Author: enigmaticblue <enigmaticblue@yahoo.com>
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters below, although I wish I'd thought of them first.
Archive: Anywhere that already has my stuff. Anywhere else, just ask.
Summary: A response to Helga Von Nutwimple's Vamp-in-the-Box Challenge. Wolfram & Hart make a slight error, and bring Drusilla back instead of Darla at the end of Ats S1. Drusilla heads straight to Sunnydale and Spike, and in the process throws a monkey wrench into Buffy's thinking. Oh, and Riley left after "Restless."
A/N: I don't particularly want to post the rules right now because it
will give away too much of the story. Therefore, they will be posted at
the end, and you all can decide for yourselves how well I did answering
my first challenge.
Chapter 9: Visions of an Unfinished Life
Drusilla didn't sleep much that night, thinking about what Cordelia had said, about what might come next. She had chosen to come to L.A. because of what she knew was coming. She had believed that it would be best for her to be out of Sunnydale and away from Spike.
She still believed that she had done the right thing, but now she was asking herself what came next. This was a different world she lived in now. Long ago, when she had been human the first time, there had always been someone looking after her. After Angelus had turned her, there had been him and Darla, and then Spike. To a certain extent, Drusilla found the idea of looking after herself, of actually making her mark on the world, frightening.
And exhilarating.
Drusilla left the bedroom in the early dawn hours, tired of tossing and turning. Wesley lay sprawled out on the couch, an open book face-down on his chest. With a small smile, she picked it up, then took the afghan off the back of the couch and spread it over him.
He woke for a moment, sleepy eyes focusing on her with difficulty. "Drusilla? Is everything—"
"Just wanted some tea," she assured him quietly. "Go back to sleep. It's early yet."
He murmured something she didn't catch and drifted back down to sleep. Drusilla walked over to one of the few windows in the apartment, looking out at the fire escape. There really wasn't much to see, but she wasn't really interested in what was outside.
She was looking within.
After a while, Drusilla glanced back over at Wesley, who was now deeply asleep again, and she made a quick decision. While she knew that the ex-Watcher probably would accompany her if asked, Drusilla felt the need to do this by herself.
It was time she learned to stand on her own two feet.
~~~~~
Spike didn't want to see Buffy. At all. He found her too confusing. One minute they were friends, and the next she was back to treating him like he was nothing. Oh, Spike understood exactly what had happened. She didn't want anyone to know that she wasn't treating him like dirt all the time now.
Well, he was done. He would go back to watching Passions and hunting demons by himself when he needed a spot of violence. He'd check in on Joyce every once in a while to make sure she was okay, and he would forget that Drusilla had ever come to town or that anything between him and the Slayer had been different.
They were mortal enemies, and that was that.
Spike wished that there was someone he could talk to about all this, but the only person he could think of was Joyce, and it was her daughter he'd be complaining about. Somehow that didn't seem right. Still, there was always the pleasure of her company, and Joyce never pretended that their relationship—whatever it might be—didn't exist.
Which was why Spike found himself on her doorstep again. He found himself relaxing as she talked about the gallery and her plans for the exhibits. There had been several mix-ups in delivery schedules that had caused her some frustration.
Spike just listened. If he couldn't talk about his problems, listening to Joyce was the next best thing. It prevented more ruminating over Drusilla and the Slayer, and it gave him some company.
"Are you certain you don't want Drusilla's phone number?" Joyce asked after a while, deciding she'd talked Spike's ear off enough. "I could give it to you."
Spike hesitated. Maybe he should call and just see how she was doing. That wouldn't be so bad. "Yeah, that would be okay, I guess." He stared at the thin layer of sugar the melted marshmallows had left on the surface of his hot chocolate.
"Would you like to tell me what happened?" Joyce asked with a smile.
He shrugged. "Not really. There isn't anythin' you can do about it anyway."
"Sometimes it just helps to talk about it," Joyce pointed out.
"Not this time," Spike replied. "'s just—" He stopped, abruptly, deciding against saying anything about what had happened the previous night. "You know, I was wonderin' somethin'."
Joyce knew he was changing the subject and decided to allow it. "What's that?"
