Fic: The Blood is the Life
Mar. 28th, 2011 09:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonyphoenixTitle: The Blood is the Life
Fandom: BtVS
Characters/Pairing: Spike/Dru
Rating: PG-13?
Concrit: Please, in comments
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, not yet, but the will be once I've taken over the world. Bwah-ha-ha.
Warnings/Squicks: Death of children
Summary: Dru and Spike fled Prague, chased by a mob. The events around that.
Note: Written for a challenge/prompt at Darker Vault: Sacrifice
Note: The lyrics are from “When You're Gone” off of Steve Strauss' Powderhouse Road
Note: The final scene is from What's My Line? – Part 1
Note: Spike and Dru in the Dali bed came from whichclothes' visit to the Dali museum. And I found another view of the bed.
“That's it, the security system is disabled.” The guard spoke in English rather than his native tongue for Spike's benefit, not that Spike needed it. After a hundred years of traveling, he'd picked up a good number of languages.
“Thanks, mate,” Spike said. Laying one hand on either side of the man's head, Spike snapped them back and forth, quick as a flash. The guard fell to the floor.
As he stalked to the side exit, using vamp hearing to avoid the second security guard, Spike muttered to himself. “What the bloody hell is so special about this damned bed? So what if the bedposts look like mer-tails, not like they came offa real mermaids.” he said with a snort. “But Spike,” he added, mimicking a high-pitched voice, “there's a skeleton in the corner.” Turning into the last hall before the exit, he finished off, in his own voice once again, “Big deal. Not like we couldn't have picked up a skeleton anytime she wanted.”
He found her just outside the door, right where he'd left her, but when he called she didn't answer. “Dru.” She was so focused on the sky, her gaze so intense, that he had to call her three times before she noticed. “What were you up to, pet?”
Blinking, her gaze shifted around vaguely, as if following butterflies in flight. “Up to?”
“You were caught up in something.”
“I... I don't recall.” Spike's head jerked toward her at that. While Dru's attention did wander, when she got back, she always knew where she'd been. “Is it ready for us?” she asked.
“Awaiting its princess,” Spike said, gesturing grandly toward the entrance. “We've got a bit of a hunt first. I left one guard, to get the blood moving and all.”
“Oh goody,” Dru said as she stepped inside, her voice carrying, echoing down the hallways.
That'll bring him to us, Spike thought, not entirely pleased with Dru's lack of discretion. Still, the sooner they killed that last guard, the sooner he could be pleasing his princess.
They were wandering through the galleries, Dru pulling him along, as excited as a child, as this and then that caught her eye, when the guard found them, Dru running her hand up a stone arch that towered above them and Spike leaning into her, running a hand around her waist, holding her close.
As the guard called in on his walkie-talkie, trying to contact the other guard, the one that was already dead, Spike shifted into vamp-face. The guard stood his ground, which was unusual for a human but not unheard of. Spike glanced at Dru, to see if she wanted the honors, but her gaze was wandering about the room, darting to the pictures that hung between the arches. With a shrug, Spike broke the guard's arm, telling him to run if he wanted to live. He ran.
“Is it time for our hunt?” Dru asked, shedding her human-face as she stepped next to Spike.
Giving her a grin, Spike chased after the man, confident his Dru would be there for the kill, just like she always was, but when he'd cornered the man, in the room that was set up like a face, by the fireplace that looked like a nose, Dru wasn't there. Spike bashed the man's head against the wall and went looking for Dru, tracing his way back through the museum, calling out her name, only to find her before the picture with all the melting clocks, just sitting there staring into space. “Dru, honey?” he asked.
It was three long minutes, the longest of his unlife, before she responded, blinking back to herself, gazing around as if unsure of where they were. As he escorted her home, carefully keeping an eye on her, making sure she didn't wander off, Spike decided it was time to leave town. Barcelona wasn't a good place for his girl. There was something in the air that just didn't set well.
The darkly tiled floor, the same shade as the red brick of the walls, and the wood of the bar, looking almost black in the shadows from the lights above it, made the place seem darker than it was. While Spike did like Frankfurt well enough, Der Jazzkeller wasn't his first choice of hangout. Dru liked jazz and blues well enough – saying the beat of it spouted out vines that tangled the senses, whatever that meant – but that kind of music generally wasn't Spike's thing. Usually she'd go alone, but Spike, feeling something was off, wasn't about to let her out of his sight so there he was, stuck listening to a sodding folk-singer.
