Disillusioned
Summary: What does a pissed off
vamp do when he's dragged to the Hellmouth when he'd rather be swanning
around Europe? Why, he gets inventive in order to have fun with the
Slayer of course.
Rating: I'll go for R at this
time. Though knowing me, a change is possible.
Disclaimer: These characters
belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I have merely manipulated his
creation to make myself and hopefully you happy. I gain nothing but
satisfaction mentally.
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Chapter Nine
"It's been so cold, Spike. Princess was worried. Why have you been
hiding in the sun?" Her voice tinkled inside the crypt he'd made home,
sharp eyes assessing shrewdly the benefits of his seeming defection
from both his family and his partner. Nothing of what she saw made
sense and instead of instigating a petulant tantrum, Dru dissolved into
insecure whimpers and fell seamlessly to the floor.
Looking up, insanity nudged a smile to her lips as the tears made her
cheeks glisten in the muted moonlight. "You've seen the light, my
love." And she giggled, losing the sense of herself as she ghosted the
sign of faith against the cross of her torso. "It's just so funny.
Daddy's laughing at you. My Spike lies, but Daddy has the real prize.
Naughty Slayer doesn't believe. Her time will come."
He'd spent a good decade thinking about why he'd been saddled with Dru.
What bloody great crime against the world and creation he'd carried out
to have met her in that dark alley so long ago. Surely it couldn't be
that he'd pissed off the Big Guy for being so pathetic a wanker as to
strive to be a poet. Of course, he'd actually known he was pretty bad
at it. Awful in fact. Didn't make it a crime against humanity—just one
against good taste. Those that chose to mock and drown him in cruelty
were far more deserving of punishment—and that's when he'd found he'd
answered one question. Maybe becoming the undead was its own reward.
He'd had to think so or become as mad as Dru.
When he'd first seen her, he hadn't recognised her darkness for what it
was. Even now, Dru didn't look like the great evil he knew her to be.
Didn't appear to be the one who whispered truths as she tore with force
at a bloke's devotion and love. She'd suck a man dry, all while having
him so oblivious to her true nature that when the shock of it came—when
the great rising terror of a manipulating Angelus came and usurped his
destiny—it left him seething and tired.
And ultimately, that's what he was now. He saw her histrionics on his
crypt floor, listened to her confused ramblings with so little care
that it left him shocked and reeling. But so very very tired.
His time with Dru was long gone. He realised that now. With Angelus in
town, it was an opportunity that he'd refused to consider—not while
he'd thought the death of the Slayer was his next goal to achieve. How
royally that plan fucked him over should really have come as no
surprise. He was getting used to being fucked over by ideas far too
grand for execution. And Buffy was a very pretty shaped spanner to
throw into his mess of a works. He was beginning to think that if he
couldn't kill her, he had nothing left but to love her.
His eyes fell on Dru once more, panicking a little as her green eyes
watered and settled upon him sadly.
"You promised me you'd kill her, Spike. Why can't you kill her?"
Her expectations infuriated him. For over a hundred years she'd been
forcing him to live for her, keeping him at her beck and bloody call,
and one look at a blonde beauty had him scattering his devotions. He
felt like he'd grown more than a measure since crossing over into
Hellmouth territory. Like he'd grown beyond Dru and the life he'd led
since his turning. Like he needed more and meeting Buffy showed him a
way of having it.
Looking at Dru hurt now. She would always need something he didn't
have—something she'd found to limitless depths in the wanker that, no
matter how many years went by, he could never thoroughly leave behind.
Cruelty—something the trace of William within him couldn't bear yet the
one thing Angelus had in abundance. Thrived upon. And here, in this
godforsaken mouth of Hell, she could have it to her heart's content.
He'd be relieved to never have them around him again.
That's what he'd found in this most unlikely place—what he'd found in
the acceptance in Buffy's eyes, as much as he tried to reject and
ignore it. A chance to start over. He just didn't know if he had the
courage to take it. Saying yes to Buffy might put him on a new path—but
it was a real wrench to let go of everything he'd had. As lacking as he
may suddenly find that to be.
"You should know why, pet. Always could read me better than I could
myself." He chanced a look and sure enough she was tearful, yet not
choked with grief. Dru wasn't one to rally behind the laws of being
Sire. She was too barmy to even know there were any. So letting Spike
go was relatively easy—losing him from the throb of evil seemed to cut
much deeper.
Her eyes glittered with anger, the tears evaporating before he'd barely
had time to register their existence.
"Princess doesn't like when one of the party leaves before he's been
excused."
