.
Angel tore his mouth from Dru's chest to yelp at the arrow now embedded in his shoulder. He turned his head when he heard the next arrow being nocked. The shock of seeing his attacker kept him from completely dodging the projectile. It struck him in his sternum and quite deeply at such close range now. The pain was burning.
When Angel reached for the arrow, Drusilla pulled away. Clutching at her tattered dress, she ran towards the archer.
Angel relaxed slightly. He figured she had taken care of this already, but he forgot—poor Drusilla, so steeped in madness that she often just played with her food.
But when he saw another arrow being aimed at him, and the man not even flinching at Drusilla's approach, he knew something was wrong.
"I've deliberately missed twice," Giles announced in a steady, calculating voice. His free hand ushered the battered Drusilla behind him. "The third time's the charm."
.
.
"Gee, lemme guess... He's not here either," Dawn snarked. It's not like she really wanted to see Angel, but she wouldn't mind getting this over with. She wanted to see the country. And to find Spike. You know, with, like, minimal effort.
"Well, they always say third time's the charm," Buffy replied, peeking into the dusty windows of the Hyperion.
Dawn picked at a scab on her elbow. "What does that even mean, anyway?" God, this was boring. She sighed dramatically as she watched Buffy try to get some sort of response from anyone inside. This place was freakin' DEAD. "Let's just go."
Buffy was starting to pry open a window when she was suddenly knocked back by Dawn's shrill squeal.
"Omigod!"
"Hey, wow! What are you guys doing here?"
The Slayer turned around to see Dawn excitedly hugging the saggy-skinned Sunnydale demon Clem. At the sight, Buffy couldn't help the smile that rose to her face. She never thought she'd say this about the weird-looking guy, but what a sight for sore eyes!
"I thought you guys were off in England or something!" Clem continued, happily returning Dawn's hug.
"Yeah, we came to try to find Angel." Dawn shot Buffy a grumpy look.
"Ooh, yeah, uh... I try to stay away from him, ya know? Kinda... creeps me out."
Buffy shook her head. "We're really trying to find Spike."
Clem's eyes lit up at that. "You gettin' back together?" Always hopeful for good ol' Spike.
"You knew he was back?" Buffy couldn't believe everyone seemed to know except her.
"Oh, sure! I mean, if it weren't for him, L.A. would have..." He stopped, realizing. "You mean, you didn't?"
Dawn and Buffy both frowned.
"Man. That's... wow." Clem pulled at something on the hem of his shirt nervously.
"We thought Angel could tell us where he was," Dawn explained.
A second later Buffy added, "But maybe you'd know better?"
.
.
"You know," Krolik grunted as he heaved Ryk's dead body over his muscled shoulder, "it's hard to have friends with you around."
Spike rubbed his charred forehead.
"This is, what, the third one this year you've taken care of?"
The vampire sighed and looked up at the Miquot.
Krolik coughed. "You're lucky I was getting sick of him."
At that, the demon stomped out of Spike's apartment, leaving him and the witches corpse-free. Willow and Tara both hugged him tight in thanks and relief.
Spike winced slightly, a knee-jerk reaction until he realized that the witches' combined power really did do a decent job of healing some of his various burns and wounds.
In their embrace, he softened a bit.
But only for a moment, before the anger he had been harboring lately rose again to the surface.
"Bollocks!" he snapped.
The witches looked at each other, loosening their hold on him a bit.
"Big, bloody, bleedin' bollocks!"
They'd have giggled if he weren't so seriously upset.
Spike rose, then began pacing the room. He didn't mean to take this out on the girls, and, really, he wasn't; he was just taking it out around them. But something was wrong. All this shit that had been happening lately... He could handle it (sort of) when it was directed towards him. Now, though, it was affecting everyone around him, everyone who was helping him. Willow, Madame Polina, and God knows who else. (His thoughts flashed to his sweet landlady Maria for a quick, panicky moment as he realized he hadn't seen nor heard from her in at least a week.) There had better be a good excuse for all this. One that didn't include the words "prophecy" or "apocalypse" or...
.
.
"Angel," Giles grumbled. "Big, bloody, bleedin', bollocky..."
Drusilla giggled behind him, petting the mounted raven he'd had perched near his desk. The poor dead bird was now cradled in her arms. She danced around with it, naked as the day she was born. Giles had tried to get her to don one of his shirts or his robe, but she wrinkled her nose at him. "Is that how you treat a lady?" she had asked him as though she were insulted. "Err...uh...carry on then, Lady Godiva," Giles eventually replied. That wasn't a fight he wanted to start. Instead, he sat there attempting to mend her torn dress. After all these hours with Drusilla, he had a new sort of respect for Spike, to have taken care of this creature for over a century.
Now, as he was finishing the seams, his mind was turning to the eldest of the Aurelian line. He and Dru were lucky to have escaped Angel. Giles knew he was a good shot, but Angel was a master vampire—and a physically strong one at that. The Watcher made it out with his feigned courage and a few well-placed hits. He wasn't confident that the next shot would hit Angel in the heart now that the vampire seemed to figure out he was in a trap. So, Giles did the next best thing. He aimed that final arrow at the vampire's foot. His hope was that it would buy them some time. It worked, but barely. Dru remained lucid enough to carry Giles along with her as she wove a scattered path to his home (hoping somehow to throw Angel off the trail). With his new limp, Angel wasn't as fast as he ought to be. And though he trailed them uncomfortably close, they managed to cross Giles' threshold before Angel could grab one or the both of them. The elder vampire swore and tried repeatedly to "storm the castle," as it were, but eventually gave up. Dru couldn't tell Giles if Angel was gone, at least not right now while she was half-mad, so he assumed they were prisoners for the time-being. And that was fine with him, because he wanted to dig into this prophecy.
"Rook takes king," Dru sang to the bird. "Checkmate. Checkmate. Checkmate," she stammered, moving the bird down for a 'peck' with each word. She was clearly delighted, even if Giles hadn't the time or patience to translate. Twirling around the furniture, she twittered an invented song:
The final cut of the sun
Start like a hare
Over the shoddy grey walls
I saw you dimple and crease
And turn a card from the pack
By your bed
As though swords, cups, discs and wands
Might tumble into your head
And give you a glimmer of something profound
But your gods made no sound
The gods made no sound
Your gods made no sound
You were cartwheel and sommersault
But not at your ease
I was not at my ease
As through unfolding vistas
Of dullness and deadness
I saw the metal buckets
Fatigued and buckled
With nimbus of rustflowers
In sheds by the lake
I was already falling and fallen and lost
And it was not at your cost
And I was not at my ease
And it was not at your cost
By aimless pools with no surprise
I counted the flickerings of your eyes
And saw the magical bird
In the magical woods
Fly over the hills
And far away
From the sea it's you I see
By the glowing seashore it was you that I saw:
The magical bird in the magical woods"
.
It would be glorious if Dru would give him a quiet moment to think. How was Spike ever able to craft his nearly-successful plans with this nattering? It's not her fault, ya berk. Blame Angel.
And then it struck him—why hadn't he heard back from the coven yet?
.