She'd taken to wearing white, which meant she stood out against the crowd and was easy to keep track of, but the color change disturbed him. She'd become more fanciful and less vicious with the change in dress. For example, there she was standing in an open space, about three sets of tables back from the stage, not hunting at all, merely swaying in time to an insipid guitar solo, and when some big oaf, carrying five beers back to a table, not looking where he was going, bumped into her, she just cringed away, whimpering in pain. The idiot didn't even bother to apologize but laughed with his pals. Oh no, that so wasn't going to stand. Rushing over, knocking the sodding sots out of his way, a flash of black, lightening even darker than the night, Spike grabbed the guy's shirt, yanking him backward. “Apologize to the lady.”
The bloke, standing three feet taller than Spike and as wide as Angleus, looked Spike over and grinned. “And if I don't?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Spike saw Dru shiver. Dressed all in white, she looked pallid, her eyes as huge as platters. He tried to remember when she'd last eaten but couldn't. Oh well, that was easily fixed. “Then we take this outside.”
As Spike wrapped an arm around Dru, escorting her to the back door, it looked like half the bar was about to join them when the bloke shouted out not to bother, that the little man was obviously a poser and that the fight wouldn't be worth watching. Spike vowed to drag it out, to torture the bloke a bit before taking him down.
The fight wasn't worth watching but only because Dru fell against the wall of the alley, sliding down onto cold concrete. Spike knocked the bloke out with one punch. “Dru? Pet?” He waved a hand before her eyes. She blinked in response. “Dru,” he said, all other concerns fading away. “I want you to eat.”
“I'm not hungry. Perhaps some tea with Miss Edith when we get home.”
“No,” he shouted, grabbing her arm.
She let out a small gasp of pain.
When he let go, there was a bruise on her arm. Spike leaned back, staring at it, the whole world fading away except for his fingerprints, dark bruises against her pale skin. Very gently, he placed his hands on either side of her face, forcing her to look at him. “Dru, eat.”
Her eyes weren't tracking him. Grabbing the bloke's arm, he tore fangs across the wrist and held it up to Dru's mouth, letting blood drip down. Three or four drops fell onto her dress, leaving crimson stains against the pure white, and a trail of blood dribbled down her chin, but most of it made it into her mouth. As she came back to herself, Dru latched onto the wrist, drinking deeply.
Spike, shifting over until he was sitting next to her, wrapped his arms around her, crooning, “That's my good girl. This city isn't any good, too many greasy sausage eaters. We'll find someplace where you can be yourself again.”
Weeks had passed and they'd moved into a new country before he'd found the perfect place, the roof as dark as dried blood and the front a brighter red, not quite the color of fresh blood but close enough. The front of the building was ornate, with pillars standing out from the walls, arched windows full of old stained glass, depicting Bible scenes, and above the entrance a sun and moon sculpted in relief.
Getting in had been easier than he'd expected. Peering through the windows he'd found a child alone in the Infirmary, the girl too ill to be bunked in one of the group bedrooms. Dru, unexpectedly coherent, had been able to convince the fevered girl to invite them in. Spike had been about to kill her when Dru had pointed out that the nurse might be back to check on her while they were busy elsewhere.
Spike wouldn't have used her anyway. She was too ill for his purpose. He silently slipped into the bedrooms, where a dozen girls at a time slept, looking for the perfect choices: healthy, young, innocent. One by one he took them, still sleeping soundly, into the bathroom. He hung them two at a time above the tub before carrying their corpses back to bed. They seemed more innocent tucked away cozily than they would have piled up in a corner. It was important to maintain their innocence.
The tub was about a third of the way full when he was caught carrying one of the girls back. Even wrapped in a serviceable terrycloth robe, the woman was formidable. Another girl, this one still alive, about eight or nine, peered around from behind the woman. “I've called the police.”
Spike laid the corpse gently onto the stone floor. She was part of his great purpose after all. He deliberately took his time, lighting a cigarette before responding. “No,” he said, sounding as if he could care less, “you didn't.”
“Tereza? Tereza?” the woman called out. “What did you do to her?”
Spike took another drag of his cigarette.