And wasn't that the rub. He hadn't asked if he could leave her, had
made the decision without her input after leaving her for a week at the
mercy of Darla and The Great Ponce himself. Not that he guessed there'd
been much mercy—not if the healing lashes on her neck and arms were a
true indication. She didn't seem resentful of his actions, though. More
irritated that he hadn't sought the ancient out alongside her. Well,
too bloody bad. He'd brought her here on her demand. If she didn't like
that she'd lost him for good, it was her own bleeding fault.
"Sorry, Dru. But just this once you forgot to serve the bloody tea. Now
I think it's time you got back to mum, pet. She'll be wondering where
you got off to."
She hissed at him. Him, who'd been by her side since he'd been enslaved
to her mystery. "You've lost yourself, William. Telling lies to the
Slayer, making her believe in you. What will Daddy think when he finds
out you've tampered with the Gypsy vengeance and started to wear his
face?"
There was no doubt the first part of her speech had him cringing—he
just knew claiming to have a soul would bugger things up good and
proper. But he was on an out-of-control spin now, needing to cling to
the excuse that kept him by Buffy's side. The deprivation of her favour
would hurt more than he'd ever thought possible in regards to a
slayer—in regards to his food.
"Yeah, I lied. What of it?" His stubborn stance was blown all to hell
as his door was kicked forcefully off its hinges and laid to rest
halfway to the back wall.
A vision of slayer betrayal stood in the moonlit opening, tears
coursing down her cheeks and deep breaths struggling to make it into
her lungs. Spike registered the twist in his gut as pain, just as his
whole world was thrown into chaos.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
She really didn't want to think about what Angel had told them, but
Buffy couldn't tear the doubt from her mind. Not when it was her life
that could be affected. The lives of her friends. But no matter which
way she turned it around, Spike had given her no reason to have doubts.
No reason to trust this Angel guy over him. There was no test that she
could administer to measure the existence of a soul. All she had to
judge was the word of a slimy guy and the deeds of both.
So far, Spike was so far in front he was lapping the other.
Thinking of Spike made her smile. Since that night she'd found him at
the Bronze, they'd spent every night together patrolling. Being near
him made her senses almost explode on overload and her craving for him
was increasing with every glance he sent her way. She was more than a
little attracted to him—it would surprise her to find someone who
wasn't—but if she were really truthful, she could admit that what she
was feeling about him had an intensity that left her starry-eyed and
breathless. She'd passed the crush stage, learned as much about him as
she could while he was as tight-lipped about his past as he could
be—not that it had bothered her at the time. She'd felt the gentleness
of his embrace when he comforted her after nearly being taken down by a
pack of vamps—the Master's lackeys eager to take her to him. She'd felt
the cool sensation against her buzzing palm, her skin so sensitised she
was almost bouncing along at his side. And she'd felt his kisses—so
molten with natural magic that Buffy wasn't so with the remembering of
her own name. So yes, she'd drifted through the stages of romantic
interest until she'd stumbled awkwardly into love, and she was so
blessed by it that she couldn't tear the smile from her lips.
She had no clue if he felt the same, though the looks of longing when
they pulled away from each other made her heart beat harder for the
hope that he did. He never talked about his feelings, didn't press her
to share her own, but each time he brushed his fist against her arm in
a move so tender it nearly made her drool, she knew. Knew herself if
not him. Knew that if she lost Spike to the lies Angel insisted he was
telling, it would surpass hurt. It wasn't something she wanted to think
about—even if it did compromise the life of her friends and family.
Even if it endangered her own.
Giles had argued that the stupid prophecy book was such a great gift to
them that she should believe Angel's motives for wanting to help.
Should accept he was ensouled and be willing to listen to his story.
Only problem was, she already believed he had a soul. She'd looked up
the history of Angelus—well, honestly, she'd only read a paragraph or
two before her stomach objected to more. What the account had told her
was that Angelus had not been the one giving her hints about badness
around the Hellmouth. In his own mysterious way, he'd been trying to
help. Not terribly efficiently, but she guessed it must be kind of hard
to try and slip into a world of humans if you were feeling guilt for
destroying so many of them.
That thought stopped Buffy cold, and a sudden chill of foreboding
spread through her body right as she came to a stop at the door of
Spike's crypt. It was propped open slightly, a sliver of air existing
between the door and its frame. Enough to warn her of another presence
as she was about to enter and make out with her hot new boyfriend.
It was a woman's voice—one that she'd never heard before. Belonging to
someone she no doubt had never heard of before. And she knew Spike
well, judging by the intimacy of her tone, the hurt as she accused him
of something.
