1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11
Dee Bradfield
FEEDBACK: deebradfield@hotmail.com.
TIMELINE: AU. Set post-chip and Riley is long gone (happy, happy, joy, joy - spontaneous outburst, sorry). It's like Season Five, but without all the Glory/Dawn hoo-ha. (Who? Huh?).
SUMMARY: Spike realized his feelings a bit earlier than depicted in the show and took off for a while. Now he's back, and he's a little different. He experiments with some psychic stuff and is contaminated by a supernatural infection that he may have inadvertently passed on to Buffy and Giles. At least, that's how it started - I kinda went all Forrest Gump with the ball.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em but I'll put 'em back in their Mutant Enemy box when I'm done playing, so don't sue me, 'K?
DEDICATION: To James Wesley Marsters for being such an all-fired hottie.
Rupert Giles was trapped in his own body with no way out. The demon had taken full control not long after he'd extracted the information about the Powers That Be from the unwilling Keratos, and his soul had been driven back into the recesses of his being.
Drusilla was convinced that she alone had masterminded the Serpiente. The subsequent linking of Buffy and Spike had distressed her for a while, but she had since deluded herself into thinking that the only way she could be with Spike was through his demon. Consequently, she had taken Giles under her wing.
Now she intended for Anya and Xander to be his first victims.
The couple had been easy pickings, trusting him to guide them to safety from the demented vampiress. They never suspected that he was working with her - that she still held Spike's demon in her thrall and he was helpless to do anything other than her bidding.
How had Spike coped all those years? A century of being at her beck and call 24-7 and never a moment's peace? Giles had always thought of himself as a patient man, but putting up with Drusilla was excruciating. His respect for the neutered vampire had increase tenfold since his possession. Spike had to be the most tolerant, considerate person on the planet. He'd had to reassess his whole opinion and that annoyed him.
He was a Watcher, he was not supposed to have respect for vampires. Perhaps an exception would have to be made for those who were ordained by the PTB.
That particular piece of news was responsible for his present predicament. The very idea that his Slayer, his Buffy, whom he thought of as a daughter, was to be forever joined to a creature of the undead persuasion had pushed him over the edge, allowing the demon full access to his anger.
And it still rankled. Even after he'd accepted that nothing he did could alter what the Powers had decreed, even after he had given up all hope of getting his life back.
He growled, earning a giggle from Drusilla. She sat on an ornate rug in front of the fireplace, hosting a tea party for several porcelain dolls, all of which were severely lacking in the eye department.
"Be patient, my lamb," she said, raising her arms as though warming them by the fire. She seemed oblivious to the fact that it was unlit. "Daddy's coming home and then we shall feast by the silvery moon. A splendid family picnic."
Giles rolled his eyes. Bloody imbecilic woman. Daddy wouldn't be coming, he was certain, but Buffy would, and she'd kill them both.
************
Buffy hoisted the bag of weapons onto her shoulder, slammed shut the lid of the chest and gave the living room a final once over.
That was everything, right? Stakes, crossbow, a couple of bottles of holy water, her favorite battle-axe... Yep, everything. No problem there.
The real problem was that she felt like she was leaving half of herself behind. It was the weirdest, creepiest feeling she'd ever experienced.
Well, okay, that was an exaggeration. She'd drowned once. That had been pretty creepy. Drowning hadn't felt all shadowy and hovery-dark-cloudish like this though. This was like one of her portentous Slayer dreams. Only not - 'cause she was awake.
Spike was waiting for her on the porch, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He held a sword in his left hand, and swung it in expert arcs, enjoying the feel of the blade as it slashed through the air.
Buffy stood in the doorway for a moment and just watched him.
It was daylight now, and she could sense his pleasure as he reveled in the sun's rays for the first time in one hundred and twenty years. She was glad that their little expedition home had lightened his mood.
Actually 'lightened' was an understatement. He'd been like a big kid on his first trip to the circus or something - dashing in and out of the sunshine and grinning from ear to ear. He'd also relished rubbing his newfound perk in Angel's face, asking his Sire if he had any sunblock on him, and then dissolving into a fit of giggles.
She smiled as she took in the way that his hair shone almost as blindingly bright as the sun itself. She'd never noticed how white the peroxide job really was. Either he was gonna have to dye it back to its original shade or she would have to start wearing sunglasses on a daily basis.
"Hey," he said, not turning to look at her, but keeping his eyes focused on the sword. He ran through a series of graceful sweeping moves, the blade almost an extension of his arm.
"Hey yourself."
