2. Big Plans
"Are you sure this is what you think it
is? I mean -- in a *church*, of all places?"
"Trust me, soldier," the calm commander replied. "Just look around.
You'll see the signs, they have definitely been here tonight."
"I don't see anything that looks even remotely HST-related," the
dubious soldier persisted, shining a bright flashlight around the dimly
lit remains of the decimated church. "I mean, there's really not
anything all that unusual here, when you get down to it."
The unit he was a part of had been assigned to this strange little town
for less than a week, and already the soldier had seen more eerie,
disturbing things than he had ever expected to see in a lifetime --
most of things he would never have thought were possible at all.
Still, something in him rebelled at the idea of the creatures he was
only beginning to accept the existence of -- the "hostile sub
terrestrials" as his commanders called them -- going about their wicked
endeavors in a *church*.
When his commander gave him a flat, disbelieving look, he shrugged, a
bit embarrassed, as he conceded, "Well, besides the -- the fire -- and
the -- rubble, everywhere. But -- that didn't *have* to be an HST.
Could have been some completely human trash, decided to have a little
fun and blow up a church is all."
"Decided to have a little evil bloodletting ritual while they were at
it, too?" the commander smirked grimly as he ran his fingertips through
the red fluid smeared on the altar at the front of the church. "And
check those piles of dust back by the door. I'm pretty sure you'll find
those are *very* HST-related."
Properly subdued, the soldier ceased his arguments and went about his
work, while the commander of the unit slowly walked through the room,
carefully surveying the entire scene, trying to surmise what might have
created it. As he did, his men were systematically moving through the
room, moving the debris and searching for any signs of any kind of
evidence to be taken back to their headquarters and analyzed later.
"Commander! Over here! I think we have a victim..."
"Agent Graham," another soldier, a tall black man standing nearby him,
aiming a technical-looking instrument in the direction Graham was
looking, interrupted him slowly, cautiously, "I -- don't think that's a
victim..."
"Yeah, well -- room temperature, no heartbeat...sometimes just means
'dead'," Graham reminded him with mild sarcasm.
At that moment the supposed corpse shifted slightly, a quiet moan
slipping from his lips in unconsciousness.
Agent Graham jumped backward with a sharp, startled cry -- much to the
amusement of his comrades.
Sometimes he hated being the newest member of the group.
The black agent took a gun from a holster at his side, one specially
equipped with wood-tipped bullets, and swiftly took aim on the weakly
shifting body on the floor amidst the rubble.
"Forrest, no!" the commander ordered sharply before he could pull the
trigger. When the confused agent looked up at him in a silent question,
he smiled at the first sign of success they had had that night, as he
remarked mildly, "looks like we might be able to get some idea of what
happened here tonight, after all."
The curious air of the men in the church changed to surprise, and then
excitement, as the extent of their success gradually dawned on them.
"Get it secured. These things are strong, you never know when it might
wake up. And it might look like's it's injured pretty badly, but they
can take a lot and keep going. Be extremely careful with it."
Commander Riley Finn's smile widened as he turned and walked out of the
church, allowing his men to go about following his orders, securing the
unconscious hostile and preparing it for transport back to their
headquarters. This was definitely an important success, indeed -- and
one they had just happened to stumble onto, as well. He was very glad
now that he had decided to have his men check out the unusually open
door, and lighted interior, of the abandoned church.
Two weeks they had been in this little town, reportedly a hotbed of HST
activity.
Two weeks -- and nothing to show for it so far but a few piles of dust,
and some tissue samples from dead demons, material for their
underground labs to analyze. But as for live specimens -- so far, they
had nothing.
Until now.
General Walsh was going to be so pleased.
*************************************
Drusilla followed the powerful call of family -- a call that, from her
sire at least, had been muted for nearly a century, as Angel had
deliberately severed such ties with his family soon after getting his
soul. But now, the call was strong, powerful, beckoning her back to
where she belonged.
The side, the arms, of her daddy.
She was not surprised when the call led her to the door of an old,
abandoned mansion on Crawford Street. She paused on the terrace,
impressed by the stately, imposing nature of the place -- though she
might not have used such words to express it. Still, it was just the
sort of place she would have chosen for herself -- had she ever been
lucid enough to choose for herself, that is.
"My daddy knows what 'is little girl needs," she murmured in a lyrical
voice, on the edge between speech and song. "I can 'ear 'im calling
me...right now..." she said to no one, as she pushed open the unlocked door
and made her way easily through the darkness inside. "Coming, Daddy..."
Her senses, the connection between her and her sire, drew her up the
old, winding staircase to the second level of the mansion, where she
paused at the first open doorway, peering into the blackness, in search
of her beloved, estranged sire.
"Daddy...?"
Suddenly, a powerful arm wrapped around her waist from behind, jerking
her forcefully backward against a hard, muscled body, while cool lips
fell on her throat. His laughter joined her own delighted giggle, as he
spun her around and looked her up and down hungrily, as if it had been
a lifetime since he'd seen her.
And, in more than one way -- it had.
"There's my girl," he said in a soft voice of dark pleasure, his eyes
cold and glittering and wicked in the darkness.
Just as she had remembered.
"You've come back," Drusilla exulted, bouncing on her heels like a
giddy child, beaming up at her sire. "Just in time for the party..."
"Of course," Angelus smirked, wrapping his arm around her waist with a
false gallantry and leading her purposefully down the hallway. "It's
*my* party, isn't it?"
Drusilla just giggled with excitement, obviously satisfied just to be
with him again.