She pushed the living girl behind herself. “I can scream.”
The cigarette fell to the floor as Spike leaped the distance between them and smashed her head against the wall, leaving a smear of blood behind. As the woman hit the floor with a small thud, Spike grabbed the girl by the arm. “Well now, aren't you the teacher's pet?”
“She's not a teacher,” the girl whispered.
“Went straight to the top, did you?” Spike asked. “Now I've got a question and it's very important. You'll answer me truthfully, right? 'Cause you know it's wrong to lie, don't you?” The girl nodded. “Anybody else awake?”
“No,” she whispered.
Spike put a finger over her lips. “I want you to be very quiet.”
Lifting the girl carefully, Spike glanced from her to the girl he'd drained into the tub. “Not gonna work, is it?” he asked, speaking to the girl in his arms as he looked at the girl on the floor. “I'm afraid you just aren't innocent enough.” Shifting into vamp face, Spike tore fangs into her throat, killing her quickly, silently.
He dumped the corpses, the woman and the second child, into a utility closet. They didn't count. They weren't part of it. Carrying the original girl, Tereza, back to her bed, he carefully tucked her under the covers before picking up the next girl over, lifting her so carefully that she didn't wake until he was tying her feet to the beam above the bathtub, hanging her upside down so the blood would drain. He slit her throat before she had a chance to scream.
With a sigh he went looking for Dru, wishing she wouldn't wander off. As ill as she was, she just didn't take care of herself. In her weakened state she could be susceptible to human attack. He found her in one of the bedrooms, sitting in a circle with a half-dozen girls, mostly dead although they were sitting up properly, with the two who still lived under her sway, rocking back and forth, eyes glazed over, their brains running too slowly to raise a ruckus.
“Spike, my darling, come join us for tea.” As she lifted the teapot, a flowery thing with a green background, Spike noticed she'd placed teacups before each of her new playmates.
“You shouldn't wander off like that, pet. Had me worried.”
“But it was tea time, Spike. A lady must not forgo her standards, no matter what the circumstances.”
Spike, noticing a couple of the necks had been marked by Dru's fangs, smiled in relief. She'd eaten. Maybe that was a good sign. Maybe this would cure her after all. “All right luv, but you stay here while I get everything ready. Don't go wandering off again, you hear?”
“Of course,” she replied, holding the teapot over a cup, pouring carefully and making a show of not spilling the tea. The pot was empty, but if that didn't bother Dru, it wasn't any of his concern.
She wandered back into the bathroom after the last of the blood had been drained into the tub, just as he was carrying the last girl out. Spike smiled at her. This was going to work. He'd have his Dru back again. “Oh no, my Spike,” she said. “The child must stay. We shall need an observer, someone to tell the tale, someone to confirm that the deed was done properly.”
“Um, OK,” Spike said, sitting the corpse down, propping her up against the wall.
“She must have a throne,” Dru admonished.
Not entirely pleased with the delay, Spike rushed off, returning with the most ornate chair he could find, a chair so gaudy it did almost look like a throne: with red velvet cushions, wood so dark it was almost black, and carved geometric patterns. Placing the throne in the center of the room, facing the tub, he sat the girl in it, resting her arms on those of the chair, leaning her back so she seemed to be sitting up straight and tall, her eyes staring ahead.
Dru walked toward the tub, stately and regal, her white dress swishing against her legs with each step. “Pet,” Spike said. “Shouldn't you undress first? Don't want to stain your pretty dress.”
“Oh,” she said, looking around vaguely.
“Here, let me,” he said, crossing the room to her. Dru lifted her arms and he pulled the dress up and off of her. Placing the dress on a bench, laying it out carefully so it wouldn't wrinkle, he rushed back to Dru, holding his hand out to support her as she stepped into the tub. She immediately sank underneath the blood, vanishing from his sight.
Spike stood there, gazing down, staring at the blood that hid her for about ten minutes until his foot started twitching. He paced the room about a dozen times before throwing himself to the floor. Leaning against the wall, he pulled out a cigarette and flicked his lighter. No flame. He tried the lighter twice more before throwing it across the floor where it ricocheted off the two corner walls before coming to a stop.
