Author’s Note: Remember what I said about dark? Most of this chapter, if not taken directly from an episode, was extrapolated from show dialogue—meaning that the events are technically canon, though the interpretation of those events is mine.

WARNING: This chapter contains graphic violence and (not-entirely)-implied rape.

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.

Betaed by Phuriedae and Science

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Credits: This chapter contains dialogue from the episode “Fool For Love” written by Douglas Petrie and Joss Whedon, and “Destiny” written by David Fury and Steve DeKnight

Chapter 57

The South Wind (Part II)



Unlike the Chinese Slayer’s time ripples, Dru’s leave me feeling off balance and a little nauseous. It takes me a minute to figure out where she’s dropped us this time.

We're in a church.

Oh, wedding! Pretty.

Okay, gotta hand it to the Victorians. They may not have been down with the regular bathing or the non-stinky methods of transportation, or women's lib, but god, were their clothes pretty.

We're standing in a line of people greeting guests as they enter the church. I'm not really sure why we're here, actually. It's a church. There's a massive cross on the wall behind the altar. It's not exactly a vampire's favorite hangout.

Although, the Master was stuck in a church, and Dru and Spike did that weird ritual in a church, so... maybe the Aurelians are more church friendly than most.

Which seems to be confirmed by the fact that Angelus and William are both moving down the line, politely thanking the family for having them here. No one seems to question their presence, or why William keeps casting nervous glances at the cross at the front of the room.

After they move past the family, an usher arrives to escort them to their seats. "Bride's family, or groom's?" the young man asks.

"Groom's," Angelus says at the same time as William says, "Bride's."

"Groom's," Angelus repeats firmly. "Everyone comes to these things for the bride."

We follow them down the aisle, and when the usher seats them, Dru slides into the pew behind them. Reluctantly I do, too. The fact that these two are here cannot be good.

"Why, exactly, are we here?" William asks, echoing my thoughts.

"They say it's a love match," Angelus comments. He leans over to the woman in the pew in front of them. "Isn't that wonderful? A love match in this age, it’s so rare it might as well be mythical."

"Lots of people marry for love," William says with a frown. I can see it on his face; he's trying to figure out what Angelus is up to. "It's much less rare than it used to be."

"It's very romantic," the woman says. "But I'm not entirely sure that it's very desirable. It's so gauche to be in love with one's husband." She eyes Angelus and William up and down. "And often quite inconvenient."

Ugh. Victorian hussy!

Angelus laughs. "I do enjoy an honest woman."

"They're starting," William says as the organist starts up the wedding music. Dutifully the woman turns back to watch. "Doesn't it bother you?" he whispers to Angelus as they stand for the bride's entrance. "The cross?"

Angelus shrugs. "Suffering's good for the soul," he says. "I don't have one, so why should it bother me?"

William eyes it. "Doesn't it hurt, though? Whether you believe in it or not?"

"You stuck your hand in sunlight," Angelus says. "Same thing."

William mulls that over for a bit as the bride steps up to the altar beside the groom and the priest tells us to sit. Weddings really haven't changed much over the years, it seems. The clothes are a lot fancier, and the church decorations are real and not made with a lot of plastic and fakey stuff. The priest or minister or whatever is old, and kind of bug-eyed, and he has a weird habit of tonguing the corner of his mouth when he finishes a sentence.

The ceremony drones on, but I'm not really paying attention. I'm too busy watching William watching Angelus. His bruises have faded, I notice, so this must be some time after that scene in the alley. He's so close I could lean forward and touch him, and for a moment I have to sit on my fingers to keep from actually doing it. I'm not sure why the urge to touch him is so strong, but it is. He watches Angelus with a mix of fascination and wariness. Angelus, for his part, is utterly focused on the ceremony, a twisted little smile playing at the corners of his mouth. It's a little weird to discover that I have absolutely no desire to touch Angelus. He's... too harsh a reminder of things I don't want to think about. Seeing him like this...

