He was sleeping like the dead, which was, she admitted, appropriate. He was shirtless and bore a number of bruises and claw marks across his chest. She frowned when she saw them, wondering what exactly he’d been doing to have picked up those. His boots, shirt and coat lay next to him in an uncharacteristically neat pile. He had one arm draped across his chest and the other behind his head, posing even in his sleep.
Buffy rolled her eyes and scowled at him. How anyone’s mere presence could grate on her so much, even when they were unconscious, baffled her. Now would be a perfect opportunity to stake him, too. After contemplating that scenario for all of five seconds, Buffy put her stake away and lowered the flashlight.
“Spike,” she said.
Nothing. Not a movement, not a groan; nothing.
“Spike,” she tried again, a little louder. “Spike!”
God, he really did sleep like the dead. After yelling at him a few more times, Buffy gave up and resorted to less polite means. The sight of his heavy black boots on the floor gave her an idea. She cast a glance at the still sleeping vamp and bent down.
The result was hilarious.
Spike shot straight up, the boot falling off his chest and to the floor with a heavy thump. He gasped loudly, looking scared out of his skin as he stared ahead with wide eyes, his mouth open in surprise. His hair was sticking up in places, mussed from sleep, and his hands gripped the blanket tightly. Buffy smirked but quickly hid the expression and replaced it with apathy when he finally focused on her.
Spike visibly relaxed and looked away, sighing with a pissed off expression on his face.
“Nightmare isn’t over yet, then. Don’t know whether it’s an improvement or not.”
“What?” she asked, before thinking better of it. She really didn't want to know what counted as nightmares to vampires. “Never mind. Do you sleep through anything? I was like yelling and nothing. If it was this easy to sneak up on you I would have staked you in your sleep a long time ago.”
“Bit knackered. Had a long night,” Spike drawled. He ran a hand through his hair and reached for his shirt. “Unlike some people, I’ve been working on helping this bloody Manitou for the past week.”
“Yeah well, we’re here now, so you can quit your complaining and spill. What’s going on?”
“Who’s we?” Spike pulled his shirt on over his head and grabbed his boots next.
“Me, Giles, and Willow. Now answer the question.”
“I told you what was going on. The lake spirit’s in trouble.”
“No, you gave me vague not-answers. A lake spirit needs help. Explain. Why, from what, and what’s it got to do with you?”
Spike tugged on one boot and had to lean far back to get the one Buffy’d thrown at him.
“I told you the why. The land is dying and whatever’s causing it’s headed this way. From what—well, that’s a mystery to me too. Weird shit’s been happening here, Slayer. Near as I can figure it they’re some kind of malevolent spirits that can manifest in corporeal form.” He shook his head with a bitter smile. “When it suits them at least.”
“Okay, so we need to help protect a spirit from other spirits. What about you? What are you getting out of this?”
“Right now not a bleedin’ thing except for hardship, pain, and torment. Look, I have my reasons, and I’m not in a very sharing mood right now.”
“Well then, I’m not in a very charitable mood,” Buffy retorted. “I guess I should just leave you here to sort things out yourself then.”
She turned to go and heard Spike stand up behind her and pick up his coat.
“Like you’d leave now after going to all the trouble of coming up here. No way, Slayer. We both know you didn’t take my word for it so you’re obviously here because you’ve looked into what’s going on and deemed it worth your while. You’re here to help and so am I. That places us on the same side, if only temporarily.” He threw her an irritated glance. “Maybe I’ll tell you my reasons, maybe not. Depends on my mood, and right now, I’m not talking.”
Buffy glared at him, frustrated and annoyed that he was right. There was no way she was leaving now they were here, and if Spike really was going to help, it might be useful to have another fighter around. Something had caused those marks on him, after all. Upstairs, footsteps paced back and forth and dust rained down from the ceiling above them.
“Best get back to your mates then. It won’t be long before I can introduce you to all my new pals.”
Buffy gave him a sideways look before turning to head back upstairs, Spike following. Willow was waiting at the top of the stairs when Buffy reappeared and smiled in relief at seeing her safe and sound.
“You find anything down there?”
“A dead guy,” Buffy replied casually.
Willow’s eyes widened, and she took a step back in shock. Buffy stood aside before Willow could voice any further questions, revealing Spike standing there in the basement doorway. Willow’s tensed shoulders quickly relaxed, and she let out a relieved breath when she saw who it was.