Spike sat there, staring at the tub for hours, only stirring when he noticed it was getting close to sunrise, not close close, since it was hours off yet, but close enough that he started wondering how long Dru needed to remain under before she healed. They couldn't afford to say in such a conspicuous place, not during the day. About an hour before sunrise, Spike started considering options. Should he pull her out of the blood and go to the trouble of setting the whole mess up again? He could just kill everyone in the building, finish the job off, but an orphanage was a fairly public place. Somebody'd be sure to wander in sooner or later, and they'd be cornered, trapped by the daylight, with no sewers to escape into. Perhaps Dru was done and just hadn't bothered to move. Maybe she'd be fine if he pulled her out.
It was about forty minutes till sunrise when Dru's hand rose out of the blood. As she sat up, she laid her arm along one side of the tub, the blood dripping down its edge and onto the floor.
Spike sighed with relief. Plenty of time to get to safety as long as Dru was reasonable. Helping her out of the tub, Spike pulled her into his arms and kissed her mouth, licking blood from her lips. Crooning “You'll be fine now” over and over, Spike rested his hand on her back, making small circles with his fingertips until a sound, distant but undeniably there, caught his attention. As blood dripped down from Dru's hair, spattering onto his hand, Spike listened as the screaming started.
Dru, her Tarot cards before her, sat at one end of the table, while their minion, the supposed big brain, sat at the other, the book before him and duLac's Cross off to one side as he translated the encoded words. Slamming the book shut, revealing a leather cover geometrically patterned in green, brown, and gold, he held the papers up. Spike skimmed over the neat print and smiled. “By George I think he's got it,” he crowed dismissively.
Swaggering over to Dru, Spike said, “The key to your cure, ducks. The missing bloody link. It was...”
“Right,” Dru said, pausing to gather her strength. “Right in front of us... the whole time.”
Turning over a Tarot card, revealing a fallen angel, a broken winged creature about to dash against a stormy sea, she drew Spike's fingers down onto the card. “Will you do it?” she asked.
“I'd sacrifice the whole world for you pet. That it's Angel, well, that's just the icing on the cake.”
Fandom: BtVS
Characters/Pairing: Spike/Dru
Rating: PG-13?
Concrit: Please, in comments
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, not yet, but the will be once I've taken over the world. Bwah-ha-ha.
Warnings/Squicks: Death of children
Summary: Dru and Spike fled Prague, chased by a mob. The events around that.
Note: Written for a challenge/prompt at Darker Vault: Sacrifice
Note: The lyrics are from “When You're Gone” off of Steve Strauss' Powderhouse Road
Note: The final scene is from What's My Line? – Part 1
Note: Spike and Dru in the Dali bed came from whichclothes' visit to the Dali museum. And I found another view of the bed.
“That's it, the security system is disabled.” The guard spoke in English rather than his native tongue for Spike's benefit, not that Spike needed it. After a hundred years of traveling, he'd picked up a good number of languages.
“Thanks, mate,” Spike said. Laying one hand on either side of the man's head, Spike snapped them back and forth, quick as a flash. The guard fell to the floor.
As he stalked to the side exit, using vamp hearing to avoid the second security guard, Spike muttered to himself. “What the bloody hell is so special about this damned bed? So what if the bedposts look like mer-tails, not like they came offa real mermaids.” he said with a snort. “But Spike,” he added, mimicking a high-pitched voice, “there's a skeleton in the corner.” Turning into the last hall before the exit, he finished off, in his own voice once again, “Big deal. Not like we couldn't have picked up a skeleton anytime she wanted.”
He found her just outside the door, right where he'd left her, but when he called she didn't answer. “Dru.” She was so focused on the sky, her gaze so intense, that he had to call her three times before she noticed. “What were you up to, pet?”
Blinking, her gaze shifted around vaguely, as if following butterflies in flight. “Up to?”
“You were caught up in something.”
“I... I don't recall.” Spike's head jerked toward her at that. While Dru's attention did wander, when she got back, she always knew where she'd been. “Is it ready for us?” she asked.
“Awaiting its princess,” Spike said, gesturing grandly toward the entrance. “We've got a bit of a hunt first. I left one guard, to get the blood moving and all.”
“Oh goody,” Dru said as she stepped inside, her voice carrying, echoing down the hallways.
That'll bring him to us, Spike thought, not entirely pleased with Dru's lack of discretion. Still, the sooner they killed that last guard, the sooner he could be pleasing his princess.
