Rest Ye Bedlam Vampires :: a Spike/Drusilla Ficlet.
Title: Rest Ye Bedlam Vampires
Author: fenderlove
Rating: PG.
Warnings: Mentions of past evils, character deaths, and madness.
Summary: Spike and Drusilla spend Christmas Eve at the Mosaic Wellness Institute and Demon Rehabilitation Center. Takes place after my ficlet Ampwish and makes reference to one of the shorts from Twelve Christmases in the Life and Unlife of William H. Pratt.
Rest Ye Bedlam Vampires
The halls of the Mosaic Institute were festively bedecked with banners and cardboard decorations for various human, as well as demon, winter holidays. Instead of joining in on the marathon of Rankin and Bass films being shown in the Rec Room, Spike was stretched out in his encampment in Buffy's private hospital room. Buffy had been brought to the asylum a year prior. From what had been gathered from a rather limited police investigation and the Slayer's own mad ramblings, Buffy had been living in the cavernous remains of Sunnydale since the collapse of the Hellmouth. A group of land developers had discovered her, her mind completely shattered from whatever she had experienced. All of the Scoobies were gone, their decimated corpses discovered amongst the rubble.
By the time Buffy arrived at Mosaic, she was completely incoherent, only muttering gibberish between animalistic growls and screams. Dr. Thilbault and the medical staff decided that it would be best to keep her totally sedated to prevent the Slayer from harming herself or others. The chemically-induced coma allowed Buffy to rest in a private room that Spike had taken to guarding on the off chance that a Mosaic patient got any ideas about dispatching a Slayer for kicks. Spike did not actually believe that anyone would actually try it, but he was not willing to risk even the remotest possibility. He set up a few chairs and blankets, and, while he was far from comfortable, he was content to remain there until Buffy was well again. Dr. Thilbault had been carefully drawing Buffy out of her deep sleeps to try and glean information about what had happened to her, but each time resulted in her having to be put under yet again before she destroyed the entire hospital wing.
Spike turned his head when he heard a knock at the door. Betta George hovered just in the doorframe, always afraid of any lingering mental vibrations Buffy might be sending out in her deranged state.
"Usually it's her giving me headaches, but your thoughts have been sledge-hammering my brain all day," George said telepathically to Spike.
"How many times have I told you to stay out of my head?" Spike groused.
George replied, "About as many times as I have to remind you that I can't control what I hear."
Spike did not have a snarky retort; he slid further down in the rock-hard hospital chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His gaze drifted back to Buffy. She appeared so peaceful despite the flood of medications coursing in her system. Spike thought of Dana and the state she had been kept in. The nurses at Mosaic were much more understanding and sympathetic of Buffy's super-powered situation, and they took excellent care of her. Watching them work made Spike feel incredibly useless.
"Ow, ow, ow!" George rubbed at his temples with his purple-hued fins, "Stop that brooding! It's Guppy Day; it's a happy time!"
Spike quirked an eyebrow, "Guppy Day?"
"Yes, December 25th is the day that all young Splendeen demons, who have reached maturity, get their telepathic abilities," George responded, still not moving any further into the room.
"It happens on a specific day?" Spike tilted his head.
George got a rather grumpy expression, "Thereabouts, yes." Changing the subject, George gathered his courage and floated a little farther into the room, grabbing Spike's arm with his fin, "Come on outside and enjoy the party. There are snack foods and warm blood. Plus, we're going to start the Secret Mariq'kas soon."
"The what now?" Spike jerked his arm away from the Splendeen demon.
"'Mariq'kas' is the Pixies' winter-time gift-giving deity. We're trying to be as demonically diverse and politically correct as possible," George replied. "Plus, there's someone who really wants to see you."
It did not feel much like Christmas for the vampire. Spike looked at the plastic wreath that was hanging on the wall above Buffy's bed, and the small candy canes the nurses had included on his tray of synthesized blood that they'd brought in for dinner. Other patients had cards sent from their families, clans, sires, and friends to adorn their side tables, but all Buffy had were more charts and clipboards about her dismal prognosis.