"Guard the door," he says to William, without warning. "Kill anyone who tries to leave."

Abruptly, Angelus stands up, leaping over the end of the pew and rushing up to the altar. Women shriek with dismay and the bride and groom half turn to see what the commotion is. Angelus just knocks them aside, and reaches for the priest. He grabs the old man by the sides of the head and squeezes hard.

"Frankly, father," he says. "Thine eyes offend me."

He increases the pressure and the sound of the man's skull being crushed echoes through the church. Most of us turn away, gagging at the sight.

Then the guests scream and try to run for the door, but William is faster, beating them there and slipping into game face. They scream again when they see him and back away frantically, sandwiched now between the two vampires at either end of the church.

Angelus laughs, drawing our attention back to him. The groom and the bride are still at the altar, the bride half fainting behind the groom. He's got a cross in hand and is thrusting it at Angelus frantically. "In the name of the lord, I command thee, demon," he says, his voice trembling.

"Know what I love about crosses?" Angelus says conversationally, not looking away. "The false hope they bring. Two sticks of wood, bound together. Not a very effective weapon, really, if you think about it. Oh, to be sure, it'll repel weaker demons. But it's hardly an effective tool against real evil. Only a fool hides behind a cross."

A shiver goes down my spine.

Angelus reaches out and grasps the groom's hand around the wrist, breaking it and causing him to drop the cross. Then Angelus kicks it away, hardly sparing it a glance.

"They say we're at the dawn of a new age, where science and reason will rule the day," Angelus says. "No more of all this superstitious nonsense. Maybe they're right. So I'm here to prove a theory. I say, love doesn't exist. It's a fairy tale invented by women and weak-minded fools."

He's talking to the groom, but I can't help but feel like the words are directed at William.

"Why do I think love doesn't exist? Because when faced with the choice between love and self-preservation, man will always choose to save himself. Allow me to demonstrate."

With a powerful lunge he grabs the groom and wrenches him away from the bride, then grabs the bride, too. He holds them both by their collars, facing each other with death between them. I rise, unable to stop myself. But the barrier is back, holding me in place. Drusilla giggles and claps. "Oh, what a lovely wedding," she says.

I glare at her.

"A moment ago you were pledging your undying devotion. Together until death do you part. A noble sentiment, to be sure. What I want to know is, did you mean it?" Angelus asks. "You've got a choice. You can beg for your own life, or beg for the life of the one you love. Which is it to be?"

The bride and groom stare at each other, stricken. Neither of them want to die. I can see it in their faces. So can Angelus.

"Cat got your tongues?" he asks. "Tsk. For shame. Let's ask an easier one then. Do you love her?" He gives the groom's arm a shake. The frightened man nods. "Beautiful. More than anything I suppose?" The man nods. "Would you give your right arm to keep her from dying?" The man nods again, probably thinking it's just a figure of speech.

With a wrench, Angelus rips the man's arm out of its socket.

He screams, dropping to the floor, writhing and clutching at the bloody stump of his shoulder where his arm used to be. The guests scream and push back away from the altar again. William grabs a plump woman who tries to push past him at the door and twists her head, breaking her neck. She drops to the floor. Warned, the rest quiet again, with only a few whimpers of terror.

"Tsk," Angelus continues as if nothing unusual happened. He reaches down and hauls the man to his feet again. He wobbles badly, clearly in shock. The bride has already passed out, hanging limp as a rag doll, held up only by Angelus' fist. "Where's your bollocks, man? It's just a flesh wound. Now let me ask you again, as your little woman decided to take a holiday, you've got a choice: you can beg for your life, or you can die for hers. Which shall it be?"

The groom is sobbing now, staring at Angelus in white-faced terror. He whispers something, but only Angelus seems to hear it. "A little louder, boyo. They can't hear you in the back."

"P-please," the groom says. "Please. I d-don't w-w-want t-to d-die."