They were wandering through the galleries, Dru pulling him along, as excited as a child, as this and then that caught her eye, when the guard found them, Dru running her hand up a stone arch that towered above them and Spike leaning into her, running a hand around her waist, holding her close.
As the guard called in on his walkie-talkie, trying to contact the other guard, the one that was already dead, Spike shifted into vamp-face. The guard stood his ground, which was unusual for a human but not unheard of. Spike glanced at Dru, to see if she wanted the honors, but her gaze was wandering about the room, darting to the pictures that hung between the arches. With a shrug, Spike broke the guard's arm, telling him to run if he wanted to live. He ran.
“Is it time for our hunt?” Dru asked, shedding her human-face as she stepped next to Spike.
Giving her a grin, Spike chased after the man, confident his Dru would be there for the kill, just like she always was, but when he'd cornered the man, in the room that was set up like a face, by the fireplace that looked like a nose, Dru wasn't there. Spike bashed the man's head against the wall and went looking for Dru, tracing his way back through the museum, calling out her name, only to find her before the picture with all the melting clocks, just sitting there staring into space. “Dru, honey?” he asked.
It was three long minutes, the longest of his unlife, before she responded, blinking back to herself, gazing around as if unsure of where they were. As he escorted her home, carefully keeping an eye on her, making sure she didn't wander off, Spike decided it was time to leave town. Barcelona wasn't a good place for his girl. There was something in the air that just didn't set well.
* * *
The darkly tiled floor, the same shade as the red brick of the walls, and the wood of the bar, looking almost black in the shadows from the lights above it, made the place seem darker than it was. While Spike did like Frankfurt well enough, Der Jazzkeller wasn't his first choice of hangout. Dru liked jazz and blues well enough – saying the beat of it spouted out vines that tangled the senses, whatever that meant – but that kind of music generally wasn't Spike's thing. Usually she'd go alone, but Spike, feeling something was off, wasn't about to let her out of his sight so there he was, stuck listening to a sodding folk-singer.
In my dreams I reach to kiss you
But my love finds only silence
I'll remember and I'll miss you...
Spike backed away from the stage, vaguely disturbed by the lyrics, dancing around the tables, which should have been easy given how small they were but people kept getting in his way, blocking him in. He couldn't even get a bloody drink. It was as bad as he'd expected, but then he saw Dru and it got worse. But my love finds only silence
I'll remember and I'll miss you...
She'd taken to wearing white, which meant she stood out against the crowd and was easy to keep track of, but the color change disturbed him. She'd become more fanciful and less vicious with the change in dress. For example, there she was standing in an open space, about three sets of tables back from the stage, not hunting at all, merely swaying in time to an insipid guitar solo, and when some big oaf, carrying five beers back to a table, not looking where he was going, bumped into her, she just cringed away, whimpering in pain. The idiot didn't even bother to apologize but laughed with his pals. Oh no, that so wasn't going to stand. Rushing over, knocking the sodding sots out of his way, a flash of black, lightening even darker than the night, Spike grabbed the guy's shirt, yanking him backward. “Apologize to the lady.”
The bloke, standing three feet taller than Spike and as wide as Angleus, looked Spike over and grinned. “And if I don't?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Spike saw Dru shiver. Dressed all in white, she looked pallid, her eyes as huge as platters. He tried to remember when she'd last eaten but couldn't. Oh well, that was easily fixed. “Then we take this outside.”
As Spike wrapped an arm around Dru, escorting her to the back door, it looked like half the bar was about to join them when the bloke shouted out not to bother, that the little man was obviously a poser and that the fight wouldn't be worth watching. Spike vowed to drag it out, to torture the bloke a bit before taking him down.
The fight wasn't worth watching but only because Dru fell against the wall of the alley, sliding down onto cold concrete. Spike knocked the bloke out with one punch. “Dru? Pet?” He waved a hand before her eyes. She blinked in response. “Dru,” he said, all other concerns fading away. “I want you to eat.”
“I'm not hungry. Perhaps some tea with Miss Edith when we get home.”
“No,” he shouted, grabbing her arm.
She let out a small gasp of pain.