“Oh.”
“Yup,” Buffy said.
“Red,” Spike greeted, rooting through his pockets for his cigarettes.
“Spike,” Willow replied. There was a long pause as Spike located his lighter, lit the cigarette and took a long drag, expelling the steady stream of blue smoke through his nostrils. Willow waved the smoke cloud away, wrinkling her nose, but smiled in an attempt to be friendly.
“So, um, how’ve you been?”
“Spent the last few days as chew toy for some bloody annoying spirits, but thanks for asking,” he said with a smirk. “What changed your mind and brought the cavalry up here, then? You find out something useful?”
“People go missing here,” Willow replied, realizing as she spoke how not-useful it was. “This guy I know… he and his friends disappeared recently. Here, in these woods, I mean.”
“Right,” he drawled. “Sure helps. Dunno what I’d do without you lot.”
“You’re the one that asked for our help, asshole,” Buffy said, resisting the urge to reach for her stake - which was always at hand whenever she was near him. Instead, she pulled Willow outside with her. Although the skies were rapidly darkening, the sun hadn’t quite set yet and Spike wouldn’t be able to follow them.
“We’re gonna help Giles with the tent. Stay out of our stuff or I’ll make sure your dust is added to what’s already on the floor,” she called over her shoulder.
“He sure is grumpy,” Willow muttered as they walked over to the campsite Giles had selected. He had the bright blue canvas of the tent spread out like a picnic blanket which made it easy to spot, even from a distance. “Did he just wake up or something?”
“Kinda.” Buffy skipped over the manner in which she’d woken him. “But he’s always like that.”
“I’ve only really spoken to him once, when he was drunk and lovesick and holding a broken bottle to my face. This is a vast improvement.”
“Don’t remind me, I already want to stake him just for being annoying.”
This made Willow giggle, which in turn caused Giles to look up from inspecting a pile of tent pegs. “Oh, there you are. Find anything interesting?”
“Found Spike,” she replied. “Not sure if I’d classify him as ‘interesting’. He’s set up shop in the basement of the cabin. Guess he feels at home with the other vermin down there.”
“Yes, well.” Giles stood and surveyed the carefully laid-out parts for the tent with growing despair. “It’s nevertheless good that he’s here.”
“It is?” Buffy asked, taken aback.
“Certainly. He can show us where he met the lake spirit and explain what on earth brought him up here in the first place, which I’m quite curious about.” He put his hands into the pockets of his tweed jacket and looked down at the parts again. “Willow? How do you assemble this?”
“Uh, it was mostly Xander and Jesse that did the setting up part.”
“Spike doesn’t know how to set up a tent, by any chance?”
“I am so not asking him for help,” Buffy said, holding up her hands. “Besides, aren’t you two Mister Watcher-retreat guy and Miss ex-Girl Scout? You’ll figure it out, I’m sure.”
“What about you, Buffy?” Willow said, starting to look just as unhappy as Giles.
She bent and picked up a small hand-axe. “Gonna gather some firewood.” She beamed at them and added “Have fun!” for good measure. They may have been able to drag her out to no-man’s land with their insistence that it was her duty but she drew the line at tent building activities.
Two minutes later she already regretted her impromptu firewood expedition as at least one of the blisters on her heel burst.
______
When night finally fell, Spike almost jumped out of the cabin. He’d spent the last half-hour pacing back and forth with nothing to do, getting more and more agitated. Not even imagining various ways to finally bag Buffy as his third slayer had been able to appease him.
The last few days had been a bust. In fact, the entire trip to this God forsaken corner of the world had been a bust, right from the start. Not for the first time, he cursed the book that had sent him on this wild goose chase.
Whenever Spike found himself in one city for an extended period of time, he’d always end up locating a library or two and nicking whatever books looked interesting. There was little for a vampire to do during the daytime other than sleep (especially before the television was invented), and he’d always been the type that didn’t need much sleep to begin with. Reading, on the other hand, was something he had always loved, ever since he was a little boy.
This particular book had been in a library in Brasilia until he’d come by and snuck it into the pocket of his duster one evening, along with a handful of others. It had happened shortly after he’d returned from Sunnydale with the intent of seducing Dru into loving him again. After several weeks of getting steadily more frustrated as she carried on alternately cursing his existence and cheating on him, he’d reached over and picked it up to read. And oh, what an interesting read it had been.
