Author Notes:
Okay, lorts to say here, so siddown and get comfy before I begin something really long-winded that is meant to protect me from nasty flameys and keep you and me all five by five. Sound good? Good.

So this fic is relatively dark for me. It's new territory and as such I am frickin' terrified of what you'll all think of it. So please, please comment.

As fro the darkness, there is a lot of violence and bloody stuff (Well, it stars five vampires, two of which are pretty cray-cray, so what did you expect?), so I'm gonna go with what Buffy once said "Fighting's not cool." Nor is rape or non-con sexual situations. They will both happen in this fic. I en't trying to romanticize them or lessen the severity of them just so we're square on that front. If it seems like I'm making light of a nasty subject just think about the perspective the story's being told from and their lightness will seem a bit more justified (in my opinion anyway). So we cool now?

About this chapter specifically, the Buffy characterization is based mostly on her pre-Slayer calling. Remember that flashback of the annoying valley girl in Becoming? That's where I'm getting this from, but fear not! Buffy will grow more mature and less annoying in later chapter.

Big bunches of thanks to xaphania for beta-ing and Bri for doing a bit of idea bouncing with me.

Lastly, I dedicate this to Tiff cos she is a seriously cool-sauce person who deserves to have a fic chapter in her honour (sorry, that it's not a better story dedicated to you, Tiff)

***

Los Angeles - 1996

***

“Come along, my little prince, I’ve got myself a new dolly and I don’t want to miss when she is unwrapped.”

“Drusilla, where are we going exactly?”

She looked at him though this was a ridiculous question. “To fetch my new dolly.”

“Uh-huh and where exactly is this dolly, pet?”

She stopped abruptly and excitedly clapped her hands, looking over at a set of elaborately carved wrought iron gates which bore the message ROSE HILLS MEMORIAL PARK. “The rag and bone man drove a hard bargain, but now I get to unwrap her all myself.” Dru’s ramblings were as nonsensical as ever as she continued to lead him along into the cemetery.

Spike could feel his stomach sinking. “Pet, tell me you didn’t...”

She stopped in front of one of the graves and watched it keenly, an eager grin spreading across her face. Spike’s shoulders slumped, his worst fears confirmed. Damn it, he loved the bint, but he’d never understand her obsession with creating new fledges. Most of them lasted about a week before she got bored with them and after a few bouts of torture asked Spike to kill them. Either that or they’d do something profoundly stupid, like getting caught by an angry mob, and the ones that did that probably weren’t worth the effort of turning in the first place.

He didn’t even bother to feign interest this time—didn’t check the epitaph to see what he’d soon have to deal with. Male or female, young or old—they wouldn’t be around for long and then it’d be just him and his ripe wicked plum again.

A breeze blew past them and Dru shivered a little. Spike shrugged off his coat to hand to her, but she waved him away still staring intently down at the grave. He huffed a little, pissed at her dismissal though he knew she couldn’t actually feel the cold, and scanned the area for anyone out for a late night jaunt that he could turn into an after dinner snack.

There was an older black woman hurrying along the sidewalk—hurrying home to her kiddies, Spike imagined. He could threaten to harm them—get her cornered in one of those dark alleyways he’d spied on his way over here and tell her that unless she was right quiet and did exactly what he said he’d go to her home and rip all their throats out. He might do that anyway, even if she did co-operate, just to kill some time. Then he’d go back to Dru—maybe bring her a souvenir of the night, like a half-drained babe—and she’d call him her dark prince and they’d shag till the next nightfall and they could go out and hunt again.

A whimper broke him out his happy reverie. Drusilla turned back to him her lower lip trembling. “It’s wrong, Spike. It’s all wrong. My toy is already broken and I haven’t even taken it out of the box yet.”

Spike couldn’t have cared less about the apparent failure of the turning—it happened often enough; you took too much blood when siring or the fledge simply wasn’t strong enough to undergo the change—but it was clearly distressing Dru. She might even head straight into another one of her fits if he didn’t get her out of there soon.

“Love, let’s go back to the hotel. We can go eat that bellboy you liked so much.” He looped his arm over her shoulder and steered her away from the graveyard. She leaned into his embrace, noisily whimpering over her lost doll to the spirits she saw, and if it weren’t for his advanced vamp hearing he would have missed the faint scratching noise from behind them. He glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see some sort of animal scampering about, and that’s was when he first saw her.