"You accepted it yet?"
"Accepted what?" Buffy figured she could keep the whole love issue to one side while they concentrated on the rescue mission. Apparently Spike had other ideas.
He lowered the sword and rested his hands on its hilt, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. She caught a wave of frustration from him.
"I know, I know," she consoled him. "Have I accepted being in love with you?"
Spike turned to look at her then, his hopeful eyes a pure crystalline blue, his lean features pale but radiant. The day really looked good on him.
Buffy sighed. She so had to stop noticing things like that. It screwed up her concentration. "It's all too sudden for me," she told him. "I'm not comfortable with the concept."
"Concept my ass," he retorted. "Being in love is not a bloody concept. It's either a fact or it isn't. You are or you aren't."
Buffy had the sudden urge to run a thousand miles in the opposite direction. If she did this now, there was no turning back...
"Then I guess I am."
Silence. Their shared heartbeat seemed to skid to a halt as they both paused to register the declaration. Then she was squealing in surprise as he shot forward and captured her around the waist, her bag of weaponry thudding onto the porch. There was a muffled clang as he dropped the sword and tightened his arms until she felt breathless. He spun in a circle, Buffy clinging on for dear life.
"Oh love, you're not gonna regret this," he told her, burying his face in her hair. He was shaking.
"Think I probably will," she gasped, pushing ineffectually at his shoulders. "Get off me, you ... vampire. I need to breathe right now."
When he didn't respond she tried tweaking his chip.
"Ow!" He backed up, his hand gingerly probing his temple, a little hurt by the unexpected reprimand. "Thought you weren't going to do that anymore."
"I never said that," she grinned at him, feeling giddy, his euphoria like a drug in her system. "You did all the protesting, buddy."
It was like a huge weight had been lifted, Buffy felt like she could float.
Spike's face changed as he read the thought. It was an odd expression, like she'd just said something he wasn't entirely happy about.
"What?" she demanded.
"Floating," Spike said thoughtfully. "Dru said that the Slayer floated."
"That's nice." Buffy was confused again. "How exactly is that significant?"
"Don't know that it is. It's just interestin' is all."
"Well, keep the interesting to yourself if it's not relevant."
He growled at her, but it was a good-natured sort of growl. He was so bloody happy, she could stake him right now and he would give a rat's ass.
"Is it wrong?" she asked bluntly. "That we're this happy and Giles is probably miserable and hurting?"
"Not wrong," Spike assured her. "Never wrong. It's just not timely."
"Timely?" Buffy frowned. "Is that even a word?"
"Don't press your luck, Summers."
Buffy slapped him smartly on the backside as he bent to retrieve his sword. He straightened and turned threateningly, pointing the blade at her throat.
"You didn't say it," he accused suddenly. He began moving toward her, slowly backing her up against the wall. "You admitted it in here," he directed the sword at her head, then to her chest. "And here, but you haven't put it out in the open."
Buffy licked her lips nervously. She could tell that he was fooling with her, but part of her couldn't help but want to fight him. Plus, the whole sword thing was pretty damn hot.
"Make me," she challenged, then blinked as the sword rammed into the wood beside her head, too close for comfort.
"Make me make you," Spike purred, lowering his head to her ear and nibbling it lightly with his teeth.
Buffy shivered, letting out a small gasp when he ran his tongue along the sensitive skin. She was so not prepared for this. Hasty retreat was the order of the day.
She quickly ducked under his arm and marched toward the steps, moving down them to stand on the front path. She folded her arms. "I, um, yeah."
Well, at least she was being articulate.
Spike shook his head, smiling. He'd finally worked out how to best the Slayer, and the discovery had come only after he no longer wanted her dead.
He extricated the sword from its makeshift scabbard and tucked it into her discarded weapon bag. After lifting it to his shoulder and pulling the front door closed, he joined her in the street.
"Buffy, look at me," he ordered, bringing his free hand up to cup her face. She met his gaze steadily, resenting that she had to obey even that small command.
"I love you," he assured her, his voice softly sincere. "It's scary and strange and I've had plenty of time to get used to it. You haven't. Gimme a good thump when I'm gettin' too pushy, yeah? Kick me where it hurts. You wouldn't think twice 'bout it normally and this whole shrinkin' violet routine isn't like you."
Now Buffy felt shy, embarrassed even. It was so annoying.
"You'd better believe it, Blood-breath," she informed him caustically. "I'll slay you where you stand."
"There's my girl." Spike gave her a satisfied smirk and took her hand in his as they headed off down the street.