"Yeah, I lied. What of it?"
Spike's reluctant admission slammed into her with all the force of a
building collapse and Buffy felt the horror sink down to her toes. What
did he mean he lied? Had he been sneaking around with her behind
someone else's back? Was Buffy suddenly cast in the role of 'other
woman' when she was only sixteen? Oh God, what was he lying about and
why was he doing it? Without knowing what lay behind the claim she was
falling apart, the pain driving into her heart like a lethally
sharpened stake
She'd put so much trust in him—hadn't even considered he might be lying
about any part of himself. It never even occurred to her to wonder how
such a specimen of salty goodness was available in the first place.
She'd just gone with it, decided she wanted him and went about showing
him that he wanted her back. Learning you may have made a monumental
mistake was a little hard to take. Learning it in the presence of
another woman? Intolerable.
Buffy felt sick at the rushing swell of anger and disappointment that
swept away all commonsense as she planted her boot flat against the
door and sent it crashing inward. Spike's surprise and dread filtered
through her already quaking sense of supposed understanding, yet it was
the malicious glee she caught in the woman's eyes before she attacked
that Buffy deemed more important. Without thinking, by trusting her
heart before her head, she'd barged into the lair of two vampires.
Ordinarily that wouldn't have been a problem, her usual confidence in
her abilities allowing that most double-act vamps she came across would
be dusty remains before they could share an ounce of their stupidity.
This time, she could sense the power from both of them, Spike's almost
heightened by his company, and Buffy at last realised her mistake.
Hands were around her throat and strangling her before Buffy could even
call his name. Darkness beckoned as she tried to kick, tried to claw
her way free. All the while the bitch was cackling like she thought
Buffy's imminent death was funny and Spike stood shocked to the spot.
Buffy saw it and didn't adjust her beliefs to the look of horror on his
face, the fear that that reached out and met her own.
Not until Buffy was gasping did the pressure cease, only to leave her
screaming as fangs sunk through tissue and sucked greedily at her
blood. Buffy cried as her foolishness slammed into her and her mistakes
flashed behind her eyes. Then it was over, blood leaking from her neck
and weakness threatening to keep her collapsed on her knees. Partially
in shock, she met furious midnight eyes feeding on terror and shrunk as
he poured all his fear and anger into damaging punches that hit a too
responsive Dru.
The woman Buffy didn't know—the one she hated and now feared with a
very healthy does of reality—collapsed into a sobbing bundle of olden
styled velvet. Everything about her was blood red—the out of fashion
gothic styled dress, the murder in her eyes, Buffy's plasma that
dripped from her fangs. And now she acted helpless against Spike's
anger, remaining on the floor as she rubbed her face and whimpered
about duty.
It was too much, Buffy cringing as Spike dragged the woman into the
air, throwing her across his crypt and rushing back as she slid down
the stone. The evil laughter was back, her eyes stripped of artifice as
she maliciously entered the fight. Fists and fangs slashed through
flesh and air, leaving Buffy scared and confused. She stood slowly,
pushing her spirit and determination to support her legs, forcing one
final look to confirm the preoccupation of both vampires as she
painfully sidled out the door.
Spike had not stopped the movement of his kicks and fists until Dru lay
bloodied and whimpering on the floor. He'd never felt such fear, such
gut-clenching terror that he was going to lose the very thing he needed
to keep him alive. Buffy. The image of his former's fangs hidden within
the Slayer's throat had been enough to budge him from his catatonia,
desperation to save Buffy—to really watch her back—spurring him to
finally force Dru from her. Dru had taken him over completely during
his past, but this encroaching on his territory—whether to kill or love
a slayer was still the debate—it fuelled an intolerance he wasn't aware
he had. No one could beat him, take away his purpose and so he had
saved the girl. Didn't want her hurt anymore than he wanted to come to
this hellhole in the first place.
Whatever had Dru worried about the situation now was not his problem.
He'd beaten her into submission for the first time ever and amidst it
all wondered if this was what he should have done if he'd really wanted
her to be his all those long years past. Whatever he could have done,
should have done, was long ago and he had his future now to protect.
It was time he surrender his stranglehold on his evil persona, allow
himself to recognise there was so much more than killing and feeding.
No matter how evil he was, how consumed he was by the demon within,
there was always love. He'd never had it in Dru, but he knew he could
with Buffy. Knew that he half did already.
He would not let her die, and especially not on the end of Dru's
viciousness.
By the time the violence had stopped, Buffy had long disappeared into
the night.