"Well, somethin' Dru said to me made me wonder if—" The sound of the front door opening caught him off guard, and Spike immediately stood.
"Mom?"
"I should go," he muttered. "Thanks for the drink."
Joyce frowned. "You don't have to leave."
"Yeah, actually, I do," Spike said. "'ve stayed too long already. See you."
Joyce watched as he practically fled out the back door, leaving his mug still half-full. Buffy came into the kitchen a few seconds later, looking around expectantly. "Hey, Mom. Was someone back here with you?"
"Spike was," she replied, giving her daughter a look that Buffy recognized all too well. "Why is he avoiding you, Buffy?"
"How should I know?" the Slayer asked defensively. "Why does Spike do anything?"
Joyce gave her a rather pointed look. "Buffy, this has been a very difficult time for him. You might try being a little nicer."
It was the last straw. The little niggling sense of guilt from the previous night, plus a mom-generated guilt trip resulted in an exasperated Buffy. "Why?" she demanded. "He's a vampire, Mom. An evil vampire. Why should it matter how I treat him?"
Her mother was not impressed by Buffy's argument. "Because it matters. Buffy, didn't I teach you that you ought to treat others the way you'd want to be treated?"
"But that doesn't extend to vampires and demons!" she protested.
"Doesn't it?" Joyce responded. "Tell me. If you were Spike, and you couldn't hurt anybody, wouldn't you want someone to be nice to you? I think he's lonely, and it wouldn't hurt you to be friendly."
Buffy couldn't think of a good counter-argument, which annoyed her to no end.
Of course, this was what mothers did. She could still remember the really annoying girl her mother had forced her to invite to her tenth birthday party, just because she'd invited all the other girls in her class. She'd learned to have smaller parties after that.
Now her mom had decided that Spike was the equivalent of the kid that never got invited (usually for very good reasons), and so Buffy was going to get the guilt trip from hell until she started including him.
"I'll think about it," the Slayer replied, which was all she was prepared to promise at this point. No matter how good Spike was at watching her back.
Joyce just smiled. "Good," she replied, knowing very well that she already had her daughter on the ropes.
~~~~~
It hadn't taken Drusilla long to find the church. In a city like Los Angeles, they were virtually everywhere.
Of course, she'd also taken the time to look it up in the phone book.
Sitting in one of the pews, she felt a sense of peace washing over her. Drusilla had loved the Masses she had attended with her family, loved the sound of the Latin as it was read. Even when the visions had tormented her with the idea that she was somehow evil, Dru had held on to the idea that someday she would be good enough.
She knew she probably shouldn't have been able to find peace here. Not only did the visions mark her as different, but it was in a sanctuary such as this one where Angelus had committed the ultimate act of desecration. It was in a sanctuary such as this that she had met her doom.
Even so, Drusilla realized now that evil was everywhere, within and without. Whatever she might have believed back then, Cordelia was perhaps correct when she said that the visions could be viewed as a gift.
"May I help you, my dear?" An elderly priest smiled at her from behind thick-framed glasses.
Drusilla shook her head. "No, I'm fine. I just came to—" What had she come to do? She could hardly remember now.
He sat down next to her. "If you don't mind me intruding, you looked a little lost."
"I suppose I am," she replied, though her calm tone was in direct contrast to her words. "I'm not sure where I'm going." Drusilla knew better than to tell him about her visions, or her past. People these days did not believe in such things, even those who should. "I've been ill for such a long time, you see, and now I don't know what to do."
He patted her hand comfortingly. "Then perhaps you should simply thank God for a second chance and be happy you have it."
It was a platitude, but it rang true for her. It was much like what Cordelia had suggested the previous day. She should accept the gift that had been given and do what she could with it. "Thank you, Father."
"Are you certain there isn't anything I could do for you?" he asked. "If you wanted me to hear your confession—"
Drusilla shuddered, and then shook her head. There were some things that should not be spoken aloud. "No, I don't think so," she replied. And then she thought better of it. "There is one thing you could do for me."
"What is that?"
"There is a man following me," Drusilla said quietly. "He's been stalking me for a few days now. If you could call the police—" She allowed a little fear to filter into her voice, although she knew exactly what she was doing. "I would rather not go back out there until he's gone."