They had a plan to put into action.
*************
Angel shifted his position on the rear seat of Spike's DeSoto, certain that a shaft of sunlight was somehow boring into his back despite the blackened windows. Either that or Spike had neglected to tell him about a hidden cache of stakes.
"Whose idea was this again?" he inquired.
"Yours." Willow's answer was clipped. She was trying to concentrate. "Surprise attack, remember?"
"Remind me to never do this again, okay? I feel like a barbecued pincushion or something."
"Done," Tara chimed in, mixing some sort of concoction in a mortar and pestle. The smell was horrendous.
Of course, the car hadn't smelled too good to begin with.
"Got any lavender in there?" Angel asked. "Maybe some rose oil?"
"Are we supposed to?" Willow sounded stricken. "I don't ... Was that in the book?" She missed the book. It had disappeared the very second she had the spell memorized.
"No. It's just a bit fragrant back here."
Angel fidgeted again - pulling Spike's battered woolen blanket firmly over his shoulders. He squinted down into the void behind the driver's seat. Was that bourbon bottle empty or not?
"I don't think he's up there with the world's best housekeepers, you know?" Willow grinned. "Hope Buffy knows that she'll be picking up after him for the rest of her life."
Angel sighed and Tara seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. She could be quite unnerving that one.
"It's hard, huh?" she said. "You've accepted it in your head, but somehow that doesn't make it any easier."
The vampire scowled at her. "Are you channeling the PTB as well?"
"N-no, I just..."
"She's Miss Perceptive," Willow said, pouring what smelled like cod liver oil into the mix. "Whew! That's disgusting." She glanced up at Tara. "Not you, honey, the potion."
"I know." Tara gave her a lop-sided grin and Angel was startled. She was really quite beautiful. Willow had great taste in women.
He was startled even further when Tara peered over the seat at him and said a quiet, "Thank you."
"Yeah, that's okay."
Man, was it getting uncomfortable in here or was it just him?
Willow and Tara exchanged knowing looks.
"It's just you," they said in unison.
************
Xander had passed panic about three city blocks back, and was barreling full throttle toward hysteria.
Anya on the other hand, was as cool as a cucumber. She'd spent a good half- hour trying to come to grips with the origins of that particular catchphrase and still hadn't been able to figure it out.
Were cucumbers naturally cool, or had the phrase been invented only after the introduction of refrigeration? There was a vegetable dimension, she'd explained to Xander, but the cucumbers there weren't very cool. In fact, they were quite bloodthirsty. Not unlike vampires really.
That comparison had sent Xander into a swoon. Anya felt like kicking him. He was the man. He was supposed to be the brave one, the strong one. That's how it was in all the movies she'd seen.
Giles was acting more like a man than Xander. It was most worrisome.
"Where's Buffy?" Xander whispered, not for the first time.
"Probably having sex with Spike," Anya snapped. She wished she were having sex right now. Not with Xander though, she was much too annoyed with him. She wondered if Buffy would mind her borrowing Spike for a while...
"I did so not need that visual, Ahn," Xander admonished.
He sighed, shifting slightly. They were tied back to back with a stone pillar between them and he could no longer feel his hands. He needed his hands. He liked his hands. They were good hands to have.
"I can't feel my hands," he complained. He spotted Giles in his peripheral vision. "Yo! G-man! I can't feel my hands. Any chance of you loosening the ropes here?"
"Oh yes, certainly," Giles agreed. He made no move toward the couple. "By all means. I'll just loosen those right up."
"I take my nay-says without sarcasm," Xander drawled. "But thank you for your time."
Anya smiled. That was the smart-mouthed Xander she loved. Hope was not lost after all.
Giles began to clean his glasses with a handkerchief. Xander guessed that some habits were just too hard to break.
"Okay, you've got to wonder why the toothy twosome haven't made with the blood sucking," he commented to Anya in undertone. "'Cause, hey, a couple of real yummy treats here just waiting to be devoured."
"Maybe Dru likes her meals a bit on the ripe side," she suggested. "I mean, they used to be human, they're well aware of how essential bathroom breaks are. We've been here for hours. My bladder could very well burst."
Xander squirmed, wishing she hadn't brought the subject up. He'd just about had that urge under control.
"And just to continue with the fruity analogy," Anya went on, "With the ripeness and everything? Do you think its like she's waiting for us to fall, or is she gonna pluck us."
"What?"
"'Pluck', Xander. I said 'pluck'. As in from a vine."