Angelus releases them both, and they crumple to the floor. He reaches down and picks up the severed arm, then uses it to gesture at the groom. "You all heard that? This man is a bloody coward," he says. "He'd rather live than save the life of his bride. So much for love." He shrugs and half turns toward the bride, then stops.

"Here's the thing," he says. "I can't abide a coward. They don't deserve to live." And with that he whirls on the groom, raising the arm up over his head. He brings it down on the groom and proceeds to beat the man with it, viciously. I turn away, trying not to retch.

"Make it stop," I whisper to Ghost Dru.

"Shall I close your eyes?" she asks. She holds up the doll, and I see that she's bound a strip of cloth around the dolls eyes. The look on her face is sly.

"No," I tell her. "No."

Instead, I turn to watch William. He's watching Angelus with huge eyes.

The crowd, however, has reached their breaking point. Some of the men rush William, trying to get past him, but the crowd in the aisle bottlenecks and he's got room to work. Others try to break for the back of the church and the door behind the altar, but Angelus roars and chases them down, one by one. Then the slaughter really begins, and the two vampires work their way through the crowd, killing most outright, pausing to feed only occasionally.

When it's over, the two vampires stand over the heap of corpses, grinning.

"God that was amazing!" William exclaims. He mimes fighting moves. "Did you see how many I took down? Must've been at least a dozen!"

"Good job," Angelus says, picking his way back to the altar. "There's nothing quite like a bloodbath, is there? Really puts me in a good mood. Too bad Darla's not around, I could do with a shag." He slides a speculative glance at William who is still bouncing a little, amped up by the fight. A moan at the front of the room, however, makes the two of them freeze.

The bride slowly sits up, looking around dazedly. "Where am I? Oh, what happened?" she asks, then her vision seems to clear as her gaze falls on the corpse of her husband. She screams.

Angelus is quick to cut her off though, gripping her by the arms and dragging her to her feet. "Nearly forgot about you," he says. "I thought you weren't going to join our little party. Willy, look what's come round." He pushes the girl up against the altar, pressing her back against it and holding her in place with one hand around her throat. "Ah ah," he warns. "No more of that swooning shite. You're a ripe little peach, aren't you, lass? And I've got myself all worked up." He begins hauling her skirts up and tearing at her underclothes. She screams and struggles. "It'd be a pity if you were to die a virgin on your wedding night. I've got this soft spot for virgins, you see. Well... perhaps soft isn't quite the right word."

I turn to Dru. "This has nothing to do with William," I tell her, hating how hoarse my voice is. "You're only doing this to torture me. Can't we skip ahead?"

"I quite like this part of the story," she argues.

"I don't," I tell her. "I get it. They're monsters, and Angelus doesn't like love. Really, really got it. Show me what this has to do with Spike. That's why I'm here, right?"

"Some monsters are born," she says cryptically. "And some are made."

"Okay, so Angelus taught Spike to be a monster, right? That's what this is?"

"Slime and snails," she says, like that's an answer. Ugh. Why did I have to draw the crazy vampire guide card?

"Skip ahead," I tell her through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the screams coming from the front of the church, and Angelus' commentary to William on how to make her scream harder. William, however, hardly seems to be paying attention. He's moved over to the table of wedding gifts and is tearing into the boxes. Angelus gives up on him with a growl, then turns back to the girl.

It's not Angel, I tell myself. It's the demon.

Only Spike chooses to ignore his demon. And he did it even before the chip.

And Angelus can't. Not without a soul.

That thought makes me sit back down again.

It's not fair to compare them. Souled Angel and Soulless Spike, they're like apples and... puppies. For so long, whether I, you know, consciously realized it or not, I've judged Spike and found him lacking because he wasn't like Angel. Spike was soulless, evil, and that made him horrible. Angel had a soul, felt regret, which made him seem better.