Though at first he refused yet again, Spike let himself be pulled to his feet (mostly because George threatened to have Dr. Thilbault get the tranquilizers so the vampire could be forcibly removed from the room), "Fine, but if Marv tries to pull out the mistletoe, I'm punching everyone in the face."
Walking sullenly down the hallway, away from the hospital wing, Spike kept glancing back at Buffy's room. George assured him that the nurses would continue to watch over her in his absence, but Spike felt like a soldier abandoning his post.
The Rec Room was abnormally packed with demons of various creeds and the scant amount of humans (be they magick users, werewolves, psychics, and those with other assorted powers). An enormous pile of presents for the gift exchange, most wrapped with scraps of newspaper or whatever was convenient, were stacked, nearly to the ceiling, in one corner of the room. Marv the werewolf had indeed gotten out the mistletoe, but he was using it to slobber all over Anna the Ringel demon. A cup of eggnog teetering seemingly on its own through the air gave away Biv's invisible presence. George steered Spike towards one of the packed couches, and the vampire felt a twinge in his unbeating heart when he saw Drusilla.
Her hair tied back in a loose braid, Drusilla appeared so frail in the grey, hospital-issued, one-size-too-big jogging suit. The two Pixies she had befriended- Tobias and Vermillion- were sitting on her lap, digging their sharp little teeth into a gingerbread cookie they were sharing. Spike often wondered what Drusilla thought of meeting actual Pixies instead of conversing with imaginary ones in her head. She had struggled to adjust to life with sanity; while she no longer had the drive for evil, without a soul Dru was still controlled by the necessary instinct to feed on living creatures for blood. While she was having an increasingly larger number of "good" days in the month thanks to a cocktail of drugs (most of which Spike could barely pronounce) and psychic therapy, Drusilla still had "bad" days that left her huddled in corners or restrained to her bed. Tonight appeared to be a good night.
Spike sat on the arm of the sofa, gently nudging Drusilla's shoulder with his hip. Drusilla smiled to see him, but her fae friends were less than thrilled.
"It is the interloper!" Tobias squeaked in his tiny, shrill voice. Yanking a gumdrop button out of the gingerbread's frosting and hurling it at Spike's face, Tobias bellowed (as much as a Pixie could bellow), "Begone!"
"Don't make me get the flyswatter," Spike replied after catching the gumdrop in his mouth, much to the Pixie's dismay.
Tobias's little gossamer wings fluttered up in irritation, but Drusilla gently stroked a fingertip over his lavender downy hair, which seemed to greatly calm the tiny terror.
"Don't be mean to one another," Drusilla quietly admonished both fae and vampire. Her voice sounded very far away, each word laboured slightly, and Spike wondered if the docs had upped her dosage of meds to prepare for the long night.
Spike took Drusilla's hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly. She squeezed back in kind, her eyelids a little heavy as she watched the strands of red and green lights blinking around the room.
"Are you all right, love?" Spike's brow furrowed with concern.
Drusilla nodded, "I'm fine... I'm just having some bad memories."
It could be difficult to tell what "bad" meant when it came to Drusilla's condition. "Bad" could mean what was done to her before she went insane, but it could also be anything that happened afterward. Spike inferred that she meant the latter. When they were finally free of Darla, Spike and Drusilla had been particularly active during the winter holidays. The blood of the children they had fed on almost ran white with sugar from peppermints and sweets.
After a few moments of silence, Drusilla ventured, "Did we ever have a nice, normal Christmas?"
Spike thought over it for a moment and replied, "We didn't get up to too much mischief that time we were in New York in Nineteen-Aught-Seven. Do you remember that, pet?"
Drusilla smiled softly, "You brought me a dress covered in diamonds and pearls... and we danced all night long. Everyone watched us."
Plucking at the rather drab material of her sweatshirt, Drusilla seemed a little more forlorn from the memory.
"We're a bit far off from that sort of finery now, " Spike said, wrapping his arm around her thin shoulders, "but at least we are still around to enjoy the festivities."