The first thing that struck him about her was that she came out of the ground in her human guise. You didn’t see that too often—usually, vampires couldn’t even figure out that they could shift between faces for the first couple of days and when they did they typically preferred to look like monster that they were. She didn’t have that instant cocky swagger to her either, instead looking scared and confused yet not exactly weak. The girl pulled herself entirely from the grave and looked at them uncertainly, a frightened snarl rising in her throat.

Drusilla couldn’t have looked more pleased and immediately rushed over to her new childe. “Oooh, isn’t she just perfect, Spike—all gloss and light! Like a birthday candle that just won’t go out when snuffed.”

Spike couldn’t help but agree a little. The girl was a golden blonde and even in death had a hint of a tan. If he didn’t know better he would have pegged her as one of the living.
She still looked unsure as to what to make of the scene, but she either recognized Dru from her last moments alive or that all-encompassing feeling of sire-love had got her, as her posture relaxed and the snarling ceased.

“I—um, I’m Buffy.”

A harsh slapping noise cut across the cemetery. “Bad dolly,” Dru scolded. “Don’t speak unless spoken to or Mummy’ll have to teach you proper manners.”

Buffy’s hand flew to her cheek, more out of surprise than pain, and she nodded nervously.
“Good,” Drusilla concluded before turning back to Spike. “Shall we go back and play with her then?”

“Sure, pet,” Spike agreed, wondering what she meant by play this time.

She stroked a finger down Buffy’s injured cheek gently and whined softly. “Mummy’s sorry.” Then she shoved her tongue down Buffy’s throat.

Oh, so that was what she meant by play.

***

“It’s William, right?” Buffy had sneaked out onto the balcony after him where he had gone to smoke.

“Spike.”

“Oh.” She answered weakly, then, “So, you’re like ...a vampire?”

“What tipped you off to that, pet?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that...” Buffy wrung her hands nervously, trying to explain. “Well, I didn’t even know that vampires existed until a few days ago and now I am one. It’s kind of a big adjustment.”

Spike nodded, taking another drag from his cigarette. He could relate to that feeling.

“Hey! Does that mean that all of the other
monsters are real? Like is... um, Frankenstein real?”

“I think you mean Frankenstein’s monster. Dr. Frankenstein was the creator and that was a work of fiction.”

“Whatever, so was Dracula and we still exist. So, how about werewolves?”

“How the bleeding fuck would I know?”

“Whoa, no need to get all touchy.” She chewed her lip for a moment before continuing. “Is there anything I should know about the whole vampire thing? Like, is there a code or anything?”

Spike quirked an eyebrow at her. A code? Really? “Vampires tend to live by their own rules, but you may want to rule out going for a morning stroll in the park.”

“Why would I... Oh! Sunlight!” She tapped her nose conspiratorially. “Gotcha.”

Spike rolled his eyes, wondering just what exactly it was Drusilla had seen in this girl. “Right, so unless you want to end up flambéed I would suggest staying out of the sunlight. Crosses and holy water can give you a nasty burn too.”

“Why do they do that?”

“Dunno. Probably something to do with the lack of soul.”

“Wait, we don’t have souls?”

“Well, yeah. At least that’s how the legend goes and soullessness is generally against the Christian belief system.”

Buffy pondered this for a moment. “That’s just... stupid. How do you know you don’t have a soul? The cross burn-y thing doesn’t really mean anything anyway, because, like, a rock doesn’t have a soul, but it doesn’t get singed by holy water.”

Spike looked at her like she was a moron and then, speaking very slowly and deliberately, replied, “That’s because it’s a rock, pet.”

“Still! Anyways, what about garlic? Does that do anything? Oh, and how about the whole stake through the heart deal? Do you actually turn to ashes when you die?”

Spike stubbed out his cig and turned to walk away. “You know what? I take back what I said. You should get on up early tomorrow morning and walk yourself right on out to catch the sunrise.” He stalked off, hoping that she’d get the message and leave him alone, but he could already hear her following after him, prattling non-stop about some other bollocks vampire lore.