"So not that I really care all that much...but where's your shadow gotten
off to, Dru? Shouldn't he be following you about like a lovesick mutt
about now? Or you know," he shrugged, "nipping at my heels or
something? I *am* getting rather familiar with you at the moment, you
know. He wouldn't usually take a thing like that too lightly."
He grinned wickedly, as he lowered his mouth to her neck again,
playfully nibbling at the spot just above her jugular, as she willingly
through her head back to allow it. They both seemed to lose interest in
the question and its answer for a few minutes, as Angelus walked her
backwards through a door at the end of the hall, into a bedroom that he
had clearly already prepared for them, and backed her into a lavishly
made bed in the center of the room, pushing her back onto the mattress
and falling on top of her, still kissing her wildly, hungrily.
After a moment he pulled back, smiling down at her coldly as he asked
in a casual, conversational tone, "Are you going to answer my question,
darlin', or am I going to have to punish you?"
"Oh, yes, Daddy, please!" Dru beamed up at him eagerly, a little growl
in her throat as her vampire face came forth.
His own came forth as well in response, as he asked in a low, dangerous
voice, "Which?"
As if daring him to punish her, Dru nipped playfully at his shoulder
with her fangs, drawing blood, which she lapped up with pleasure,
before meeting his eyes with desire and replying boldly, "Both."
"One, in time," Angelus nodded with a grin, amused by her antics,
finding that he really had missed his crazy childe in the many years
they had been apart. "The other -- now." His expression became a bit
more serious as he asked again, "Where's Spike?"
Drusilla's smile fell, her lips forming a petulant pout, as she
sullenly answered, "Bad puppy. He's gone and got all his fangs ripped
out, he has...and what's worse he won't want 'em back..."
Angel's eyes narrowed slightly, a puzzled frown that was still mostly
unconcerned wrinkling his brow, as he tried to make sense of her
nonsense words. It really *had* been a very long time since he had had
to decipher Dru's random riddles.
"What are you talking about, Dru?" he asked her quietly, already
lowering his mouth to her throat again, swiftly losing interest.
In all honesty, he could very well do without the presence of his
arrogant, rebellious grandchilde.
Dru's response was a soft moan of need and pleasure, as his hands began
to accompany his mouth, playing her body with a skill that only he had
ever possessed for her. "Sun's comin' out," she murmured, her head
falling back, her eyes closed. "Gonna burn him all up, it is...leave only
shining ashes in 'is place..."
Angelus raised his head, a wicked glint in his eyes as he grinned at
her and reminded her in a voice of soft, malicious glee, "Sun's already
up, Dru. Wherever he is -- guess he's already history, then..."
Dru's expression was hazy, dreamy, as his hand slid under her skirt,
and she threw her head back again, swiftly losing her focus on the
conversation at hand. Still, she managed to shake her head slightly,
insisting in a soft, wistful but distracted sort of voice,
"No...not out yet...very soon...still...too late to save him, it is..." She
opened her eyes, wide and earnest and full of naked need, drinking in
the sight she had longed for for so long, the sight of her sire. "Don't
need 'im anymore anyway..."
Angelus' smile widened at those words, and he felt a possessive pride
rising up in him, and he found himself wishing momentarily that Spike
*was* around, just so that he could hear for himself his "Dark
Princess" rejecting him blatantly in favor of her sire.
"Who do you need, Dru?" he asked her in a low, growling whisper, his
fangs notching the soft flesh just below her shoulder blade, then
moving slowly lower, tearing open the bodice of her flowing, ancient
gown to reveal her pale, perfect breasts. "Who do you need?"
"You, Daddy," she replied without hesitation, meeting his eyes as one
of her own hands trailed enticingly down the front of her bare chest,
between her breasts. "Only you..."
With a triumphant growl of approval and satisfaction, Angelus fell on
her then, devouring her with all the hunger of a creature who's been
fully denied all pleasures of the flesh for over a century. In their
rutting, sensuous pleasure in each other -- both forgot the injured
vampire they had abandoned in the church, the one who was responsible
for the freedom they were enjoying.
In that moment, all they needed was each other -- but Angelus had no
intentions of settling for no more than the affections of one single,
deranged vampiress.
When he awoke -- all the world was going to be his.
************************************
Buffy awakened just as Angelus and Dru were drifting off to sleep later
that morning.
She was terribly surprised to be waking up alone.
In fact -- "surprised" didn't even begin to cover it.
She rose from the bed, wrapping Angel's sheet around her
self-consciously as she made her way through the small apartment,
softly calling his name -- and receiving no reply.
Stunned, a little hurt -- and with a rising sense of shameful
apprehension, Buffy made her way back to the bedside, and quietly got
dressed.
She knew that she should have left then, should have headed home, or to
school, or to any of the various loved ones that would be very worried
about her right about now, having no idea where she had spent the night
-- but somehow, she couldn't quite bring herself to leave.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, staring listlessly at the wall as
her slightly numbed mind tried again to figure out where Angel might
have gone.
*How could he just *leave*? After...he wouldn't just...*
The thought of his just waking up and getting dressed and walking out,
without speaking to her, without even waking her, set a cold,
unpleasant feeling deep in her stomach. It seemed so -- unfeeling...so
-- *dismissive*.
*But -- Angel loves me -- he told me he loves me -- he'll come back, he
probably just -- had to do something in a hurry...couldn't take the
time to...*
*Or maybe,* a vicious little voice in the back of her mind whispered,
*maybe he's changed his mind...maybe you weren't any good...maybe he
thinks he's made a terrible mistake and just wants to get away from
you...*
Trying to figure it out made her head and heart both hurt, so Buffy
gave it up for the moment, lying down on the bed and waiting quietly
for his return.
After all, she had no idea how very long she would end up waiting for a
love that had vanished forever in the night.