DISCLAIMER: Joss, Fox, and the WB hold possession of all the characters
in the Buffyverse, with or without souls...me, all I own is a He-Man
backpack, so if ya wanna sue, that's all you'll get.
I do however, own U2...so I can use their song without
permission..Bono doesn't mind :)
SPOILERS: Yep, its a story that takes place after Becoming 2.
What can I say? Joss is an *evil*, evil man.
RATING: PG-13, a few naughty words, the f-word once
SUMMARY: Spike realizes that what Buffy said was true; Dru *is*
a ho...but what is he to do about it?
NOTES: I love Spike, and Dru has been treating him unfairly...this
is my little rave about that. Also, since the whole story of
Angel/Spike/Dru is convoluted, I took some liberties in the history,
though nothing major.
DEDICATION: To the Herb Girls, powerful and mighty; Herb Power!
THANKS: To the Lone Gunwoman of the Comma Police, Rebecca Carefoot...
send her some Cheesecake and French Fries :) Also, for being my translator
in the language of Dru-speak. And to Bono, god of needy, angsty lyrics.
***********************************
In the cold mirror of a glass
I see my reflection pass
See the dark shades of what I used to be
See the purple of her eyes
The scarlet of my lies
--Love Rescue Me, U2
I miss the way it was. I never thought I would say that, but I do. It's bloody cruel, but I can't take her anymore. She was weak; she was needy. But most importantly, she needed *me*. Her visions and her damn "feelings" kept her floating to nowhere; she needed me to ground her, a thin line tethering her to the world of reality.
I watch her now as she paces, her dress flowing around her. My beautiful princess. My beautiful, insane princess. She has done nothing but complain, not in the way anyone normal would; she's more like a cat in a cage, mewling her dislike, unable to do anything but scratch.
And scratch she did. She had regained consciousness in the car. Before I knew it, the wheel was in her hands and she was hitting me, savagely crying out incoherent words of discontent. I knocked her out again and had continued driving until the sun went down. I pulled off the empty highway road and got out, stretched my legs and thought about leaving her there, walking away to start a new life.
Heroin addicts have support groups. Alcoholics have AA meetings. But there was nowhere for me to turn to get her out of my system. I needed her like a drug. And kicking a century-old habit is damn near impossible.
When I got back in the car she stirred, stretched. She opened her eyes, those lovely eyes that turn lavender when she goes vamp. There were questions in them.
"Don't worry, my pet," I told her, "we're going somewhere new. Somewhere better." Her eyes darted around the car, looking, frantically searching.
"Where's Angel?"
My blood froze. The first bloody thing out of her mouth is *him*. I clenched my jaw. "He's not here," I managed to spit out with difficulty. I started the car and peeled out onto the road.
"Go back and get him!" she ordered.
"I can't, sweetheart." My voice sounded exceptionally bitter, even to my own ears.
"GO BACK!" she screamed, and clutched at me, trying to get at the steering wheel again. I smacked her across the cheekbone. It had truly hurt me before when I had to hit her; now, it almost felt good.
She seethed at me. Like a wild animal shot by a gun, knowing itself to be outpowered but still trying to frighten. I had expected her to attack again but she didn't. She just sat there, alternating between me and the dark landscape flashing by at 90 mph.
I rubbed my eyes with one hand, trying to erase the memory of her asking for him. We continued driving until I couldn't take the confinement anymore, until my hunger was too great to ignore. Together we found a few "Happy Meals with legs" as I had told Buffy and gotten a hotel room. I had no bloody clue where we were, and I frankly didn't care.
She stops pacing and moves toward me, breaking me from my thoughts. "Miss Edith told me to tell you that she hates you," she says haughtily.
I shrug my shoulders. "You can tell Miss Edith," I say extra sweetly, "that she can shove it up her ass." I get up from the chair I was sitting in and walk to the window, looking at the tiny little lights below me. I press my hand to the cold glass. I don't need to look at her to know what expression she has. To know what body language she's using. I can picture her perfectly in my head, her eyes smoldering, her breathing quicker than usual, her hands with their perfectly manicured fingers shaking.
"Where's Angel?" she asks me again, but this time, I'm ready for it. I turn to her, giving myself a small joy in noticing that she looks exactly as I pictured her.
"Well, Dru, last thing I saw, Buffy was beating the shit out of him," I lie. He had been two seconds away from killing her, but it's better not to think of it like that. I had realized a long time ago that Buffy had probably emerged victorious, all evidence strongly pointing to the fact that the Earth had not been sucked into Hell. Hopefully, she had killed him. One can only dream...
