The Beginning of the End Author: Elsa Frohman Rating: PG-13 (violence) Spoilers: None, Spike pre-Buffy Note: This was written very quickly – about an hour tonight at work, after I finished my work. Just a little exercise to get the words flowing. We're visiting an event that everyone knows about, but nobody has seen. He ran, one hand clasped tightly around hers, pulling her along behind him. Damn, why wasn't she running with him, he was all but dragging her. She was on her feet, but she wasn't putting any effort into driving herself forward. The streets were dark and uneven. The cobblestones were slippery underfoot -- the consequence of an evening rain -- and there was always the danger of slipping into a deeper furrow between stones turning an ankle. Not for him, mind you -- for her. She was wearing high-heeled boots, and that made her progress, trailing behind him at the end of his arm all the more treacherous. He pounded down an alley, and turned a corner into another dark passage. Her hand slipped out of his and he stopped to capture her again. "Drusilla!" he hissed, "try to stay with me, won't you love?" Her crazed giggle split the silence. "No use," she whined, then laughed again. "It's all over." Spike signed in frustration and grabbed her arm to pull her back into motion. "No it's not," he snapped. "Not even close. We'll get down to the river and we'll find a boat." "No use," Drusilla replied, her voice dead and disinterested. He could hear them coming. They were combing the alleys. It was a mob like so many others he'd run from in his century of unlife. They used to carry torches and pitchforks. Nowadays it was flashlights, billy clubs and shotguns. But that didn't make them any faster or cleverer than the peasants who had chased them in the past. It was still a matter of moving fast and finding a place to hide. Spike stopped for a moment and tasted the air. Drusilla wobbled on her feet, stumbling another step forward, then stopping to rock from side to side, dancing to the music of the orchestra in her head. Spike could hear that the mob had split into two groups. They were going to try a flanking action. The best way out now would be up. He could kick off his boots and climb up the brick wall at the side of the alley, his toes and fingers finding purchase between the blocks. But, Drusilla wasn't going to follow him. He could see that. She was somewhere else -- no more concerned about the mob following them than stars over their heads. In fact, she was probably more concerned about the stars. She was looking up now, staring at the night sky visible between the buildings overhead. "Love, we've got to go now," Spike pleaded. He couldn't climb the wall and carry her. She'd have to go up on her own. "If we go up, you'll have a better view of the stars," he cajoled. Drusilla shook her head. "No use," she said sadly. "I don't want to see the stars, anyway. They're mocking me. Nasty little lights they are. They laugh and say you'll leave me now. Leave me all alone." "Never! I'll never leave you, princess. We’re eternal. I'll be by your side to the end of the world." Drusilla shook her head. "No, you won’t," she scolded. "A little birdie told me." "Well, never mind that anyway. We've got to keep moving." He gave up the idea of getting her to climb the wall. They'd just have to outrun their pursuers. He pulled her along, turning at every opportunity -- trying to confuse the townsmen on their trail. Prague was a city of narrow streets and narrower alleys that turned and intersected and ran up and down narrow stairways. The mob was coming closer. The sounds of their footfalls were joined by their wheezing breath. Spike could smell them approaching. It wouldn't be long before he'd hear their hearts pounding in their chests. He sprinted forward, dragging Drusilla along behind. He went up an ancient flight of steps, two at a time, straining for that moment when he would see a clear path down to the river. But before he reached the top, his escape route was cut off. Three burley men stood ahead of them, poised for a fight. Spike stopped abruptly and wheeled around to go back the way they had come, but more angry men blocked their retreat. Spike pressed Drusilla back against the wall. "Stay still, love," he hissed. "I'll take care of these pillocks." "No use," she sang. "No use at all." "It doesn't end here," Spike said, putting steel in his words. "I won't let them hurt you." The party of three from above started down the stairway. It was dark -- dark enough that even with his vampire sight, he could only see their silhouettes. But he knew they could see him. For once, he cursed his platinum blond hair. In even the faintest light, it reflected enough to reveal his position. "I don't know who you are," one of the men called out in Czech -- not Spike's best language, but one he could make out with effort. "Give us the witch and we'll let you go." "Not going to happen, mate," Spike replied in English. He didn't care whether they understood him or not. "You don't know what she is," the man continued, advancing on them slowly. "You don't know what she did to the children." "Actually, I do," Spike said with a sneer. "Sort of regret that I missed the fun. But I've got to let the missus out on her own from time to time." "They were so tasty," Drusilla said with a giggle. "Young and succulent. They tasted like carousels and penny candy." The man who had spoken now stood within an arm's length. Spike stayed loose, waiting for the other to make the first move. When the man, who smelled of boiled cabbage and sausages mixed with cheap cigarettes and sweat, raised his arm to strike, Spike leapt at him, knocking him off balance and bearing him to the ground. He twisted the man's neck until it snapped and leapt back up to kick out at the next closest attacker. The second man went down, the breath knocked out of him by a blow to the solar plexus. Spike didn't bother to finish him -- he had moved on to take the next one by the neck to crush his larynx. The man doubled over, gasping as blood filled his throat. Spike wheeled and faced the rest of the mob, which was coming up from below. He kicked and punched, and spun and clawed, as they plowed into him. The stone steps were becoming slick with blood and chunks of flesh. Spike fought with all the fury he could summon. He was a blur of fists and feet and fangs. But the most he could do wasn't enough. Their numbers were overwhelming. They were all around, behind, in front, above and below. And to his horror, Drusilla stumbled away from the wall where he'd told her to wait and drifted out into the fray. They had her. And there were too many of them in the way for him to get hold of her again. They beat her with their flashlights and clubs. She crumpled beneath their blows, and disappeared from his sight. Spike steeled himself and waded back in, killing anyone who came within his reach. The bodies fell right and left as he dispatched them with punches that crushed skulls and kicks that shattered breast bones. He pulled the last body off her, and knelt down to cradle her bloody head on his arm. "Drusilla, love, hang on. I'll get you out of here." "No use," she whispered. "You're not dust, love. As long as you're not dust, you can get better." "No use," she said again, her voice barely audible. Her hair was matted with blood -- both her own and others'. He could see that her skull was broken in on one side, and she held her head at an odd angle that told him her neck was broken. He was sure her ribs were shattered, and her arms were bent in awful, impossible shapes. "Nonsense," he said, as he gathered her up. "You'll be fine. You'll heal and be as strong as ever." "It begins here," Drusilla whimpered. "I'll lose you now. You're slipping away from me already. Might as well leave me here for the sun to finish me." "No! Never. I'm going to take care of you. I'll make you strong again. We'll find a hellmouth -- that'll put the color back in your cheeks." A pitiful, mirthless laugh escaped Drusilla's bloodied lips. "Hellmouth," she repeated, "yes, I see it. It's calling to you even now." "What are you talking about? Don't try to say anything else, love. Save your strength." He gathered her up and stood, gathering her to himself gently to keep from further hurting her broken body. "Nothing for it," she whimpered. "It's the beginning of the end." ===== Elsa Frohman http://www.frohman.net/