"Fiend!" Tobias screeched as he tore off the gingerbread's arm and hurled it at Spike, hitting the vampire square in the chest. "Unhand the lady, you hugger-mugging hedgepig!"
Spike's jaw ticked slightly as he struggled not to say something that would be upsetting to Drusilla (like the fact that he would like to throw the little Pixie into a blender), "No need to be rude. We can all be Drusilla's friends."
Seeing that Drusilla did not move away from Spike's arm, Tobias made a gruff little noise and flittered away, leaving a trail of sparkly blue dust in his wake as he went to sulk near the punch bowl.
Vermillion stood on Drusilla's knee and pointed at Spike, "You're a foxbeard!" She stuck out her miniscule forked tongue and flew off to follow her companion, leaving Drusilla's lap covered in gingerbread crumbs and poppy-red Pixie dust.
"I don't even know what a foxbeard is," Spike reached down to brush some of the crumbs and fae detritus off Dru's legs. Realizing that he was probably being too hands-on, he apologized, "Sorry... Old habits, and all that."
"It's all right," Drusilla petted his hand, keeping it enclosed in both of hers.
Spike felt a certain spark as Dru touched him; it was a tingling familiarity, a reminder of the love that he still harbored for her that had remained with him over the years. It had ebbed and waned from her indiscretions and when he found obsession and eventual love in another, but it never vanished entirely. Drusilla had made him a man, in more ways than the obvious, and that was the sort of thing that created an attachment that was hard to dislodge, not that Spike wanted to. He was growing very fond of being able to speak with Dru and know that she was there in reality with him.
Dr. Thilbault announced that they were beginning to hand out the parcels from the gift exchange. Wrapped packages began being passed around the room. Anna untangled herself from Marv to sashay over to Spike and Drusilla with their gifts. Drusilla's present was a white unwrapped box held closed with a gold ribbon, the bow curlicued into a strange, matted pom-pom on top. She ran her fingers through the loops of ribbon and grinned brightly.
"You got my name," Dru said happily.
"Recognized my girly handiwork, did you?" Spike laughed.
Nodding, Drusilla replied, "Only one person I know curls ribbon with a pocket knife."
"Actually, Spike forced Dr. Thilbault to give your name to him," Betta George, donning a festive Santa hat, interjected.
Though Drusilla appeared amused, Spike frowned, "Well, she's the only person I know how to buy for! And you're the one always hounding me to get involved with the group activities."
"You clearly don't understand the fun and mystery of the Secret Mariq'kas," George floated off as others began opening up their gifts.
While Dru tugged the ribbon off her gift, Spike looked down at his present. Tearing off the paper, he found a framed pencil drawing of a bird. Though the drawing was amateurish, the flowing graphite lines had an aesthetically pleasing flair. The initials "D. K." were scrawled on the corner of the paper.
"Did you get my name by random chance?" Spike asked Dru.
Drusilla shook her head, "I asked Dr. Thilbault for you."
Spike gave her a kiss on the cheek, "Thank you, ducks. It's a beautiful piece."
"I joined the art therapy group, and since I didn't have any money for a gift-" Drusilla lifted the top off her present and gasped, "Oh, Spike it's lovely!"
Dru lifted a delicately embroidered shawl from the box and wrapped it around herself. Tobias, who had been hovering nearby, gave a jealous huff and flew away again.
"I thought you might want to get out of this place for an evening sometime soon," Spike spoke, "and it gets a tad chilly in the desert night."
Drusilla faltered for a moment, "I don't think I'm ready to even walk out in the parking lot."
"I can wait," he responded.
"You've been doing a lot of waiting lately," Drusilla replied.
Spike smirked, "Everybody's gotta be good at something."
As the evening drew on, the floor of the Rec Room was completely covered in wrapping paper, tinsel, and a few demons who had had far too much eggnog (including Marv). Spike and Drusilla found a quieter spot near the reception desk to dance to a Bing Crosby ballad playing on one of the nurses' computers.
"Not quite the Plaza," Spike whispered in her ear.
Drusilla smiled, "It's better."