When he let go, there was a bruise on her arm. Spike leaned back, staring at it, the whole world fading away except for his fingerprints, dark bruises against her pale skin. Very gently, he placed his hands on either side of her face, forcing her to look at him. “Dru, eat.”
Her eyes weren't tracking him. Grabbing the bloke's arm, he tore fangs across the wrist and held it up to Dru's mouth, letting blood drip down. Three or four drops fell onto her dress, leaving crimson stains against the pure white, and a trail of blood dribbled down her chin, but most of it made it into her mouth. As she came back to herself, Dru latched onto the wrist, drinking deeply.
Spike, shifting over until he was sitting next to her, wrapped his arms around her, crooning, “That's my good girl. This city isn't any good, too many greasy sausage eaters. We'll find someplace where you can be yourself again.”
* * *
Weeks had passed and they'd moved into a new country before he'd found the perfect place, the roof as dark as dried blood and the front a brighter red, not quite the color of fresh blood but close enough. The front of the building was ornate, with pillars standing out from the walls, arched windows full of old stained glass, depicting Bible scenes, and above the entrance a sun and moon sculpted in relief.
Getting in had been easier than he'd expected. Peering through the windows he'd found a child alone in the Infirmary, the girl too ill to be bunked in one of the group bedrooms. Dru, unexpectedly coherent, had been able to convince the fevered girl to invite them in. Spike had been about to kill her when Dru had pointed out that the nurse might be back to check on her while they were busy elsewhere.
Spike wouldn't have used her anyway. She was too ill for his purpose. He silently slipped into the bedrooms, where a dozen girls at a time slept, looking for the perfect choices: healthy, young, innocent. One by one he took them, still sleeping soundly, into the bathroom. He hung them two at a time above the tub before carrying their corpses back to bed. They seemed more innocent tucked away cozily than they would have piled up in a corner. It was important to maintain their innocence.
The tub was about a third of the way full when he was caught carrying one of the girls back. Even wrapped in a serviceable terrycloth robe, the woman was formidable. Another girl, this one still alive, about eight or nine, peered around from behind the woman. “I've called the police.”
Spike laid the corpse gently onto the stone floor. She was part of his great purpose after all. He deliberately took his time, lighting a cigarette before responding. “No,” he said, sounding as if he could care less, “you didn't.”
“Tereza? Tereza?” the woman called out. “What did you do to her?”
Spike took another drag of his cigarette.
She pushed the living girl behind herself. “I can scream.”
The cigarette fell to the floor as Spike leaped the distance between them and smashed her head against the wall, leaving a smear of blood behind. As the woman hit the floor with a small thud, Spike grabbed the girl by the arm. “Well now, aren't you the teacher's pet?”
“She's not a teacher,” the girl whispered.
“Went straight to the top, did you?” Spike asked. “Now I've got a question and it's very important. You'll answer me truthfully, right? 'Cause you know it's wrong to lie, don't you?” The girl nodded. “Anybody else awake?”
“No,” she whispered.
Spike put a finger over her lips. “I want you to be very quiet.”
Lifting the girl carefully, Spike glanced from her to the girl he'd drained into the tub. “Not gonna work, is it?” he asked, speaking to the girl in his arms as he looked at the girl on the floor. “I'm afraid you just aren't innocent enough.” Shifting into vamp face, Spike tore fangs into her throat, killing her quickly, silently.
He dumped the corpses, the woman and the second child, into a utility closet. They didn't count. They weren't part of it. Carrying the original girl, Tereza, back to her bed, he carefully tucked her under the covers before picking up the next girl over, lifting her so carefully that she didn't wake until he was tying her feet to the beam above the bathtub, hanging her upside down so the blood would drain. He slit her throat before she had a chance to scream.
With a sigh he went looking for Dru, wishing she wouldn't wander off. As ill as she was, she just didn't take care of herself. In her weakened state she could be susceptible to human attack. He found her in one of the bedrooms, sitting in a circle with a half-dozen girls, mostly dead although they were sitting up properly, with the two who still lived under her sway, rocking back and forth, eyes glazed over, their brains running too slowly to raise a ruckus.
“Spike, my darling, come join us for tea.” As she lifted the teapot, a flowery thing with a green background, Spike noticed she'd placed teacups before each of her new playmates.
“You shouldn't wander off like that, pet. Had me worried.”
“But it was tea time, Spike. A lady must not forgo her standards, no matter what the circumstances.”
