Sweet William

AUTHOR: Little Mouse (elf_night@hotmail.com)

WARNINGS: For violence and language and explicit, vampiric, m/m yummy bits.

ARCHIVE: Please ask first.

SUMMARY: Drusilla, in an effort to return Spike to being her 'dark prince', tries to change him back to the way he was when he was called William the Bloody. It doesn't work out quite the way she expected. This story is slightly AU as per vampire lore, and Angel is Spike's Sire.

CHAPTER TWO

He knew this place.

He dredged through his memories and came up with the name 'The Bronze'. He had remembered that there was a dance here tonight, something special - those children he had spent his time hunting demons with had been very excited about it.

It looked interesting, though he didn't like the music that was flooding out of the doors. But it was lit with spectacular spinning lights, and the children around him were laughing and screaming and they sounded so happy. So alive.

He drifted through the open doors, not noticing the dozens of eyes that turned to follow his progress, not hearing the way heartbeats sped up in his wake. He looked around for his earlier companions, finding them sitting around a table close to the dance floor, laughing and talking. The blond that he didn't like, the boy with the dark hair that told good jokes, though William had been careful not to laugh at them. The little red-haired witch and her girlfriend.

And the tall, fresh-faced man in neat civilian clothes that sent icy chills down his spine.

He remembered him better in fatigues.

He'd started to go straight to their table, to drift past it and smile at them and see the reaction that he got, because he knew - exactly how he knew he didn't know or care - that he looked different than he had. That he looked damn fine before but had a whole different look now.

The soldier's presence stopped that little plan cold.

He'd have to decide what he wanted to do - he didn't want to leave; absolutely no way was he leaving, but he didn't want to get within that man's reach, either. Logically he knew, with the chip gone, that Riley Finn couldn't hurt him anymore, but logic didn't always win in a fight with fear.

He found himself a table in a corner, a small table half-hidden in the shadows. He didn't sit in a chair, instead he climbed onto the flat surface and folded his legs, leaning an elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand, watching the dancers with interest. He remembered dances like these, but it was like he was seeing them with brand-new, easily shocked eyes. Really interesting. Amazing how close two bodies could get without actually having sex. Just pretending to. He might try it later - or he might not.

*

"Oh, Goddess!" Willow breathed, reaching out to poke her girlfriend. "Tara - Tara - look at him!" She pointed across the room, careful not fling her hands around too obviously.

The shy blond obediently turned to look. She and Willow might be together, but it didn't stop them from admiring any pretty men who happened to come along.

And this one was worth admiring. Slender and lithe, small but with long, long legs encased in low-riding, soft, tight black leather. He wore low-heeled, slim black boots, and an embroidered, velvety-looking vest that fitted so closely it had to have been made just for him. It was a deep, rich sapphire blue, and even from this distance they could tell that it matched his eyes. His hair was a beautiful shade of dark blond, long and curling like the hero in a historical romance, disheveled like he'd been running his fingers through it but that only added to his gorgeousness. His arms were bare, his skin alabaster pale. He had the lean, defined muscles of a swimmer or a runner; and he seemed entirely oblivious to the crowd of people that were edging closer and closer to his table.

"Who's that?" Xander asked curiously, having followed Willow's pointing finger along with Tara. "Don't think I've ever seen him around here before."

Buffy turned to look, gaped for a second, and then was on her feet. "That's a vamp," she hissed, reaching out and snatching the dinky little purse that held Mr Pointy.

"Awww, why do all the really cute guys have to be vampires?" Willow whined, making Tara giggle and Xander protest. Buffy ignored them, stalking toward the table and the beautiful vampire who was engrossed in watching the dancers. Halfway there, his head came up, and he looked around wildly. Blue, blue eyes settled on her and widened, then the vamp was up and off and slipping through the crowd faster than she could follow. She swore under her breath, pushing at the milling teenagers, already too late to catch him.

"I think it got away," Riley said, just behind her as usual.

"Yeah, guess so. We'd better watch out for him, though - I could tell he was strong, and he was smart enough not to be snacking on people."

"We'll keep our eyes open," Riley agreed, "and I'll have the men keep a sharp lookout, too. He won't last long."

*

William circled the building and came in the back door, watching from a shadowy corner as the Slayer and the Soldier returned to their table. So much for teasing them tonight; he'd forgotten that the Slayer's senses would tell her what he was. Good thing his own senses had kicked in, letting him know she was approaching. It wasn't wise to be so off guard - he wouldn't let it happen again.

He chose to go upstairs this time, on the balcony out of their sight unless they looked up. That idea hadn't occurred to them yet, apparently, though they continued to scan the dance floor. If his vague memories were correct, he used to be the one who kept an eye on the balcony, the rare times that he was here with them.

Silly children. He would have chastised himself for not training them better, but then he remembered that he didn't like them and they hated him. Well, all but the boy. They'd begun to get along - very, very slightly. Not enough for him to want to go and introduce himself, now. If he told them who he was and that the chip was gone, he could kiss his unlife goodbye.

"Hi," a voice said, interrupting his musing.

He turned to see a rather pretty teenaged girl, who obviously thought herself much prettier than she actually was. She was dressed in expensive, revealing clothes and her blonde hair screamed that a professional had spent hours on it.

"Hello," he replied, turning to face her. His senses flared, taking her in. She smelled clean, and warm; her hair, even if it wasn't supposed to be that color, gleamed in the flashing lights. She was looking at him with an expression that was frankly greedy, and he smiled.