It was such a shock, finding out what Angel was really like without a soul, and after... I did my best not to think about it. But if you put Spike and Angelus side by side…

There's a reason, I suppose, why Angelus is considered one of the most purely evil vampires in history, while Spike is best known for killing a couple of Slayers.

And there's something else going on here, something I don't quite understand yet. There's a reason I'm being shown this, painful as it is.

"I need to see the next part," I tell Dru. "Show me."

She smiles, and the world goes dark.

***

We're in a carriage, and moonlight streams through the window. I'm sitting on the uncomfortable bench seat beside William, though there's enough room for at least another person between us. Angelus sits across from him, the bride from earlier held tightly against his side. She's near death, painfully pale with terror and blood loss, the bite marks on her neck still leaking a little. Ghost Dru sits beside her, across from me, staring at the blood dripping down the woman's neck hungrily.

Great.

"...Bloody priceless. And beating the groom to death with his own arm, I mean, honestly, you're a bloody killing marvel," William says, laughing. He's riding high on the fight from earlier. I know him well enough now to be able to tell that he's still focused on the fight.

Angelus, however, has a strange look in his eyes. "Yeah," he says. He pushes the bride a little toward William. "Have a drink."

William laughs. "No, that's your spoils, mate."

"I've had my fill," Angelus says. "Go on, take her."

"Nah," William says, glancing out the window. "I think I might go and find Drusilla. She's prowling for street urchins in the East End. Make her happy if I joined her for a bit."

Angelus' eyes narrow slightly. Just a twitch. "She's special, isn't she? Our Drusilla?"

I'm not sure if William hears the slight emphasis on the word "our."

"More than that. She brought me into this world. Where I was meant to be," he says, a little dreamily. "It's like... she's my destiny."

My instincts are suddenly on high alert. Angelus shifts, ever so slightly. "Yeah, she is a sweet plum," he says. "I mean, a bit dotty and brain-addled, but..."

Now William frowns. There's a fight brewing here, but it's so subtle I'm not sure if they're even aware of it. "She's not. She's just...It's like she's still got a bit of a child in her," William says, trying to explain. I can't help but glance at Dru. She's gazing between the boys, clearly enjoying this.

Angelus smiles, that evil little smile that I hate to see on his familiar face. "Perhaps two or three by now," he says, knocking on the carriage wall. "Driver! Stop the coach!" The carriage lurches to a stop. "Happy hunting. Go on. Just be home before sunrise. "

William grins and jumps out of the carriage, shutting the door behind him.

Angelus raps on the carriage wall again and it starts forward. He leans back, hauling the bride up next to him. "The boy isn't very bright, you know," he tells her. "Always missing the point. Guess maybe it's time for a more obvious lesson. What do you think, lass?"

She whimpers.

"Exactly what I was thinking," he tells her, bending to drink from her again.

***

When time changes again, we're sitting in what looks like either a very fancy living room or some kind of hotel room. The corpses of a man and a woman sit, cuddled together on the sofa across from us, fang marks on their throats. There's an open doorway just past, and through some hanging drapes I can just make out a pair of figures moving.

By the sounds they're making, it's fairly clear what they're doing.

A door opens, and William strolls in, looking disheveled and disappointed. He hears the sounds and heads for the doorway, peering in. "Looks like you haven't had your fill after all," he says. Then freezes, his back and shoulders suddenly, horribly tense.

From the other room just out of our sight, drifts Real Drusilla's voice. "The little children didn't come out to play," she says. "Did you miss me, pretty William?"

"I'm sure he did, Dru," Angelus drawls. "After all, you are his destiny."

"Oh!" she says. "That's so sweet!"

"That is so tacky," I tell Ghost Dru. She shrugs. William is nearly quivering with suppressed... something. He snarls and lunges at Angelus, and the next thing I see is William being pushed back hard into the wall, Angelus' hand at his throat. He pins him there while he does up his pants, smirking the whole time.

"Don't touch her," William growls.

"Little late for that, Willy," Angelus mocks. "And I really don't like it when you raise your voice to me."