Happy Christmas.
x-posted on nekid_spike.
Author: fenderlove
Rating: PG.
Warnings: Mentions of past evils, character deaths, and madness.
Summary: Spike and Drusilla spend Christmas Eve at the Mosaic Wellness Institute and Demon Rehabilitation Center. Takes place after my ficlet Ampwish and makes reference to one of the shorts from Twelve Christmases in the Life and Unlife of William H. Pratt.
Rest Ye Bedlam Vampires
The halls of the Mosaic Institute were festively bedecked with banners and cardboard decorations for various human, as well as demon, winter holidays. Instead of joining in on the marathon of Rankin and Bass films being shown in the Rec Room, Spike was stretched out in his encampment in Buffy's private hospital room. Buffy had been brought to the asylum a year prior. From what had been gathered from a rather limited police investigation and the Slayer's own mad ramblings, Buffy had been living in the cavernous remains of Sunnydale since the collapse of the Hellmouth. A group of land developers had discovered her, her mind completely shattered from whatever she had experienced. All of the Scoobies were gone, their decimated corpses discovered amongst the rubble.
By the time Buffy arrived at Mosaic, she was completely incoherent, only muttering gibberish between animalistic growls and screams. Dr. Thilbault and the medical staff decided that it would be best to keep her totally sedated to prevent the Slayer from harming herself or others. The chemically-induced coma allowed Buffy to rest in a private room that Spike had taken to guarding on the off chance that a Mosaic patient got any ideas about dispatching a Slayer for kicks. Spike did not actually believe that anyone would actually try it, but he was not willing to risk even the remotest possibility. He set up a few chairs and blankets, and, while he was far from comfortable, he was content to remain there until Buffy was well again. Dr. Thilbault had been carefully drawing Buffy out of her deep sleeps to try and glean information about what had happened to her, but each time resulted in her having to be put under yet again before she destroyed the entire hospital wing.
Spike turned his head when he heard a knock at the door. Betta George hovered just in the doorframe, always afraid of any lingering mental vibrations Buffy might be sending out in her deranged state.
"Usually it's her giving me headaches, but your thoughts have been sledge-hammering my brain all day," George said telepathically to Spike.
"How many times have I told you to stay out of my head?" Spike groused.
George replied, "About as many times as I have to remind you that I can't control what I hear."
Spike did not have a snarky retort; he slid further down in the rock-hard hospital chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His gaze drifted back to Buffy. She appeared so peaceful despite the flood of medications coursing in her system. Spike thought of Dana and the state she had been kept in. The nurses at Mosaic were much more understanding and sympathetic of Buffy's super-powered situation, and they took excellent care of her. Watching them work made Spike feel incredibly useless.
"Ow, ow, ow!" George rubbed at his temples with his purple-hued fins, "Stop that brooding! It's Guppy Day; it's a happy time!"
Spike quirked an eyebrow, "Guppy Day?"
"Yes, December 25th is the day that all young Splendeen demons, who have reached maturity, get their telepathic abilities," George responded, still not moving any further into the room.
"It happens on a specific day?" Spike tilted his head.
George got a rather grumpy expression, "Thereabouts, yes." Changing the subject, George gathered his courage and floated a little farther into the room, grabbing Spike's arm with his fin, "Come on outside and enjoy the party. There are snack foods and warm blood. Plus, we're going to start the Secret Mariq'kas soon."
"The what now?" Spike jerked his arm away from the Splendeen demon.
"'Mariq'kas' is the Pixies' winter-time gift-giving deity. We're trying to be as demonically diverse and politically correct as possible," George replied. "Plus, there's someone who really wants to see you."
It did not feel much like Christmas for the vampire. Spike looked at the plastic wreath that was hanging on the wall above Buffy's bed, and the small candy canes the nurses had included on his tray of synthesized blood that they'd brought in for dinner. Other patients had cards sent from their families, clans, sires, and friends to adorn their side tables, but all Buffy had were more charts and clipboards about her dismal prognosis.