Dru begins that awful keening that she does. "My Angel," she moans, wringing her hands. She repeats his name a few more times before my fuse finally blows.
"You don't need him, Dru! I'm here! Stop calling for him, damn it!" I roar. That bastard. It had been so frustrating in the beginning, stuck in that bloody wheelchair, watching him as he seduced her, pulling her away from me... And then, once I had healed, the frustration had grown, the only thing keeping me in that chair being the sweet thought of revenge.
I grab her arms and pull her to me. "Where do you want to go, Dru? Where next? Out of this country, right? Paris, perhaps..."
She jerks out of my grasp. "No! Sunnydale...the Hellmouth breathed it's evil into all of us...I need it to live; it's breath is my breath. And the Slayer still walks! We must go, silence her, make her very quiet, hush...hush..." her eyes light up, the way they always do when she goes on her little trips to Insanity Land.
"Dru-"
"Don't interrupt me! It's rude...and rude is *bad*! We've got to go back to the Hellmouth...back to my Dark Angel...oh, how my heart sighs for him!" She held up her hand, telling me to be silent. "Did you hear it? Just now? I heard it!" She grins. "It was my heart...it went 'sigh'...oh! there it goes again!"
"Dru," I say forcefully, taking her by her shoulders, "We're not going back."
She looks at me and smiles, the wicked, evil little Dru-smile that I love. Or at least, used to love. Now, it looks terrifying. "You're right my love, my Spike, *we're* not going back...*I* am."
"Oh, for chrissakes, Dru, don't be ridiculous. You can't drive, and you don't even know how to get there. You don't even bloody know where we are!"
She moves in closer to me, pressing her body against mine, something she hasn't done in a long time. Her lips nuzzle at my cheeks, my neck. "Well then," she whispers, the breath she uses to talk tingling against my skin the way it does when humans beg me not to kill them, "I'll just have to fly there like the birds," she says sweetly. Her hand runs through my hair. "Or like the *angels*," she hisses, and her teeth are in my neck and then her fist connects with the side of my head and there's the carpet, becoming intimately familiar with my face. I hear her laughter, like the beautiful, delicate sound of silver bells, and the door as it slams closed, shutting me off from the last echoes of her.
It was only a small bite, and I can easily take harder blows than that, but I remain on the floor. I roll over and look up at the ceiling, wondering if what just happened was real. I decide it was and rise, going to the window in hopes of seeing a fleeing shadow in the parking lot below.
There's nothing; it's what humans would call "quiet as a cemetary." I always found that interesting, for there's nothing quiet at all about the cemetary if you learn to listen to the worms and maggots eating at the flesh, the grass as it grows, the sobs of the mourners...
I press my forehead to the glass and try to ignore what just happened. She's never done that to me before. Never. "I don't need her," I mumble aloud, even though I know it's a lie. Right then, I make a wish that Buffy is still alive, that she did indeed kill Angel. I remember her fight with him, and almost putting Dru down to go help her defeat him.
Almost.
But then my sanity returned from whatever journey it had decided to take and I wanted nothing more than to let that memory die, for some small, tiny part of my mind had almost enjoyed Buffy. The fights, the banter, hell, even talking to her mother had been most amusing. Talking to someone who makes sense, who isn't crazy once in a while can be good. I chuckle, and the noise brings me back to the here and now.
Being friendly with the Slayer...what the hell is happening to me? Where did Evil Spike go? I learned long ago how to look at myself without a mirror, without a reflection...but now, I can't seem to do it.
I don't know who I am anymore. She's only been gone a few minutes but it feels like a part of me is missing. She won't be back; she's one of the most stubborn people I know.
So is he. I secretly rejoiced when he regained his soul...Dru became mine. I've taken better care of her than he ever did. Than he ever would. We were so happy, touring the world, sampling all the exotic flavors of people we could find. I trace phantom patterns on the glass with my fingers.
Dru.
I'm lying to myself. I *do* know who I am. I am nothing without her. I am helpless and scared and fucking pathetic. Buffy was right about her, but I don't care. I can't see my reflection in the glass of the window, but I know my face is flushed, vamp. Angry at me for loving her and angry at her for making me love her. I watch my fist swing down through the glass of the window, watch as it shatters into innumerable pieces, the fragments falling two stories to clink on the pavement below. The night air rushes in, warm and embracing.
I tell myself I won't go after her. I'll wait for her to come to me after she realizes he's gone, dead. I am going nowhere. But my feet won't listen. I'm through the door and into the night; I'm as crazy as she is.