It was a catalogue of various magical objects, their history and uses, and where they could be found. Or, at least, where they were believed to be found. He’d dismissed most of them as either made-up or long-since destroyed, but then he had reached the chapter concerning magical rings. Specifically the Piniarneq, the Ring of Destiny. At first glance it hadn’t seemed all that interesting, but then he got to the part where it talked about “unveiling the truth” and “showing the true path”.
The gist of it was that when you put this particular ring on your finger it showed you, for lack of a better word, your destiny. The plan was to find the bloody thing and give it to Dru as a gift, hoping that when she put it on and looked at him, she’d realize that they were meant to be – that he was her destiny, not her soddin’ “Daddy”.
A bit far-fetched perhaps, but if all else failed he’d have brought her a pretty ring, regardless of magical abilities. And Dru liked her jewelery. Sure, it hadn’t worked before when he’d showered her in gold, silver, and gemstones, but he wasn’t the type of bloke to give up easily.
Taking a long drag from the cigarette, he looked around for the Slayer’s band of happy heroes. Ah, there they were. Minus the Slayer herself, it looked like. He walked towards them, careful to not make any noise. Maybe he could listen in on their conversation and find out if they actually knew anything at all about what the hell was going on up here.
When he got close, he slinked into the woods and moved quietly from tree to tree, taking care to keep his cigarette in a cupped hand to hide the glow. He could hear soft murmurs of conversation, then snippets of sentences and finally, everything. He chose a fat tree and leaned against it, listening.
“No, try attaching it to the rod over there,” Giles instructed in a voice that was more than a little exasperated.
“Uh, I can’t reach,” Willow replied, struggling with something. He could hear rustling of fabric and then a loud twoing! sound, as if a bent tent rod had suddenly snapped straight again.
There was a muffled curse. He struggled not to laugh.
Giles sighed. “Let’s try it again. It has to connect with that one, I don’t see any other way that… Good Lord.”
“What’s wrong?”
“We’ve got it all backwards, it’s not supposed to go across the middle at all.” There was a pause. “I think.”
“Are you sure?” Willow asked, her voice revealing absolutely no confidence in the Watcher at all. Spike smirked. Morons.
“Oh bugger this, I need a drink.”
“I don’t think it’ll get easier if you’re drunk…”
“Perhaps not, but my sanity calls for it, I’m afraid.”
“Okay. Maybe Buffy can help us when she’s back with the firewood.”
Silence for a while. It dragged on long enough for Spike to get bored and consider showing himself, when they began talking again. The Watcher’s voice had lost the edge of irritability, which was probably connected to the alluring scent of aged whiskey that filled the air.
“I’m surprised Oz didn’t want to come with you, knowing that Spike was involved.”
“Um, I kinda didn’t tell him.”
“Oh dear, is something the matter?”
“No, just… he’s away on tour, with the band. We talk on the phone and stuff, but he’d just worry and I don’t like worrying him unnecessarily.” Willow paused, and Spike could imagine the look the Watcher must be giving her. And rightly so! William the Bloody definitely belonged in the necessary-to-worry-about category. “I know, I know, but Buffy’s here and besides, he wanted us to help. He’s not gonna try and kill us if he wants our help, right?”
“Didn’t he threaten to kill you when he wanted you to do that spell for him?” Giles reminded her.
“Well, yeah, but… I don’t know.” Willow’s voice wavered and became small before petering out completely.
Shifting behind his tree, Spike frowned.
“It was weird,” Willow finally said after a couple of minutes had passed. “When Buffy and I found him with Mrs. Summers, he was all Friendly Guy, you know?”
“I daresay I do not, no.”
“He was all relaxed and nice, until Buffy pissed him off and he left.”
“And?”
“I don’t know,” she repeated. “I’m just not as scared of him as I used to be. Yeah, of course he’s still a big bad evil vampire with the grrr and the wanting to drink your blood and all, but he’s that and just a regular guy watching movies, too. He’s got layers. And I didn’t know vampires had layers? You never told us there could be more to them, you said the bloodlust is the only thing that drives them, but that doesn’t fit with movie nights and asking for help with Manitous.” She paused only briefly for breath. “It’s like my world, or at least the part of it concerning vampires, has turned upside down. I keep thinking of Jesse…”
“Willow,” Giles began, but Spike’d had enough. Hearing the little witch try to psychoanalyze him was not how he’d pictured spending his morning.
