Reconstructing Evil - Chapter 55
Reconstructing Evil
by FemailoftheSpecies and claudia6913
Spike/Drusilla, Spike/Other, Spike/Drusilla/Other, Spike/Dawn
Adult (NC-17)
Summary: Set Season 5 "Crush.” Dru's come back to reclaim her boy. Just how hard is it to reconstruct and resurrect Spike?
Warnings: Sex, bloodplay, violence, underage...these are vampires, right?
Disclaimer: Joss owns all, we but play in the fields of his imagination.
Feedback: Yes please
Here is another chapter that Missy and I wrote together. I will put the rest out soon. If you need to catch up or refresh your memory, previous chapters are here. I hope you enjoy.
Too weak to put up any successful resistance both Spike and Willow were easily manipulated and chained to different corners of the room. All the while, Drusilla sang softly to herself and blatantly ignored Spike as he attempted to talk to her. Confused, Garrison follow orders completely and only shrugged when Spike told him to stop.
"You're not my Sire, man," Garrison said, effectively closing off any other consideration Spike thought the boy might have for him. When he got loose, he planned to rectify that situation, but for the moment Garrison, by way of Drusilla, had the upper hand.
"This is bloody ridiculous," Spike said tiredly. "What about the play, Dru? Can't very well go if I'm stuck in 'ere."
"Not to worry, my sweet," was all Drusilla would say. She spun in the middle of the room slowly, taking in everything. With meticulous care she had made sure that anything and everything that could aid them in someway had been removed from the room or from reach.
Spike watched her, growing more wary every minute. She was serious. In his mind, he chuckled; his Sire was actually going to exercise her rights over him, completely and apparently painfully.
“Dru, luv. If you want me to do something, just say so. All this …” He rattled his chains, “Isn’t necessary. You know you’re my everything,” he told her, his voice smooth and warm, like hot blood sliding over her demon.
Her attention appeared to be focused on putting things in a drawer, but when she turned around, her eyes gleaming darkly he knew she had heard him and was oddly displeased. “But you think you’re not my everything, Spike. You need reminding.”
Willow watched, not too worried. Once Drusilla was gone, she would just ask her sire if he wanted to be freed and then use a little magic to make it so. He was her sire and she certainly had to obey him. Those were the rules.
With great relish, Drusilla pulled a long, flowing, red shawl from the drawer and draped it over her shoulders. Reaching out, she wrapped her arm around Garrison's and pulled him in for a soft kiss on his lips.
"You're not to go anywhere," Drusilla said, giggling as the pair walked out of the room.
With disbelief, Spike watched them leave, following them out with his senses. This was no longer a game, this was no longer Drusilla crazily trying to make a point, this was real, and happening, and his Sire had just chained he and his own childe, leaving them there.
"Quit moving," Willow said in a harsh whisper from across the room.
"What?" he asked, shaking off his thoughts.
"I can't concentrate with you fidgeting like that."
“On what?” he frowned, wishing he could reach her, maybe kick her just for the hell of it.
She rolled her eyes and sighed. “On releasing the manacles and getting out of this. Don’t you want to?”
He tilted his head, thinking about it for a moment. “Best not, Red. I’m pretty sure I can break these myself, given a little time, which we have evidently, but she’ll just be in a right snit if I do.”
It was the redhead’s turn to frown. “She’s already in a, a snit.” She didn’t think she had ever once in her life or death used that word. “And I’m hungry. Now!” she growled, yanking on the chains.
He laughed, remembering being chained for weeks. “Get used to it,” was his only advise.
“Oh, no,” she shook her head. “I can free us, and we can go out get something to eat and come back before they get back.” She smiled widely at her planned, obviously pleased. “And Grandmummy,” she rolled her eyes again. “…won’t know a thing.”
Staring at her, his mouth agape he finally found words. “Have you gone completely around the bend? She’ll know. She’ll smell the blood on us, smell the fresh outdoors scent that will cling to us and she’ll pluck it from your overactive brain!” he yelled.
"Don't yell at me! This isn't my fault, momma’s boy! If you would have-"
"You don't want to finish that.” Spike’s voice was deep, cautionary, and she skittered away from the topic, clamping her mouth shut with some effort. Resigned, Willow wiggled a little, trying to get comfortable. It looked like they were going to be there for a while.
~~~*~~~
There was a persistent burr of tension in the car as Garrison drove down Wilshire, headed for The Los Angeles Opera. Periodically, Drusilla craned her neck, taking in the sites as they sped though the city. He saw her as child-like in this behavior, affection for her that had nothing to do with bonds and duty growing, and smiled at her whenever her bright eyes turned to him. At one point, as they neared the Opera house, Drusilla waved out the window. Looking, Garrison noticed it was that same hotel that he and Spike had tracked Drusilla to, the one where Angel lived.