"William, don't play such a sad tune," Real Dru says, still thankfully hidden by the curtain. "Give us a kiss, then."

"Did I mention slutty?" I tell Ghost Dru. She shushes me with a finger over her lips.

"Why did you...?" William chokes. "You knew. You knew she was mine."

"Did I?" Angelus asks tilting his head curiously.

William rips himself free. "You knew bloody well!" With an animal growl he lunges at Angelus.

But once more, Angelus is bigger, stronger, faster, older. He holds him off, then shoves him roughly to the floor. "You just don't get it now, do you?" he says, grabbing William by the shirt and picking him up. With a couple of steps he pushes William into the sitting room, then shoves the corpses off the couch and sits William on it. He flops companionably beside him, too close for comfort, pushing William back into the corner. "Well, you're new, and a little dim. So let me explain to you how things are now. There's no belonging or deserving anymore. You can take what you want, have what you want... but nothing is yours. Not even her."

Real Dru wanders into the room, looking disheveled and far prettier than she deserves considering she's such a skeezy ho-bag.

"You're wrong," William tells him. "We're forever, Drusilla and me."

Real Dru is delighted by that. "Are we?" she asks, beaming. I want to punch her.

"Ah, still the poet now, aren't we, Willy?" Angelus mocks.

"William," William growls.

"Right. William," Angelus says patronizingly. "You know you really should find a new name for yourself. It just doesn't strike the right note of terror."

He pats William on the knee, then stands and goes to Real Dru. He moves behind her possessively, pressing a hand to her stomach and rubbing himself against her. "Tell you what... William. If you want her, come and take her."

William's jaw clenches angrily, and his eyes flash. And suddenly I see the first real glimpse of Spike in him. This is where it really started. Everything leading up to this moment was just... Angelus' sick idea of foreplay.

With a growl, Spike lunges up from the couch. He pushes Real Dru out of the way and swings at Angelus' face. Angelus blocks him, then punches him back. Like before, the fight is fast and ugly and awful. Angelus doesn't pull his blows and Spike is too pissed to back down. So Angelus puts him in his place.

When it's over Spike is face down on the carpet, bleeding, swollen, and broken. Angelus is kneeling over him, one knee in the small of Spike's back, pressing hard.

"Maybe next time, you'll listen," he says. "There is no love. No destiny. No belonging. You'd do well to forget that crap. You're nothing. You were a pathetic excuse for a man, and now you're an even more pathetic excuse for a demon. And until you learn your lessons, boyo, you'll always be nothing. Now, Dru and I weren't quite done. So you be a good lad and lay here and bleed on the carpet, while I go and give her a proper seeing to. And if you ever interrupt me again, mid-shag, I'll have a go at your skinny arse. Bet you scream like a little girl. Bet you'd bleed like one, too."

He gets up, kicks William viciously in the ribs, then saunters over to Real Dru who is leaning against the wall and enjoying all of this way too much. The two of them disappear back into the other room and William lays on the carpet, in too much pain to move. There's hatred boiling in his eyes, though.

All this time jumping has me a little confused but... if try to piece it together... this can't be more than a few weeks after Spike was turned.

Angelus didn't get his soul for almost another twenty years. Somehow, without witnessing them, I know... he spent twenty years like this. Bullied and beaten, having to learn all of Angelus' sick lessons, putting up with Drusilla cheating on him right in front of him. And yet he stuck by her, loved her, for more than a hundred years after this.

I watch as he struggles up onto the couch, dragging himself with his one good arm. When he manages to get himself settled, he turns to the open door, listening. His one good eye gleams yellow.

"Why?" I ask. "Why would he stay?"

"Because he was my sweet boy," Ghost Dru says. "Like a knight, all shiny and sharp and deadly. Because he loved me and I loved him."

"That wasn't love," I tell her. "You... you chained him to you, made him think... made him think you were his."

"Mmmm," she says. "Chains can be quite fun."