“Well lookie here,” he drawled as he stepped out from the tree. “It’s Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. I’m impressed with your efforts so far.” He made a sweeping gesture at the piles of sleeping bags, gear, and the mess they’d made of what was supposed to be a tent.
“Spike,” Giles greeted in clipped tones. “Wish I could say it was a pleasure, but…”
He snorted. “Oh pipe down, old man. I saved your life last time we met. Don’t expect any thanks but the least you could do is leave out the sarcasm.”
Giles sputtered and was about to respond when Willow interjected. “Spike! Hi! Good to see you, uh, I mean, um, we were just talking about you.”
“Is that so?” He stared at her until her eyes stopped darting around and helplessly met his. “I hope it was all bad.”
“Uh.”
“Quite so. Have you found out anything more since you visited Buffy?”
“Yeah, the buggers in the woods are clever,” he said, but didn’t elaborate. “At a bit of a standstill right now. It’s impossible to kill them.”
“How so?”
“They cheat. Turn incorporeal.” He sneered and threw his nearly finished cigarette over his shoulder.
Willow let out a squeal and ran over to where it landed, frantically stomping at the ground. “You can’t do that!” she admonished as she came back to them.
“I can’t?”
“You’ll start a forest fire!”
“Oh,” he replied, grinning. “Sweet of you to remember that I’m flammable, pet.”
A strange look passed over Willows face before she cleared her throat. “The Manitou wanted you to help heal the land, not burn it down.”
“Right, good point.”
“And of course, you do want to help the Manitou,” Giles added, scratching at his temple absently and giving Spike a wary glance. “Any particular reason why?”
Spike was prepared to tell the old man to mind his own sodding business but realized from the looks he and the witch girl were giving him that sooner or later he’d have to tell them something (and preferably something they’d actually believe) if he wanted their help. Of course he didn’t have to explain himself right away.
“You two are bloody hopeless at that,” Spike said, derailing the conversation and nodding at the mess of canvas and poles on the ground. “Honestly, you’d think you’d have some sort of survival skills.”
“And you could do better, I take it?” Giles asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Well yeah,” Spike said and brushed past the Watcher to stride over to the tent. “It’s pretty straight forward when you know what you’re doing. Grab a hold of that end,” he said to Giles who, somewhat bewildered, obliged.
“And how exactly did you gain such knowledge? I don’t imagine there’s much cause for vampires to use tents.”
“Been to a few festivals in my time. Seen lots of people set them up, helped a few out, you know, earned their trust. Good music, good company, good food, with a little extra kick now and then. When you’re immortal, you find yourself doing lots of stuff to keep from getting bored.”
“You helped people pitch tents, then ate them?” Willow asked, backing away a step.
Spike’s only reply was a smirk, glad to be reminding them he was someone to be taken seriously; a threat. It didn’t take long to get the tent up. Spike left the pair to sort out the rest of their stuff themselves. He was done being helpful. It was getting late. Things would start acting up soon.
Spike lit another cigarette and listened to the sound of Red and the Watcher muttering behind him. He heard something approaching from the woods and stiffened. Footsteps. They didn’t sound like normal footsteps however. The creature was... limping? Dragging its feet at least. Tense moments passed with all senses on alert until what was making the noise came close enough to identify and Spike relaxed.
The Slayer was back.
______
Buffy came trudging out of the trees with a bundle of firewood and the axe. She winced with every step and grumbled about needing a good soak for her aching feet that would never be the same again after this. She spotted the gang by the now pitched tent and walked over, dumping the stack of firewood down in a heap next to them.
“There you go. You guys can get the campfire going. I need to sit down and never get up.”
“Ah, there you are Slayer. Just in time for some reconnaissance work,” Spike said, as he stepped into her line of vision.
“Huh?” Buffy asked, stupefied.
“You know, scout the area, get a handle on what’s going on around here.”
“Oh you have got to be kidding. I’m exhausted, and my feet are killing me. You want to take a walk in the woods be my guest.”
