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Fleeing Sunnyhell

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Drusilla stirs next to him and opens her eyes slowly. He glances sideways at her with blue eyes and smiles.

‘Welcome back, my sweet,’ he says.

She blinks a few times and rubs her eyes, before turning them on him, pursing her lips disapprovingly.

‘What have you done, my Spike?’ she asks, her tone of voice a little harder than usual.

‘What I had to,’ Spike replies simply, keeping his eyes on the road through the slit in the black paint covering the wind screen. ‘I happen to like this world, ducks, and I’d a million times rather spend a few more years in it with you than an eternity in hell with Angelus.’ He spits the name, as though it were a curse word.

‘Our Angelus is gone,’ Drusilla moans. ‘Swallowed up and vanished.’

‘So, the Slayer lives, then. Good for her,’ Spike mutters. ‘I might yet get to kill her one day.’

Drusilla sits up properly, brushing her dark hair out of her face. 

‘You’ve spoiled everything!’ she whines. ‘Nothing will ever be the same…’

‘You’re damn right it won’t!’ Spike growls. ‘I won’t ever have to live in his shadow again. Angelus always took everything I wanted, everything that was mine! And with Darla gone, there was nothing to dissuade him from taking you from me, too. I couldn’t let that happen. You belong with me, Dru! You know that!’ 

She gives no reply to that. Instead she turns her eyes away, staring down at her hands. Spike wonders what she sees there.

After a few moments, she speaks again. ‘Why did it have to be her?’

Spike heaves an exasperated sigh and runs a hand through his hair. The bleached locks are coming loose from their gel. ‘Because there was no one else strong enough to take on Angelus!’ he states, his voice perhaps a little louder than necessary. ‘I did this for you, petal, can’t you see that? For us! Now, we’re free!’

‘You’ll never be free,’ Drusilla counters, silently, still not looking at him. ‘She’s infected you. You’re hers now, sweet William…’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ Spike roars, turning to her. ‘Will you shut up about the soddin’ Slayer, you stupid cow?’

Drusilla turns her wide, grey eyes to him and whimpers, shrinking back in her seat, and he immediately melts.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, kitten!’ He pulls the DeSoto over to the side of the road, before putting his arms around her, holding her close. ‘I didn’t mean to shout at you, I just… Let’s just forget about this, all right? Let’s just… we’re running away now, right? Away from Sunnyhell and the Slayer and all that. It’ll just be you and me again. You know I love you, my dark princess… You’re all I’ll ever want…’

Her arms circle his neck and she hugs him back and nods into his shoulder.

Then he kisses her, putting all his frustration and anger and joy and love into it, leaving her breathless, if she had breath. He pushes her back into the seat, reaching up inside her skirts with his left hand, smiling when she moans.

And yet, at the back of his mind, there’s a nagging little voice saying, Maybe she’s right? Maybe you do belong to the Slayer now? And unbidden images seem to burst into his mind, of the Slayer, Buffy Summers – her steely, piercing green gaze, her jaw set in concentration as she resumes her fighting stance, her slim, lithe form as she fights with fluid dexterity and acute precision. She is a killing machine the likes of which he has yet to encounter. Killing her would be his greatest challenge yet, but making her his… Now, that would be a battle for the ages.

He shakes the idea from his mind. One day, he will return to Sunnydale and finish what he started; slaying the Slayer and drinking deep from her life’s blood will be a genuine pleasure. For now, there are other tasks at hand.