Chapter 10
It was refreshing to be outside after staring at the interior walls of the crypt for so long. It was cool outside for California, with little wind. The moon was waxing, somewhere past crescent but nowhere near full. It gave enough light to hunt by.
Giles allowed his companion to lead the way. His fingers twitched closer to the trigger of the crossbow he carried. He’d been denying the instinct to end her all evening, but now, with the weapon he needed in his hand and the prey straight ahead, it had never been more tempting to dust her. But he reminded himself that she was needed, and that those he cared for were safe while he was here with her, keeping her busy.
Not that he felt safe himself; rather, he’d grown so used to uninterrupted anxiety over the years that he rarely noticed it now. It was the sudden sparks of memory that Drusilla pulled out from the recesses of his mind that made him wish for a fortunate accident. Her thrall had made him confess such a horrible secret where torture could not. She’d made him fail, tricked him by assuming a beloved shape.
“William would be very cross with you, you naughty man.” Drusilla commented as she skipped lightly over tree roots at the edge of the forest.
Giles slowed his pace, peering into the darkness under the trees. It took him a moment to realize that Drusilla had actually been talking to him; she hadn’t said a word to him since leaving the crypt, though she had talked to herself a great deal. “What was that?”
She frowned at him, tilting her head back in a predatory gaze. “William would be quite angry if his Mummy were ash.”
“I don’t intend to harm you. Unless you go back on your word.” They had moved beyond the first trees now, heading east. The moon was just visible through the leaves of the tall oak and birch.
She laughed, a sound that Giles found disturbing at anytime. More so when he was alone with her. She turned a coy smile on him, “It’s not you that’ll play archer to me, t’will be Princess. I’ll aim with pretty gold arrows, dove-feathered, at my apple.”
Giles’s brow furrowed. Drusilla’s references were far-flung; she’d obviously had some classical education before her turning. This casual mention of Eros’s weapon could be a response to the crossbow he carried, a premonition, or it might be a fancy concerning her childe. Best to find out now, rather than later when Spike was waking. “Do you mean Spike? Do you think he will come with you after this is over?”
She seemed affronted by his question. “William loves his Mummy.” She said simply, as though that were answer enough.
His response was rote, something he knew to be suspect but that Council indoctrination still pushed to the front of his mind. “Vampires do not love.”
She gave him a serious, but condescending smile and shook her head. “Oh, we can, you know. We can love quite well. If not wisely. And William loves his Mummy,” she repeated in a firm tone.
Giles nodded slowly as he replied, “Yes, I’m sure he does. But you remember, Dru, you left him. He may choose not to…”
She wheeled suddenly on him, hissing. Giles could see her eyes threatening to spill over with yellow and gripped his crossbow tighter. “Ashes! What could I do with him betraying me, tasting of what she could give!” Dru gestured wildly in the direction they’d come from. She calmed suddenly, and in a dainty move ran her palms down the front of her dress. “There’s still a chance for him to come back to Mummy. We’ll make our family whole again.”
Taken aback, Giles felt perhaps he should try another venue. “Surely, though, you realize he can no longer hunt. The government put a chip…”
She sneered at the trees. “Tin soldiers put funny little knick-knacks in his brain. Can't hunt! Can't hurt! Can't kill!”
“Yes,” Giles agreed. “He could scarcely do what you’d require of him.”
She snarled back. “I don't believe in science. All those bits and molecules no one's ever seen. I trust eyes and heart alone. No little tinker-toy could ever stop him from flowing. It’s her that’s done it,” she finished a short growl. “I’ll feed him proper, make him strong again, make him mine.”
She stared at Giles for a few moments, as though daring him to contradict her, but he wasn’t foolish enough to try again. Eventually she turned back to the trees, scanning unhappily for the demon they were hunting.
Giles found himself brought forcefully back to the conversation he’d been having with Xander earlier in the evening. They’d been talking about Spike and the way he’d taken to dogging Buffy’s steps. Giles could believe that Spike was stalking Buffy, obsessed by the slayer he couldn’t kill. But the manner in which Dru reacted to Buffy’s presence in Spike’s mind, her dark hints about Spike’s attentions being focused elsewhere than on his sire…Giles found his fears that Spike had developed an attachment to Buffy confirmed.
Drusilla was unhinged, certainly, but he’d never known her perceptions to be wrong.
A crash sounded to his right, and he saw a glarghk guhl kashma'nik leap forward with a roar. Drusilla’s frightening smile was carried over as she shifted to game face. Giles didn’t hesitate to draw a bead on the creature’s less vital areas.
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*****Flash*****
She’d been trying to guess what Spike’s first memory involving her would be, based on what she’d seen so far. The scenes with his family, his torture by Angelus, and his rejection by Cecily. She would have liked to think that her mom hitting him over the head with a shovel would have been on the list, but she knew that it wouldn’t. Sure, he’d been disappointed then – heck, he’d been about to kill his third slayer – but he must have known he’d have other chances.
No, Spike’s thoughts on her right now could only start in one place, at one time.