"We'll not be dropping in tonight, dearie. The tea's all gone and it left a bitter taste in my mouth," Drusilla said.
He nodded as if he understood. “Okay,” he said, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Her hands were in her lap and he wanted to take one in his, but refrained. She was giving off a vibe that off-putting and compelling at once.
“Are you okay?”
She turned from the window, her eyes watery as she blinked away the forming tears. “I want Spike,” she pouted slightly, not one of her affected ones, but real and sadder for it.
“Uh, I guess, we could go back and get him.” They were early because Drusilla wanted to hunt close to the theatre and probably wouldn’t miss much if they hurried.
“No, we mustn’t,” she hissed, her hand clutched tightly on his forearm. Ignoring his wince, she went on. “The boy’s upside down and inside out, trying to fill what can’t be filled. The hole is large, and he has his own shoes.”
Garrison whimpered again, feeling his bone starting to crack and she let go, patting him on the head.
“You should wear square toes, dearie. They look much nicer with woolen slacks and naked sheep,” she advised.
“Okay. I, um will next time.” He really missed Spike right now as well.
Finally, they were within a block from the Opera house when the traffic slowed to a standstill. So many people were coming to see the play and parking was an issue. To avoid the thick mess of vehicles he could see a block in front of him, Garrison turned down one side street and then another, parking in the first available spot.
Before he killed the ignition, Drusilla was stepping out, walking dreamily towards the Opera house.
"Dru!" Garrison called and ran to catch up with her. "Wait for me."
Even this far away there is a crowd and he had to push his way through the fleshy mortals to get to his Sire. Her dark hair was visible between a chatty couple and he roughly pushed them to the side, ignoring the indignant remarks.
“Drusilla,” he called again. She spun around, her curled, dark hair bouncing gaily, and favored him with a malicious grin.
“Time for dinner,” she sang before whirling back around and blending in easily. Garrison knocked people aside in an attempt keep up, but was not able to gain much ground
After a few moments, he reached the steps to the theatre, along with what felt like a hundred humans, and tried to locate her. Remembering his lesson from Spike, he closed his eyes, hoping to use the link between them and was able to get a general fix on her, but when he turned that way, he did not see her.
His eyes narrowed in concentration, he scanned the area, using all his senses. He picked up her scent, fleeting and quickly masked by the masses of people around him and was about to give up, when a hand crept over his shoulder, startling him.
Licking her lips of the faint traces of blood, she smiled, showing too many teeth. “The waiters removed the Entrée. You’ll have to wait for dessert,” she told him and slipped her delicate hand in his, tugging him along toward the entrance.
It took some finagling, a few dark looks to the doorman who was having a horrid time understanding Drusilla, but finally, they were seated in what appeared to be very pristine, and expensive seats. A private balcony off to the left side of the stage. Garrison watched, amused as Drusilla bounced in her chair with excitement.
As the lights dimmed, she took hold of Garrison's hand, her eyes glued to the stage, awaiting. He felt a shiver run through her arm and into him at the first discordant notes of the opening music rang through the theater.
Resigned to the fact he would have to sit through an opera, Garrison leaned back in his chair and prayed the horror would end soon enough so that he could find someone to eat.
~~~*~~~
The door to the Hyperion lobby opened, revealing a flustered Wesley. The brunette glanced up from the fluttering papers and smile half-heartedly. It was tax time and Cordelia hated it.
“Is he up, yet?” Wesley whispered.
She shook her head and frown as her gazed drifted upward. “No and it’s weird. I went up to remind him of the Hossler demon that he was supposed to exterminate, but he only grunted and turned over.”
Wesley’s brow furrowed slightly, forming tiny lines in his otherwise smooth forehead. “Hossler demon? What’s a Hossler demon?” Marching over to the bookcase, he fell easily into research mode. “I don’t recall this case. Did you have a vision?” He selected a demon index and thumbed through it carefully.
“No, silly.” Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Mrs. Hossler called about the nest of Ignoramuses, remember?”
He did … slightly. “Inogamides, Cordelia,” he corrected, sighing.
“Whatever?” She waved her hand, dismissing him and the topic. “The point is, last time Angel pulled a Sleeping Beauty like this, he went all vampiry postal.”
Wesley's own eyes drifted heavenward as he contemplated this. "Surely he would have ...," he started to say, but stopped when Cordelia gave her opinion on that in the form of a snort. "It is possible that he’s simply tired?"