Why do I even bother?

"You don't even know what love is," I tell her. "It's not just about... you know, kinky sex."

She stands up, facing me, and something in her expression seems more lucid than usual. "I do know," she says, softly. "Vampires can love quite well, if not wisely. Shall I show you?"

And something inside me clicks, like a puzzle piece sliding home. A black, worn-leather, journal-sized puzzle-piece.

"You don't need to," I tell her. "I already know. Even if I don't believe that you can love, I know he can. Spike..." I turn to look at William, sitting on the couch, broken, but not beaten. He's listening to the sounds coming from the other room, and tears are tracking silently down his furious face. There's so much pain in his eyes, and not just the physical kind.

...Never learnt not to love. Was the one thing Angelus tried to beat out of me and never could. Loved Dru for so long, even when she didn't deserve it or want it...

"Spike loves with everything that's in him," I say, more to myself than to her. "Even his demon."

Warmth blazes in my chest.

And he loves me. Spike loves me.

Angel, I realize now, could never love that way. It's not in his makeup. Souled... he needs to suffer to be happy, and that means that while he can love, it has to be the distant kind, the untouchable, unrequited kind. It's the only way he can protect himself, and I suspect that part of him likes the pain of it.

But I'm not made that way.

You're full of love, the First Slayer told me. I'm more like Spike. He loves with everything he is, everything he has. Trying to stop him from loving something is like trying to stop the sun from burning. And yes, the demon twists it a little. He's not perfect, far from it.

But love defines Spike.

What could he be capable of if someone actually returned it? a little voice whispers inside of me.

"You begin to see," Ghost Dru says. "Would you like to see the rest?"

I have no clue what else she might need to show me, but I'm really hoping it doesn't involve Angelus and her having more kinky sex while Spike watches.

"Show me," I say, bracing myself for the worst.

"Look at me," she says, staring at me. "Be in me. See through me."

I do, and...

***

“To kill this girl… you have to love her.”

Bollocks.

Fucking Angel.

Got a bad feeling about all this. Buggered up plan—never going to work. Destroy the world… Good job, Spike. Stuck in a wheelchair, burnt half to hell and feeling miserable for yourself—so what do you do? You order up one Judge to go, please, because your girl’s got a yen to kill all the fucking food on the planet.

Good plan.

Fuck.

Where’s an incompetent minion to bugger things up when you need one? Should’ve let Dru prod out Dalton’s bloody eyes. Don’t like the way Big Blue looks at me, either. Like he sees something… How come Angelus gets to be the bloody epitome of evil? No humanity in him, but I “reek” of it? Bloody hell. I’m just as evil as he is. Judge doesn’t know sod all about anything.

Hundred years… I can hold my own against Angelus now.

Or… well, if I weren’t stuck in a FUCKING WHEELCHAIR.

“Just like old times,” he says. Yeah. Cause I really missed those.

And Dru… way she looked at him…

God I hope the Slayer stakes him. Bitch is probably too busy sobbing her little heart out.

Stupid wanker. Funny, though. Figures that Angel’s moment of happiness would be destroying the innocence of a virgin. Proves that the sadistic fuck was still in there, under that bloody soul. Him and his ‘peaches.’

Hasn’t changed much, either. Still too caught up in the foreplay to actually do the fucking deed. Had the Slayer practically on her knees and what does he do? Taunts her? He fucking taunts her? Pillock—

Shit… someone’s here.

Heartbeats, so… fucking Slayerettes, probably on the warpath. No minions and I’m stuck in this sodding chair… Shit. Dark corner. Can still see here…

Bloody buggering hell… Slayer’s here? Thought Angel said she’d be all heartbroken and crying for a week? THAT is not a sobbing Slayer. That is a killing machine.

Shit.

Look at her.

God, just look at her.

Angelus is in for one hell of a surprise. He’s wrong. He’s so bloody fucking wrong. More he tries to break her heart, the harder she’ll be. Spine of steel, that one. Even down here in the dark she’s so bloody bright.