Though at first he refused yet again, Spike let himself be pulled to his feet (mostly because George threatened to have Dr. Thilbault get the tranquilizers so the vampire could be forcibly removed from the room), "Fine, but if Marv tries to pull out the mistletoe, I'm punching everyone in the face."
Walking sullenly down the hallway, away from the hospital wing, Spike kept glancing back at Buffy's room. George assured him that the nurses would continue to watch over her in his absence, but Spike felt like a soldier abandoning his post.
The Rec Room was abnormally packed with demons of various creeds and the scant amount of humans (be they magick users, werewolves, psychics, and those with other assorted powers). An enormous pile of presents for the gift exchange, most wrapped with scraps of newspaper or whatever was convenient, were stacked, nearly to the ceiling, in one corner of the room. Marv the werewolf had indeed gotten out the mistletoe, but he was using it to slobber all over Anna the Ringel demon. A cup of eggnog teetering seemingly on its own through the air gave away Biv's invisible presence. George steered Spike towards one of the packed couches, and the vampire felt a twinge in his unbeating heart when he saw Drusilla.
Her hair tied back in a loose braid, Drusilla appeared so frail in the grey, hospital-issued, one-size-too-big jogging suit. The two Pixies she had befriended- Tobias and Vermillion- were sitting on her lap, digging their sharp little teeth into a gingerbread cookie they were sharing. Spike often wondered what Drusilla thought of meeting actual Pixies instead of conversing with imaginary ones in her head. She had struggled to adjust to life with sanity; while she no longer had the drive for evil, without a soul Dru was still controlled by the necessary instinct to feed on living creatures for blood. While she was having an increasingly larger number of "good" days in the month thanks to a cocktail of drugs (most of which Spike could barely pronounce) and psychic therapy, Drusilla still had "bad" days that left her huddled in corners or restrained to her bed. Tonight appeared to be a good night.
Spike sat on the arm of the sofa, gently nudging Drusilla's shoulder with his hip. Drusilla smiled to see him, but her fae friends were less than thrilled.
"It is the interloper!" Tobias squeaked in his tiny, shrill voice. Yanking a gumdrop button out of the gingerbread's frosting and hurling it at Spike's face, Tobias bellowed (as much as a Pixie could bellow), "Begone!"
"Don't make me get the flyswatter," Spike replied after catching the gumdrop in his mouth, much to the Pixie's dismay.
Tobias's little gossamer wings fluttered up in irritation, but Drusilla gently stroked a fingertip over his lavender downy hair, which seemed to greatly calm the tiny terror.
"Don't be mean to one another," Drusilla quietly admonished both fae and vampire. Her voice sounded very far away, each word laboured slightly, and Spike wondered if the docs had upped her dosage of meds to prepare for the long night.
Spike took Drusilla's hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly. She squeezed back in kind, her eyelids a little heavy as she watched the strands of red and green lights blinking around the room.
"Are you all right, love?" Spike's brow furrowed with concern.
Drusilla nodded, "I'm fine... I'm just having some bad memories."
It could be difficult to tell what "bad" meant when it came to Drusilla's condition. "Bad" could mean what was done to her before she went insane, but it could also be anything that happened afterward. Spike inferred that she meant the latter. When they were finally free of Darla, Spike and Drusilla had been particularly active during the winter holidays. The blood of the children they had fed on almost ran white with sugar from peppermints and sweets.
After a few moments of silence, Drusilla ventured, "Did we ever have a nice, normal Christmas?"
Spike thought over it for a moment and replied, "We didn't get up to too much mischief that time we were in New York in Nineteen-Aught-Seven. Do you remember that, pet?"
Drusilla smiled softly, "You brought me a dress covered in diamonds and pearls... and we danced all night long. Everyone watched us."
Plucking at the rather drab material of her sweatshirt, Drusilla seemed a little more forlorn from the memory.
"We're a bit far off from that sort of finery now, " Spike said, wrapping his arm around her thin shoulders, "but at least we are still around to enjoy the festivities."