"Oh ... Oh, good. 'Cause I was so not wanting to go there..."
"Drusilla is actually waiting for Angel," Giles told them, having overheard every syllable of their whispered conversation. "She seems to think that her 'Daddy', as she calls him, is in town and will be quite willing to join the festivities."
Xander frowned. That had sounded like the normal, non-vampy Giles - not the distant demony-thing that had so coolly assisted in their abduction.
"He's gone evil again, hasn't he?" he heard himself blurting. Damn his terrified vocal cords. "And the badness just keeps on a-comin'."
"I don't believe that Angelus has returned," Giles said smoothly. "She's under the impression that he has, though. It's extremely interesting."
He tucked his handkerchief into the pocket of his tweedy jacket and replaced his glasses. Apparently becoming part vampire had not improved his eyesight.
"That's a major plus for our side right?" Anya hissed to Xander. "Because you said that the not-evil Angel helps the helpless. That's us."
"Yeah, that is so us."
Xander felt another surge of panic forming as Drusilla entered the room. It was the daytime, for Pete's sake, weren't vamps supposed to sleep during the day?
"Naughty boy," Dru scolded, wagging her finger at Giles. "You're not to be holding a tete-a-tete with the menu."
"Well, I am so dreadfully sorry," Giles' apology was laden with sarcasm. "I've never eaten sentient beings before, I'm not up with the proper etiquette."
Dru blinked at him. From a distance it looked coquettish, but she was a sharp as a tack behind those limpid eyes - she didn't miss a thing. "You'll not be setting them free," she said, shrewdly picking up his intentions. "Fly away little bird. Shoo!"
She waved Giles toward the doorway, but he remained stubbornly where he was so she tried another tactic.
"Come to my parlor then, my pet," she crooned, curling her body intimately against the Watcher and trailing her slender fingers across his chest. "We could pass the day melting like snowflakes, all entwined in beautiful symmetry."
Xander's eyes almost bugged out of his head as Giles grinned - a leering smirk of a grin that was eerily similar to Spike's - and led the vampiress out of the room.
Anya sighed. Even Giles was getting sex. It wasn't fair.
*************
Spike crept stealthily through the underbrush, the filtered sunlight casting mottled patterns on his skin. He could see his target clearly and they had not yet noticed his presence. He had the edge. Silence surrounded him like a shield, and he took advantage of the lull, springing from his leafy shelter with a hearty roar.
He landed against the DeSoto's darkened rear window, pressing his maniacally grinning face against the glass. He watched avidly as Angel bolted upright in the back seat and whacked his head against the upholstered ceiling, then he slid down the trunk to rest against the rear tire, giggling.
His Sire was such a pillock.
Buffy followed him out of the shrubbery, moving at a more sedate pace. The bag of weapons was once again slung over her shoulder.
"That wasn't nice," she chided. Her tone wasn't the least bit reproachful, though, and a grin of her own played across her lips.
"I don't do 'nice'," Spike informed her.
"Oh yeah you do." Buffy deposited the bag next to his reclining form. "I've seen it." She rapped the top of his head with her knuckles. "You can't hide that mushy center from me anymore, Poetry Boy."
Spike scowled up at her, looking so much like a recalcitrant schoolboy that she leant down and placed a maternal kiss on his forehead.
"You're thinkin' 'sweet' thoughts again," he accused.
"Sue me."
Buffy swung open the passenger-side door and peered inside. She hastily backed out again, her nose wrinkled with distaste.
"Oh my God! Spike, did you leave something dead in there?"
"Just Angel," he quipped. "What? A bit on the nose is it?" He got to his feet and brushed off his duster. "Hey, Red, you and your lover-girl better not be makin' stink bombs in my baby."
"We didn't do it purposely," Willow said, emerging from the other side of the auto. "And you get used to it after a while."
"Except if you're me." Angel's voice came sulkily from inside the car, muffled beneath the blanket. "And how about closing the doors? The sun's getting in. I'm starting to sizzle here."
Willow slammed her door. "He's so high maintenance," she grumbled. "So glad he was never my boyfriend."
Tara surfaced from the open passenger side, and glanced fretfully at her girlfriend. She held a stone mortar in her hands, its gooey contents emitting wisps of purplish-grey smoke.
Buffy grimaced at it, letting out a muttered "Ew", and then turned her attention to the Mansion.
The Old Crawford Street Mansion - of all the places in Sunnydale, why had they chosen to hole up here? The memories of this place never failed to freak her out.