To kill this girl, you have to KILL her.

He’ll go after her friends, her loved ones, but it’s only gonna make her stronger, make it that much easier for her to dust him. Can see it in her eyes…

Beautiful. Such a beautiful, deadly girl.

She’s it. The one. The perfect Slayer.

Angelus doesn’t stand a chance.

***

With a gasp, I break Drusilla's gaze.

God. I hadn’t even known he was there in the factory that night. I should have figured it out after, but... what with everything that happened I never stopped to wonder where Spike was in all that mess.

The way he sees me... it’s one thing to read about it. One thing to, you know, sit there and read all those words written by a guy in love with you.

But Spike didn’t really love me back then. He wanted me dead. I’d dropped a church organ on him.

And yet... the way he saw me. Seeing myself through his eyes...

I guess, ever since Angel—I’ve always thought that there was something in me that just turned guys away. That being the Slayer meant, I don’t know, that what was left of me that was Buffy wasn’t worth all the trouble being the Slayer caused. Or maybe just wasn’t... you know, enough.

But Spike, he sees me. Both sides of me. Even back then. And... he changed, for me. Because of me.

Because he saw something in me that was worth it.

And...

Where the hell are we now?

I figured we'd still be in the hotel room, or possibly in the Bronze, but... this isn't anywhere I recognize at all. It's night, and we're standing in a dirty little courtyard with lanterns strung above us on wire. A bar is lit up on one side of the space and lots of little tables are scattered all over. And it's hot. Major hot. Sweat is rolling down my back under my shirt and the leather duster and we've only been standing here a minute or two.

You'd think being Scrooge would mean I'd get a break from the temperature, but no.

"Drusilla!" Spike roars from somewhere out of sight.

And Real Dru comes wandering in, ignoring him, on the arm of something... tall, dark and really icky. Spike follows, looking furious and miserable.

"Dru, what the bloody fuck is this?"

"I'm a chaos demon," says Slime n' Antlers. "Nice to meet you. My name's—"

"I don't give a monkey's arse what your bloody name is, Prancer. What I want to know is why the two of you were making out on the park bench! Dru, I thought we were past this," he says. "How many times are you going to make me grovel?"

"Is this guy bothering you?" the chaos demon asks.

"She's my soddin' girlfriend, you thick twat. We've been together for over a hundred fucking years!" Spike says.

"I'm thirsty," Dru tells the demon.

"Oh, sure. Just... um, vampire, right? I'll just... I'll go see what they've got." He shuffles off, oozing.

"Dru," Spike says. He takes her by the arm and steers her toward one of the little tables. She sits staring at him with unreadable eyes. "Dru, baby... you've got to stop punishing me like this. I only, fuck, I only did it—"

"Lies. Pretty lies. I hate her, Spike," Dru says. "You promised me you would kill her and you couldn't ever do it. She brought blackness upon us."

Spike grimaces and lights a cigarette. He paces as he talks, like he's desperate for the need to move and breathe. "So, Sunnyhell was not our finest hour. And yes, I made a deal with the Slayer. But you were shagging Angel and bringing about an Apocalypse to end all life as we know it. So? Every couple's got their ups and downs, luv. Point being, we got through all that, it's behind us now. Isn't it?"

He looks so desperate for her answer, but she just seems cold.

"I hate it here," she says, not answering him. "Furry little animals peering at us from out of the trees, and the people all taste funny."

"Right," Spike says, going down on his knee beside her and holding her hand. "We'll pick up and move on again, until we find the perfect spot. And there I'll make you my queen. Just tell me what you want."

"I want the Slayer dead, Spike," she says.

Spike explodes. He tosses his cigarette away and shoves to his feet, pacing back and forth like a caged and wounded tiger. "You're the one who keeps bringing her up! I haven't said a word about the bloody Slayer since we left California! She's on the other side of the planet, Dru! Gone from our lives forever!"