The Spike of three years ago pulled his fangs out of the frightened girl he’d been feeding on. He was surrounded by minions and victims, in what used to be a club. He was staring with a good mix of fear and hatred at Buffy circa ’97, who was holding a stake to Drusilla’s chest. “Everybody STOP!” He yelled, ordering his minions to retract their fangs.
Buffy watched her sixteen year-old self smile tightly and reply, “Good idea. Now you let everyone out, or your girlfriend fits in an ashtray.”
Drusilla whimpered quietly, “Spike?”
Spike looked reassuringly at her, though both Buffy’s could tell he was scared. “It's gonna be alright, baby. Let them go!” The other vampires let go of the idiot vamp worshippers, who took off as fast as they could run.
“Down the stairs,” Buffy the Younger told Spike. He backed down as she moved up. When she reached the top she shoved Drusilla down at him. Spike caught Drusilla, holding her tight enough to crush bones in his relief. An instant later he was chasing Buffy, but the door wouldn’t open. He descended back to Dru, taking her in his arms and murmuring softly. They clung tightly to each other.
Buffy the Elder walked up to the couple and spoke loudly. “Spike! Spike listen to me. This is a memory. It’s not real. Spike? Spike!”
Spike continued to console Drusilla, clearly unaware of the slayer that was now jumping up and down beside him.
*****Flash*****
Okay, what the heck? Spike knew who she was now. She should be able to reach him. Shouldn’t she? She should have had Willow or Giles come with her. They were better at figuring out this kind of thing than her.
She looked around at the newest memory. She was in a large, dark room that had one wall lined with dolls and another decorated with chains. Obviously a lair. There was a bed in the center that had one occupant. Spike. Buffy peered through the dim candle light, trying to get a better look him. He was apparently asleep. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his bare legs stuck out limply from the bottom of his blanket, which meant…
Yep, totally naked vampire lying under those sheets.
Buffy was caught between blushing and wanting to get a closer look. It was Spike, he was…not-all-that-evil, ally-type with really good fighting style. But not at all someone she should want to ogle. It wasn’t like she’d never realized he was attractive. Numero Uno, Buffy Summers was not blind. Numero Dos, Buffy Summers was temporarily engaged to Spike last year. After that much time in close contact with Spike’s lips, there was no way she could have missed that he was, well, hot.
She’d seen it that first night at the Bronze, before she even realized he was a vampire. It was obvious. Sculpted cheeks, slim but muscular build, bad boy image. He oozed sexuality in a clean and well kept way that the average vampire couldn’t pull off. The average vampire didn’t shower or floss, something Buffy knew for a fact. Spike at least knew what toothpaste was, since Giles had complained one day about the vampire using up all of his.
When he fought he was beautiful. Elegant. Poetry. Not the kind of poetry he wrote. The kind of poetry that Shakespeare and those others guys wrote. And she admired his form.
But Spike was off limits. He was a vampire. He might love deeply and with his entire being, he might be unfailingly loyal, and he might have a poet’s heart, but he was still vampire. Soulless. But not the Angelus kind of soulless. Because Spike was nothing like Angelus or Dru.
Okay, back to reality Buffy. Or Spike’s version of it. Now was not the time to debate Spike’s attractiveness. And really, there was no debate. Spike was sexy, just not on the menu. She walked closer to the bed, steeling herself to look at the naked vampire she was trying to help. As she got closer, she realized he was injured. His left side was badly burned, as though he’d been caught in a fire…
The fire at the church Spike had done Drusilla’s ritual in. When Buffy’d knocked him into a church organ. When he’d broken his back. Right on cue, Spike’s eyes opened. She could see his disorientation, his surprise, his pain. The wounds on his side must have been hurting him. Then he tried to sit up.
Panic blossomed in his eyes. He reached clumsily for the head board, pulling himself up with the bars. Buffy couldn’t imagine what it felt like, suddenly realizing that part of you no longer worked. He threw back the blanket, giving Buffy a full frontal view that she tried desperately to ignore. That job was made easier by Spike’s obvious terror as he ran his hands along his legs, trying to get some sensation from them.
Where was Dru during all of this? She should have been here, waiting for him to wake up, to comfort him. He didn’t deserve to be alone when he found out something as horrible as this.
He reached into a drawer in the little bedside table to his left. He grabbed a knife out of it and in one swift movement plunged it three inches deep into his left thigh. He stared at it, mouth slightly ajar, clearly not feeling its presence in his flesh. He poked the hilt of the knife, as though willing himself to feel it. But it wasn’t helping.
His eyes were moist with unshed tears as he yelled as loud as he could, “Drusilla!” He yanked the knife out of himself and threw it across the room. He rolled toward the edge of the bed and yelled again for his sire, his voice thick. Suddenly he seemed to lose his balance and tumbled off the edge of the bed. He landed hard on the floor, unable to break his own fall.
He lay shivering on the ground, in too much in shock to do anything but cry. Eventually Drusilla came in and began cooing over him, but he still wept. Her desire to reach out to him was as strong as it had been in the earlier memories. There was just something in both Spike and William that called to her, beyond trust and beyond physical attraction. She was starting to like him. As in Like.
Shit. Giles was going to kill her.
*****
Please let me know what you think! Thank to Linda, my beta!
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