She nodded when the old priest told her to stay right where she was. Drusilla smiled as he hurried away to check that what she had said was true and to call the police. If she was going to help, Drusilla knew she would have to start at the beginning—with Wolfram and Hart.
~~~~~
Spike did not often dream. At least, he didn't remember his dreams. When he did, however, they usually involved blood and violence—in the best possible way. So he was not used to nightmares, especially not this sort.
He'd found himself in the alley behind the Bronze, and the Slayer was there. They were arguing over something—which wasn't anything new—but then Spike had felt the change in the air. Had watched as they got closer and closer to one another, until there was no space at all between their bodies. Spike could literally feel the Slayer's breath on his lips, and for one moment he thought they were going to kiss.
It wasn't the first time Spike had dreamed of something like that, although typically the dream had ended with them shagging and him draining her dry. The Slayer was—stimulating, and he was still a male, even if he was undead, so it only made sense.
This dream, however, had not ended with them having sex. It had ended with the Slayer shoving him back against the wall and saying the three words that Spike hated the most. "You're beneath me." It was a replay of the worst—and best—night of his life, and the sense of loss he had when Buffy said those words told him everything he needed to know about his feelings for the Slayer.
There was only one thing to do after a dream like that.
He was on his way through the third bottle of whiskey when Buffy showed up. Spike was so angry with her—both Buffy and dream-Buffy at that point—that he threw the bottle at her. Which, of course, resulted in a chip-induced migraine.
"What was that for?" Buffy demanded, hands on hips.
Spike, who felt as though his brain had just been fried, glared at her. "That's for bein' a bitch!"
He really should have seen the fist coming. His nose joined the list of things-that-hurt. "That's me being a bitch," Buffy replied snidely. She glanced around his crypt. "Geez, Spike. It's a mess in here."
"Go to hell," he suggested.
"I think that's your destination."
"You first."
They glared at one another, neither ready to back down. "What the hell do you want?" Spike finally asked as the first to look away.
"I just—well, I was going to ask if you wanted to patrol with me, but you're in no condition to go out," Buffy replied, looking him up and down, and feeling a very small amount of sympathy. "You look like crap."
He grunted. "Yeah, and you have stupid hair."
"That's the best you can do?" Buffy asked, amused rather than insulted.
Spike turned his back. "Right now it is. Come back later an' I'm sure I'll think of somethin' a little more stinging."
Buffy stared at his back and sighed. "I'm sorry I lied to you the other night, Spike."
She was gone by the time he had shaken off his amazement enough to turn around. "Bloody hell," Spike finally muttered. "'m never gonna figure that crazy bint out."
~~~~~
When Drusilla returned to the flat, she found an irate ex-Watcher. "Where have you been?" he demanded.
"I was just out," she replied, wondering why he was so upset.
Wesley glared at her. "Did it occur to you to leave a note? I had no idea where you were or if something had happened to you." He gestured at the window. "The man who was watching us was gone!"
She shrugged carelessly. "The police took him."
Wesley blinked and then sank down on the couch. He had no idea if Drusilla's little outing was a product of her madness or her sanity, and he wasn't sure what to say in response. "Why did the police take him?"
"The priest called them," Drusilla replied, then sat down on the couch next to him. "I'm sorry you were worried."
Wesley sighed. "It's fine. It's just—with Wolfram & Hart watching, and not knowing what they want, I was thinking the worst."
Drusilla hadn't thought of that. "I'm sorry."
Wesley was quiet. "We're going to have to tell Angel about this, you know. You don't have to come with me, but I'm not sure it's wise to leave you by yourself." He met her eyes, saying softly, "You understand why it's dangerous, don't you?"
"Yes," Drusilla responded. "You'll look after me, though."
Wesley smiled. It was always nice when a person had that much faith in your abilities. "Yes, but I think we need to go see Angel today. Will you be alright?"
Drusilla nodded firmly. "Yes. I want to help."
Wesley reached over and squeezed her had, feeling greatly daring. "I'll be right there the entire time."
It was time to face her demons.