Drusilla narrows her eyes, standing regally in her weird looking dress. "But you're lying," she says. "I can still see her, floating all around you, laughing. Why won't you push her away?"

Spike pauses, staring at her with something like desperation in his eyes. "But I did, pet. I did it for you! And you're still punishing me, you think I don't know what's going on with you?"

The chaos demon pipes back up, and I realize that somehow he's snuck back over, way too quietly for something that big and... drippy. "Uh... you guys obviously have a thing going on here..." he says. Neither of them pays him any attention.

"I have to find my pleasures, Spike. You taste like ashes," Drusilla says, her voice sounds sad but her expression is cold.

"This is my fault now?" he says, incredulous. He shoots the demon a murderous glance.

"I didn't know she was seeing someone..." the demon says, dripping into the drinks he's still holding. Ew. "I should take off."

"Yeah," Spike says. "Why don't you do that?"

The demon goes.

"You can't blame a girl, Spike. You're all covered with her. When I look at you, all I see is the Slayer," Dru says. Her eyes shift ever so slightly to Spike's left and I realize she's staring right at me. A shiver goes down my spine. "You want to dance with sunlight."

"Dru—" Spike says. "Please, listen. I'll do whatever you want. Go wherever you want. Kill whoever you want. Just... please, luv, give me another chance."

Dru looks off into the distance. "Funny," she says. "I always knew the Slayer was your destiny. The stars sang it the night that I found you."

"Baby—" he says.

"No more chances, Spike," Dru says. "We've danced our last. Go. Go find your Slayer. Walk in to the sunlight. You're not demon enough to stay with me."

He's hurt, furious. I can see it in his eyes. "Fine," he says. "I don't need this. I don't. I've got an unlife, you know. I-I... all the cheating and the fighting and the... shagging Angelus the minute he crooks his bloody finger. I'm done with it, Dru. Done, do you hear me? This isn't my fault and I'll be buggered if you're going to lay it on me like this."

"Goodbye, Spike," Dru says. And then she leaves without even looking back.

For a moment Spike just stands there, looking lost somehow. It's the same look he wore when that Cecily girl rejected him, only worse.

I know how he feels.

He stands there for the longest time, and I want to go to him. Want to put my hand on his shoulder and promise him it'll be okay. Want to reassure him that he's not done, that he'll go on, that loving me isn't so bad.

Only... I'm not sure if I'd be telling the truth.

Because loving me is what gets him mixed up with Louhi, taken to a hell dimension. It costs him his freedom, changes him into something that I'm sure this Spike would sneer at with contempt.

But he's so much more than what he was with Drusilla. I've seen it now, maybe not all of it, but I've seen him now at his worst and... and I know that somewhere all the Watchers ever are turning in their graves or something but...

Spike’s not what he was. Not anymore. Yes, he’s a monster. He’s done evil things for more than a century. He’s killed and tortured and...

But there’s something in him that can be... better. I know it.

And, it’s scary, because I think... I think it’s because of me.

Ghost Dru has been standing beside me, passively watching the whole time. "You want him," she says. Her dark eyes are scary deep.

"Yes," I tell her, surprised at how much I mean it, and in how many different ways.

"Then I have taken you as far as I can," she says, "and now you shall ride on the back of the north wind."

"I'll what on the what?" I ask. She holds out her hand and I realize that she's no longer carrying her doll.

"Miss Edith said it was for you," she says. In her fist is a railroad spike. I take it from her, feeling the cold iron against my palm. It's heavier than it looks, solid, and a little scary.

"Why you?" I ask, looking back up at her. "You hate me. You want me dead. Why you?"

Something crosses her expression, the ghost of who she might have been, once upon a time. "We're all just broken dolls," she says and smiles softly. "He is yours, now. Do not break him again."

There's a threat there, I think. I glance back down at the railroad spike in my hand and nod. It's a heavy weight, but I'm strong enough to carry it.