Spike, noticing a couple of the necks had been marked by Dru's fangs, smiled in relief. She'd eaten. Maybe that was a good sign. Maybe this would cure her after all. “All right luv, but you stay here while I get everything ready. Don't go wandering off again, you hear?”
“Of course,” she replied, holding the teapot over a cup, pouring carefully and making a show of not spilling the tea. The pot was empty, but if that didn't bother Dru, it wasn't any of his concern.
She wandered back into the bathroom after the last of the blood had been drained into the tub, just as he was carrying the last girl out. Spike smiled at her. This was going to work. He'd have his Dru back again. “Oh no, my Spike,” she said. “The child must stay. We shall need an observer, someone to tell the tale, someone to confirm that the deed was done properly.”
“Um, OK,” Spike said, sitting the corpse down, propping her up against the wall.
“She must have a throne,” Dru admonished.
Not entirely pleased with the delay, Spike rushed off, returning with the most ornate chair he could find, a chair so gaudy it did almost look like a throne: with red velvet cushions, wood so dark it was almost black, and carved geometric patterns. Placing the throne in the center of the room, facing the tub, he sat the girl in it, resting her arms on those of the chair, leaning her back so she seemed to be sitting up straight and tall, her eyes staring ahead.
Dru walked toward the tub, stately and regal, her white dress swishing against her legs with each step. “Pet,” Spike said. “Shouldn't you undress first? Don't want to stain your pretty dress.”
“Oh,” she said, looking around vaguely.
“Here, let me,” he said, crossing the room to her. Dru lifted her arms and he pulled the dress up and off of her. Placing the dress on a bench, laying it out carefully so it wouldn't wrinkle, he rushed back to Dru, holding his hand out to support her as she stepped into the tub. She immediately sank underneath the blood, vanishing from his sight.
Spike stood there, gazing down, staring at the blood that hid her for about ten minutes until his foot started twitching. He paced the room about a dozen times before throwing himself to the floor. Leaning against the wall, he pulled out a cigarette and flicked his lighter. No flame. He tried the lighter twice more before throwing it across the floor where it ricocheted off the two corner walls before coming to a stop.
Spike sat there, staring at the tub for hours, only stirring when he noticed it was getting close to sunrise, not close close, since it was hours off yet, but close enough that he started wondering how long Dru needed to remain under before she healed. They couldn't afford to say in such a conspicuous place, not during the day. About an hour before sunrise, Spike started considering options. Should he pull her out of the blood and go to the trouble of setting the whole mess up again? He could just kill everyone in the building, finish the job off, but an orphanage was a fairly public place. Somebody'd be sure to wander in sooner or later, and they'd be cornered, trapped by the daylight, with no sewers to escape into. Perhaps Dru was done and just hadn't bothered to move. Maybe she'd be fine if he pulled her out.
It was about forty minutes till sunrise when Dru's hand rose out of the blood. As she sat up, she laid her arm along one side of the tub, the blood dripping down its edge and onto the floor.
Spike sighed with relief. Plenty of time to get to safety as long as Dru was reasonable. Helping her out of the tub, Spike pulled her into his arms and kissed her mouth, licking blood from her lips. Crooning “You'll be fine now” over and over, Spike rested his hand on her back, making small circles with his fingertips until a sound, distant but undeniably there, caught his attention. As blood dripped down from Dru's hair, spattering onto his hand, Spike listened as the screaming started.
* * *
Dru, her Tarot cards before her, sat at one end of the table, while their minion, the supposed big brain, sat at the other, the book before him and duLac's Cross off to one side as he translated the encoded words. Slamming the book shut, revealing a leather cover geometrically patterned in green, brown, and gold, he held the papers up. Spike skimmed over the neat print and smiled. “By George I think he's got it,” he crowed dismissively.
Swaggering over to Dru, Spike said, “The key to your cure, ducks. The missing bloody link. It was...”
“Right,” Dru said, pausing to gather her strength. “Right in front of us... the whole time.”
Turning over a Tarot card, revealing a fallen angel, a broken winged creature about to dash against a stormy sea, she drew Spike's fingers down onto the card. “Will you do it?” she asked.
“I'd sacrifice the whole world for you pet. That it's Angel, well, that's just the icing on the cake.”