Spike embraced her from behind. She was spooked, he knew that, she'd been that way since they'd left the house and he couldn't seem to settle her down. There was a something eerily foreboding about it.
"No fear, Slayer," he whispered reassuringly in her ear. "Got all the back- up you need right here."
Buffy sighed and placed her hands over his at her waist. She felt so safe with him. She'd been searching for security her whole life, and the fact that she'd found it with Spike was beyond ironic.
"How about we stay at home and Angel can go by himself?" she offered. "I mean, he's a professional demon hunter now. It's like his career."
Spike smiled at her use of the word 'home' and pressed a chaste kiss against the nape of her neck. He preferred it when she put her hair up the way it was now - showed she meant business.
"We're the Chosen Ones, pet," he told her. "Or some such nonsense. Demon hunting's in our job description, too."
He could feel her frown like it was his own.
"I don't like it when you're logical," she muttered. "Go back to being annoying violent-tempered guy."
Spike gave her an affectionate squeeze and then let her go. They had things to do.
"Love you," he said. "Stay safe."
"Spike..."
Buffy spun around and grabbed his arm, keeping him from moving away.
He quirked his eyebrow at her, the scarred one naturally, and then tilted his head in that inquisitive way she used to find so irritating. She took a moment to register how sexy it was and then blew out a frustrated breath.
Why was this so hard? She was the Slayer, for God's sake!
Spike waited, admiring the tiny line that formed between her brows when she frowned. He knew where this was leading and was willing to bide his time. He could be patient. When it came to something this important, he had all the patience in the world.
Buffy stepped impossibly closer, tipping her head back to gaze straight into his eyes. She loved his eyes. So clear, so blue ... so Spike.
"I love you, Spike," she declared firmly, almost daring him to make some snide comment.
He smirked. "Took you long enough."
Typical Spike reaction. She wouldn't have expected anything less.
She slugged him, the expected Buffy reaction, and he staggered back, laughing, pure joy on his face. There was a brief flurry of punches as she attacked again, this time with more enthusiasm. Spike blocked them all and then grabbed her wrists to pull her tight against his body. They hung there for a second, breathing heavily, suspended in the perfection of it, and then he swooped in to kiss her like he always wanted.
It was sweet and tender, yet fiery and passionate, a sensuous blend of all the contradictions that defined their relationship.
It was like coming home ... again.
*************
Angel groaned and closed his eyes against Buffy's admission.
It was all over now. He wanted to curl up into a ball and never come out, Spike's odorous automobile notwithstanding. He could hear them kissing out there and wanted to stake himself - ten to one odds there was a spare floating about here someplace.
He was making a half-hearted attempt to search the floor of the car when the familiar image of a pissed off Cordelia Chase unexpectedly appeared in his mind's eye. Her dark eyes were flashing with anger and he could distinctly hear her voice telling him to pull himself together and do his job, or she'd stake his broody undead ass herself.
What the hell?
He blinked in confusion. Then he remembered what Herald had said earlier. He'd needed to be present for the link because it would change his life... and the lives of those close to him.
Close to him? He'd never even considered... Well, maybe once or twice in the heat of the moment, but... Cordy? His Cordy?
A speculative grin began to spread across his face.
************
Spike was practically skipping through the trees behind the Mansion, the blade of his sword resting nonchalantly against his shoulder. The Dru problem was still weighing on his mind, but it couldn't dent his enthusiasm in the slightest.
He was out in the sunlight for the first time in over a century, he had the PTB watching his back, and he was loved.
He was loved by Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Of course, all that made him an even bigger freak than the chip had, but that was beside the point. Right at that moment, his unlife couldn't get any better.
Except for that whole soul-retention thing and the stupid hat Buffy had made him wear.
Just before he'd left to initiate his part of the plan, she'd pulled a black Backstreet Boys cap from out of nowhere and rammed it on his head, telling him that his hair was way too conspicuous in the daylight.
Conspicuous? Spike didn't even know she knew words like that - two syllables were usually a stretch. He grinned as his chip gave a warning tingle at the slur. He knew she was keeping tabs on him.
"I hate this bloody hat," he telegraphed and felt her answering smile.
"Take it off and you die," she said, only semi-serious.
"And who'll be doin' the killin' then?" he drawled. "You? Ooh, I'm so scared." He frowned when she didn't give him a snappy comeback. "What's the matter?" he demanded, coming to a halt on the wooded path.
"Nothing."
"Bollocks." Spike hated when she did this. "Don't you try pullin' any of that bloody 'Power Slayer' rot with me, Buffy."