“Hey,” he said, looking irate. “You’re here on business, Slayer, no slacking off. It’s your own damn fault your feet hurt.” He pointed to her boots. “If you were wearing proper hiking boots you’d be fine.”
Buffy glanced at her unsuitable footwear. Hiking boots did not exist in her wardrobe and these boots were the best she had. She was badly in need of replacement trainers - Slayer work-outs having taken their toll - so she hadn’t brought anything as spares either.
“They work just fine for Slaying. How was I supposed to know nature would trump fighting monsters?”
“Yeah, real genius you are.”
“If it didn’t mean taking a step forward I’d be hitting you right now,” Buffy dropped to the ground and stretched her legs out in front of her, relieved to be off her feet at last. Spike wasn’t impressed, but Buffy couldn’t care less right now. He’d been here for days and hadn’t accomplished anything. What could one more night hurt?
She watched him stalk off and lean against a tree, where he kicked at the ground and muttered to himself. Giles and Willow had begun working on the campfire, having watched the display.
“Maybe you should do a quick search, Buffy? To make sure there’s nothing in the immediate vicinity that could pose a threat?” Giles suggested after a minute.
“I just came from the woods Giles. There was nothing there. We’re fine.”
“Still,” he added, letting the sentence hang.
Buffy groaned and leaned back on her elbows. “Fine. I’ll do a quick sweep in a little while okay? Just give me a chance to rest first.”
Giles nodded and went back to working on the fire. Buffy could see Spike grinning from the shadow of his tree and quickly turned away. Jerk. First her mom and now Giles. Was Willow going to take his side next? It was only then, sitting quietly at their campsite and stewing over Spike getting his way, that Buffy began to notice how dark it had become—and how quiet.
Night had fallen, and it had changed the peaceful clearing by the lake into something else entirely. The calm water that had reflected the sunlight earlier now resembled black glass, it was so still and dark. The moon’s white reflection was the only thing marring the perfect surface. It looked like a deep pit you could fall into, disappearing forever. Mist formed on the surface of the water and steadily made its way across the grass like an advancing army.
The trees seemed taller than they had earlier, the thick, dark branches stretching up to the night sky like twisting, gnarled hands. The shadows cast by the trees were reaching out over the grass, clawing their way towards the campsite. Above, the full moon gave extra light to see with, but was also an ominous sign. Creepy crawlies always seemed to be more agitated when the moon was full. Buffy sat up and wrapped her arms around her legs as she surveyed the scene. The place was looking a lot less pleasant than she remembered.
Turning her head, she caught sight of the cabin crouched before the trees. Faint moonlight reflected off the cracked and broken windows, shining pinpricks of light amidst the darkness. The broken doorway resembled a half open mouth that seemed to dare anyone to enter the hidden interior. The sagging roof gave the structure a warped appearance like a wounded animal… or worse, a predator lying in wait for unsuspecting prey.
Somewhere nearby, an owl hooted. Buffy jumped and Willow yelped. The noise made her jolt sideways to see that Willow had come to sit next to her without Buffy even noticing. The two girls gave each other startled looks before sheepishly smiling at each other.
“Just an owl,” Giles said, reassuringly, though he pushed his glasses up further on his nose and cast his gaze around their surroundings.
“That’s just brilliant, that is.” Spike walked over to join them by the now lit fire. “Some back-up you lot are going to be, scared of a little owl.”
“I wasn’t scared,” Buffy objected. At Spike’s skeptical look her back stiffened, and she gave him a determined look. “I wasn’t. I was just—startled. It’s weird not having cars around as background noise.”
“Yeah, it’s definitely a lot quieter out here—or it would be, without those spirits acting up.”
“Okay, see now you really have to spill about those. Info would be good. What spirits are we talking about, and you are finally going to give us some proper answers,” Buffy said, making sure he knew she meant it by the tone of her voice.
Spike stared at her for a moment, glancing at the others before his shoulders slumped and he sat down next to Giles in front of the fire.
“All right. It’s like this. You were right, I am after something.”
“I knew it!” Buffy exclaimed.
“Yeah yeah, Spike’s up to something, big shocker. Look, there’s this treasure hidden in the lake and I want it.”
“What kind of treasure?” Willow asked.