"Fiend!" Tobias screeched as he tore off the gingerbread's arm and hurled it at Spike, hitting the vampire square in the chest. "Unhand the lady, you hugger-mugging hedgepig!"
Spike's jaw ticked slightly as he struggled not to say something that would be upsetting to Drusilla (like the fact that he would like to throw the little Pixie into a blender), "No need to be rude. We can all be Drusilla's friends."
Seeing that Drusilla did not move away from Spike's arm, Tobias made a gruff little noise and flittered away, leaving a trail of sparkly blue dust in his wake as he went to sulk near the punch bowl.
Vermillion stood on Drusilla's knee and pointed at Spike, "You're a foxbeard!" She stuck out her miniscule forked tongue and flew off to follow her companion, leaving Drusilla's lap covered in gingerbread crumbs and poppy-red Pixie dust.
"I don't even know what a foxbeard is," Spike reached down to brush some of the crumbs and fae detritus off Dru's legs. Realizing that he was probably being too hands-on, he apologized, "Sorry... Old habits, and all that."
"It's all right," Drusilla petted his hand, keeping it enclosed in both of hers.
Spike felt a certain spark as Dru touched him; it was a tingling familiarity, a reminder of the love that he still harbored for her that had remained with him over the years. It had ebbed and waned from her indiscretions and when he found obsession and eventual love in another, but it never vanished entirely. Drusilla had made him a man, in more ways than the obvious, and that was the sort of thing that created an attachment that was hard to dislodge, not that Spike wanted to. He was growing very fond of being able to speak with Dru and know that she was there in reality with him.
Dr. Thilbault announced that they were beginning to hand out the parcels from the gift exchange. Wrapped packages began being passed around the room. Anna untangled herself from Marv to sashay over to Spike and Drusilla with their gifts. Drusilla's present was a white unwrapped box held closed with a gold ribbon, the bow curlicued into a strange, matted pom-pom on top. She ran her fingers through the loops of ribbon and grinned brightly.
"You got my name," Dru said happily.
"Recognized my girly handiwork, did you?" Spike laughed.
Nodding, Drusilla replied, "Only one person I know curls ribbon with a pocket knife."
"Actually, Spike forced Dr. Thilbault to give your name to him," Betta George, donning a festive Santa hat, interjected.
Though Drusilla appeared amused, Spike frowned, "Well, she's the only person I know how to buy for! And you're the one always hounding me to get involved with the group activities."
"You clearly don't understand the fun and mystery of the Secret Mariq'kas," George floated off as others began opening up their gifts.
While Dru tugged the ribbon off her gift, Spike looked down at his present. Tearing off the paper, he found a framed pencil drawing of a bird. Though the drawing was amateurish, the flowing graphite lines had an aesthetically pleasing flair. The initials "D. K." were scrawled on the corner of the paper.
"Did you get my name by random chance?" Spike asked Dru.
Drusilla shook her head, "I asked Dr. Thilbault for you."
Spike gave her a kiss on the cheek, "Thank you, ducks. It's a beautiful piece."
"I joined the art therapy group, and since I didn't have any money for a gift-" Drusilla lifted the top off her present and gasped, "Oh, Spike it's lovely!"
Dru lifted a delicately embroidered shawl from the box and wrapped it around herself. Tobias, who had been hovering nearby, gave a jealous huff and flew away again.
"I thought you might want to get out of this place for an evening sometime soon," Spike spoke, "and it gets a tad chilly in the desert night."
Drusilla faltered for a moment, "I don't think I'm ready to even walk out in the parking lot."
"I can wait," he responded.
"You've been doing a lot of waiting lately," Drusilla replied.
Spike smirked, "Everybody's gotta be good at something."
As the evening drew on, the floor of the Rec Room was completely covered in wrapping paper, tinsel, and a few demons who had had far too much eggnog (including Marv). Spike and Drusilla found a quieter spot near the reception desk to dance to a Bing Crosby ballad playing on one of the nurses' computers.
"Not quite the Plaza," Spike whispered in her ear.
Drusilla smiled, "It's better."
Happy Christmas.
x-posted on nekid_spike.