"We're missing something," she said, and he could feel that spooked-out thing again. "I know we've missed something. Something important."
"Hey, there are two brains at work here," Spike told her. "And I didn't miss a sodding thing."
"Right," Buffy remained distracted. "You're right. I'm probably being way stupid."
"Must be a blonde thing, Blondie."
"Is not, Dagwood."
Spike sniggered at that, then sobered as he finally grasped where her thoughts were heading.
"You're not still dwellin' on that whole 'torture Buffy' bit?"
"It's the only thing Angel saw that hasn't happened."
"Doesn't mean it will."
"But..."
"It won't happen!" Spike insisted. "Not while I'm breathin'."
"You've only been doing that for a couple of days, you know, it could stop."
"You breathe, I breathe," he said. "That's how it works."
"I know." Buffy sighed. There was a pause and then she was back in control. He could almost feel her straightening her shoulders as she reined herself in. "Now quit being insightful-stationary-guy and make with the walking," she ordered. "I hope you're not gonna come to a screaming halt every time you get a whiff of something wiggy or we'll never get this done."
Spike pouted. He could feel himself doing it, stopped and frowned. The Big Bad didn't pout.
"He so does," Buffy was giggling now. "And it's really cute."
"Sod off."
"I love you, Pouty Baby."
"You'd better," he growled. "I don't put up with this kinda crap from just anyone." Despite his tone of voice, Spike's grin was so huge it was almost painful.
She'd said it again.
Once she'd gotten it out the first time, it seemed to get easier for her. He hoped she'd be saying it a lot more from now on because he knew he'd never ever get tired of hearing it.
**************
Xander had the gut feeling that something was going down. He couldn't put his finger on what exactly - he was just on edge for some reason. Anya wasn't helping his condition any, working steadily away at his last nerve.
"You're not helping," he muttered.
"Of course I'm not helping," Anya retorted. "Because you're not doing anything that I have to help you with. Can't you at least come up with some kind of plan? It doesn't even have to be workable - just planny."
"Okay, how about I dislocate my shoulders, twist my entire body around and do a little rope munching?" Xander cracked. "I'm just about bordering on malnourished here."
Anya's stomach rumbled in a show of gastric solidarity.
"That's what you get for mentioning food," Anya told him. "That grumbly thing only happens when I'm hungry and I wasn't until you said something."
"My tummy grumbles too," Drusilla purred, waltzing into the room. She was dressed in a floor-length white lace gown, a delicate shawl draped over her narrow shoulders. "Like a big old bear." She giggled. "Three grumbly bears."
"Yeah, and her bowl's way empty," Xander said to Anya.
"I met those bears once," she commented. "That whole porridge thing is a complete myth, but Goldilocks? With the breaking-and-entering? All true."
Drusilla stopped dancing and walked up to them with a surprisingly determined gait.
"Do I look pretty?" she asked them, her manner remarkably forthright. "Must be pretty for Daddy."
"You look very ... bridal," Anya told her. "Very sacrificial lamb-y. And that virginal vibe works for a lot of guys." She sniffed. "Or so I've been told."
"I happen to like bold myself," Xander declared. "Bold and brassy. A chick who knows what she wants and how to get it."
Anya smiled. He was so gonna find out what she wanted when they got rescued. And she had no doubt about the rescue taking place. The good guys always got rescued - that was how it worked. It was usually a last minute thing, though, and that was the part she was worried about. Buffy wasn't exactly known for her punctuality.
Drusilla returned Anya's smile, and for a moment looked like the young innocent woman she had once been.
"My Daddy's coming home," she informed them, clapping her hands gleefully. "We're going to have a lovely party." She giggled again, and spun in a circle, her bright gaze lifted to the ceiling. "Blood and tears and marvelous confusion," she continued dreamily. "The very best kind."
"Did I mention the insane part?" Xander asked dryly.
"And how about the 'Where's Giles?' part?" Anya shot back. "I don't like that we're alone with her."
"Not of the good," Xander agreed. Dru tended to be unpredictable. As much as he hated to admit it, he wished Spike were here. He'd always been able to keep the vampiress in line - even better than Angelus had. In fact, Angelus couldn't even keep himself in line and had been all for sucking the world into hell.
Xander's face dropped in open-mouthed shock when the object of his musings strolled in the door.
"Dru," Angelus growled sternly, his demon visage in place. "What have you done?"
She pivoted to look at him, worshipping him with her eyes.
"Angel," she breathed. "My beautiful Angel of death."
"Yeah, precious, Daddy's home."