“A ring. A very special ring,” he said. “It’s called the Piniarneq, the Ring of Destiny. It allows the bearer of it to see the truth of things. It was originally a sacred stone owned by the Inuits and used by their angakkuqs, or shamans. This demon warlock stole it from them and forged the stone into a ring for convenience.”
“Inuits?” Buffy asked.
“The indigenous people of the Arctic,” Giles supplied.
“It ended up here,” Spike continued. “Possibly as a token to the Manitou, or the owner at the time wanted to hide or protect it and threw it in the lake. People have died for that ring, either seeking it out or because they had it and somebody else wanted it. It’s a much desired object—or it was before it got tossed in there,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the lake.
“How did you find out about this ring?” Giles asked, curious.
“And why do you want it?” Buffy added. “How would that benefit you, besides maybe telling you to get some better fashion sense?”
“Ha,” he snorted in her direction, before turning to Giles. “Came across it in a book, got curious, did some research and found out the last known location. Here.”
“What book would that have been?” Giles pressed.
“Quinque Daemonum Veneficus.”
The name meant nothing to Buffy, but from the way Giles lit up and then frowned in confusion, it clearly did to him. “You read Latin?”
Spike looked startled for a second, before shaking his head. “No, uh, had it translated.”
“Ah, of course.”
“Anyway, the book said that the last known demon to have had the ring died in the area now called Sierra Nevada. It also said that local Native American legends mentioned the incident and that the tribe had taken the corpse and buried it far outside their territory, as they considered it to be unclean.”
Willow nodded. “They didn’t approve of demon magic, only the earth mother’s own magic was okay with them.”
“Right,” Spike agreed. “But they took the ring off him, so they obviously weren’t above stealing from corpses.”
Willow looked so affronted on the tribe’s behalf Buffy had to hide a smile.
“They probably just wanted to keep it safe.”
“Yeah, well, for some reason they decided on this lake. I thought it’d be a simple matter of diving down and scouring the bottom for it, maybe do a little old fashioned panning like in the gold rush days. But when I come all the way out here, the Manitou says I’m not worthy and I’ve got to prove myself first by taking care of her little problem.”
“Wait,” Buffy said slowly, wrinkling her brow and sending him a dangerous look. “You dragged me all the way out here to do your dirty work for you? So you can get your stupid ring?”
Both Willow and Giles shrank back, taking her tone of voice as the warning signal it was. Spike, on the other hand, dismissed it with a shrug.
“’Course not. I came up here fully prepared to have to work for it. Was here for several days before I went to you.”
“So what’s the problem? Why do you need me?” she asked, not convinced that this wasn’t all a sham.
“I can’t hurt them. There’s spirits all over the place here, the woods are full of ‘em, and they attack on sight. Soon as you try to attack them back, though, they turn incorporeal on you. It’s bloody frustrating.”
“Inco-what?”
“It means your hand goes straight through them, like a ghost,” Willow helpfully explained.
“Can’t bite them, can’t use weapons on them,” Spike said. “I spent days trying to find a way around it, that’s how I found out that they were attacking any humans that got close. Figured it fit your job description.”
“So you do want me to do your dirty work,” she said and looked around for the little axe.
“Look, Slayer,” he said and the way he said ‘Slayer’ was… different. Normally Spike spoke in a cocky, confident voice that never wavered, all guts and swagger and provocation. Now, there was a weariness to it, and she remembered the cuts and bruises she’d seen littering his body. “You just figure out a way for me to actually hurt them and I’ll gladly fight the lot while you sit on your dainty little arse and watch. I’ll even let you take the credit so you can get another gold star on your report card. All I want is the ring.”
“For what purpose?” Giles asked sharply.
“That’s my business,” Spike replied, his voice back to normal. “You don’t need to know.”
“Oh, but I do,” Buffy insisted. “I’m not going to let you have it if you’ve got some kind of nefarious plan.”
“Like what? It’s a ring that shows your destiny, how is that nefarious in any way?”
“I don’t know, maybe somebody else wants it and you’re gonna trade it with them for something that is dangerous.”
Spike sighed and ran a hand over his face.
“Or maybe you’re gonna use it to predict the future and change stuff to suit your evil needs,” she went on.
“It doesn’t work that way, it’s not a fortune teller prop—”
“Or maybe you’re—”
“It’s for Dru,” he said, cutting her off.
“Huh?”
“The ring. It’s for Dru.”
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