Looked like the first installment of his dinner had arrived.

*****((One Week Later))*****

Angel sat up in bed, jolted out of his sleep by a eerie feeling in the back of his brain. He shuddered, wondering what was going on. Something was happening - he knew it - he just had to concentrate.

He sat there thoughtfully for a moment, then his eyes widened and he flung back the covers, leaping out of bed. It was about midday, but the curtains in the Hyperion were always securely closed. He'd be perfectly safe.

He only hoped Cordelia or Wesley was here.

Someone had to drive him to Sunnydale - now.

*

William shivered, staring around the cold crypt with worried eyes.

He hoped this worked. He'd spent a long time on it, and it looked good to him, but you never knew...

He stepped forward and rearranged a fold of the leather duster laying over one of the urns. It looked as if it had been casually tossed aside; he kept fiddling with it, though, and hoped it wasn't going to look like the prop it was.

The whole crypt had been trashed - Drusilla's silk tapestries and the brass-bound trunks, along with the very few personal possessions he'd managed to keep over the years, were tucked safely away in his new hiding place. So were the wealth of candles and the admittedly lovely candlesticks she'd brought.

The ratty, broken-down chair and couch he'd managed to find were now reduced to little more than fluff and kindling. His telly lay on it's side, the front smashed in. The metal stand was bent and tossed in a corner. The few cheap rugs were wadded and thrown around like feet had kicked them aside. The crowning touch was the wooden stake carefully placed in Drusilla's ashes, a few of the grey flakes sifted over top of it.

And the little metal chip that he'd half-buried at one end.

He knew that his grace period was pretty much up - they would come looking for Spike soon. If they didn't need him for muscle, they'd be making sure he wasn't plotting some mayhem or planning another attempt to remove the same chip that was now in his Princess' dust. If he had done a good enough job, they would think it was him lying there, and he'd be that much safer. He'd be able to leave, to start afresh somewhere else.

'To find Sire,' an insidious little voice in his brain whispered.

"No!" he said aloud, "can't find Sire. Doesn't want me. Has a soul now, must remember that." He tightened his arms a little, his grip becoming more of a comforting self-hug than an attempt to warm his bare arms. One hand slipped up, almost against his will, to touch the faint scar of his turning. Realizing what he was doing, he jerked the rebellious hand away. One last quick glance around the crypt, then he turned on his heel and left it for the last time.

He was hungry.

Time to go find dinner.

*

Buffy sighed. "How many does this make?" she asked, staring at the girl sitting in front of them.

"Seventeen," Willow replied, scribbling in a notebook. "She makes seventeen."

"This is insane," Giles muttered, tilting the girl's head to get a better look at the neat red bite mark that marred her throat. "They're just letting this vampire do this to them."

"From the description, it's that pretty vamp that we saw at the dance last week. You remember him, Buffy?" Willow asked. "He was sitting on the table, and you and Riley scared him away? All the descriptions match him, just the clothes are different."

"It's so weird. He'd not killing them - are they thralled?"

Giles shook his head. "Not exactly. I'm not sure what it is. It seems to fade after an hour or so, and they're back to normal."

"Almost normal," Xander corrected, dropping into the last chair. "I found a couple of the other 'victims' here tonight - they're all looking for their vampire. They want him to bite them again - keep going on and on about what a 'rush' it is. Sick."

"No, it isn't," a familiar voice said, making them all jerk around.

"Angel!" Buffy chirped, jumping up and diving in for a hug.

The dark vampire's return hug was stiff and formal. "Buffy. Giles, Xander, Willow," he nodded politely to the others. "You know Cordelia, of course. And Wesley. This is Gunn," he gestured to the tall, dark man beside him.

"A pleasure, I'm sure," Giles said doubtfully. "What brings you to Sunnydale?"

"Angel does," Cordelia sighed, giving Wesley a smile as he brought her a chair. "Something about a kid."

"A Childe," Angel corrected patiently. "Has anything - unusual - been going on here?"

"Beyond the regular Hellmouth weirdness?" Xander snarked. "Just that." He pointed to the still-dazed, smiling girl next to Giles.

"And what is 'that'?" Wesley asked curiously, leaning forward.

"A vampire-bite victim," Buffy said, tugging on Angel's arm until he retrieved his own seat and sat next to her. "We keep finding them. It's been going on for a week. They say a beautiful man is nice to them, dances with them, makes out with them, and then they find the bite mark later. And they want him to do it all over again. He doesn't kill them - he doesn't even take much blood. And they like it!"

Angel didn't even look slightly surprised. "How many of these victims have you found?"

"Seventeen," Willow repeated, "mostly teenagers. All of them in clubs. There could be more that we've missed."

"No, that sounds about right," Angel said, mystifying them. "Tell me, have you seen increased vampire activity?"

"Not exactly, that's the other weird thing," Buffy said, frowning hard. "There are more minions running around than we've ever seen, but they're not biting anyone. It's almost like they're looking for something."

"Someone," Angel corrected.

"What do you mean?" Xander asked.

"Do you know what's going on?" Giles demanded.

"You have Masters in your town," Angel replied calmly. "But they're not here for the Hellmouth, or to challenge the Slayer."

"Why else would they be here?" Giles looked worried and confused.

"Because they want him. Your mysterious nibbling vampire. Congratulations, Giles - you've got an un-Claimed Childe running around your little town. It's calling out to every Master in a thousand-mile radius - and they're not going to leave until someone owns him."