"Tired from what? He didn't do anything."
"That we’re aware of."
"No," Cordelia said, shaking her head. "He wouldn't."
Wesley gave her a pointed look that said otherwise.
"He couldn't."
Another look from the Watcher.
"He's not stupid enough ... alright, so he is." Standing up, she walked over to Wesley and leaned on the nearby wall. "So, which one of us is going to talk to him this time about the dangers of sex. I say it's you."
Wesley blanched. “Me?”
“Yeah, you,” Cordy stood, stretching with her arms over her head as she yawned. “Guys talk about this stuff all the time.” Raising an eyebrow, she studied him. “Oh, my bad. You’re not exactly a guy.”
Pushing his lips into a pout, he replied stepping toward her. “No, not when compared with you, Cordelia.”
Narrowed eyes met nasty sneer.
“Hey, kids no fighting.” The both looked up as Angel descended the stairs, wondering just how much the vampire had heard.
“’Bout time you got your lazy bones up. Get over to Mrs. Hossler’s pronto.”
Angel frowned at their seer. He would normally put the singular possessive on that, but since his epiphany, he’d been trying something new, less demony and possessive, with them all. “Since when are you so Gung Ho?”
“Since the woman paid half upfront.” She pulled a check from a manila file folder and snapped it in front of Angel’s eyes.
"Well, in that case," Angel said. Steadily he moved to the counter and took the folder from her hands, slowly looking through it. So, he may be a little less demony about things, but that didn't stop him from enjoying the occasional frustrated look from Cordelia as she tried hard not to say something.
Clearning his throat, Wesley stepped forward. "It is awfully late in the afternoon, is there anything wrong?"
Angel looked between his co-workers and knew immediately that they had talked about him. "I'm fine."
"Great. So, hop on over there and kill those Ignoramites," Cordelia said with a shooing motion.
"Inogamides," the vampire and Watcher said in unison.
"Oh my God. Whatever, just, go kill something stupid and bring back the other half of that fee."
This demon was big and cunning and Angel thought that more firepower was better than less in this case, but one look at Wesley and the vampire was certain a lecture was brewing. He left the counter and slipped quietly over to the weapons chest. “I think I’ll call Gunn.”
Wesley followed, not only because Cordelia was giving him the evil eye of encouragement, but also because he was concerned.
“Are you dreaming of them?”
“Hmm…” Angel frowned, half-hearing his friend as he tried to make since of how the weapons were stored.
“Your childer, Angel. Are you having … that sort of dream again?”
He sighed and turned to face the inquisition. “No. This is nothing like Darla, okay?”
The vampire spun, snatching a weapon quickly, and headed for the phone.
“What happened last night?” Wesley asked pointedly. “We know you left with … her,” he stressed distastefully. “Hiding your dealings with them can’t be healthy.”
Angel paused in dialing, chuckling lightly. “Nothing about them … or me … is healthy, Wes. Can we do this later?”
“No, I’d prefer we do this now.”
Angel raised an eyebrow, enjoying this side of his … the watcher, as inconvenient as its appearance was. Still, he had no intention of sharing the fact that he’d almost screwed Spike into the mattress and was more sorry that he hadn’t than he was scared for his soul. Wesley would find fault with his logic for sure.
Thankfully, Gunn answered the phone before Angel could say anything. "Demon, meet us at the hotel. Bring a big weapon." He set the phone down after Gunn said he'd be there in five minutes.
"Angel, you cannot avoid this," Wesley said, being more determined than Angel remembered him being. "You have not had this type of contact with your childer since Darla ... and I fear you will become confused."
"Confused? I'm not confused Wesley," Angel said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "They're evil vampires. I kill evil vampires. See,” he laughed, “No confusion."
"Is that so? Then why, might I ask, is Drusilla still alive."
"Who says she is?"
"You certainly gave us no indication that she isn't."
"What do you want, Wesley, her ashes in a jar?"
"I would!" Cordelia chimed in from behind her desk, waving a hand in the air. "Nothing fancy just, you know, I wanna see them."
“Stop playing word games, Angel,” Wesley got back to the point. “Did you stake her? Yes or no?”
Angel picked up his jacket and shook his head.
“And you don’t think you’re confused?” Wesley pressed on.
Half of Angel was positively confused. The desire he felt for the evil he created clouding every aspect of his already shaky judgment. Then there was the demon; it knew exactly what it wanted and how to get it. The feral screams it unleashed inside Angel were growing more difficult to contain. He wanted to leave this all behind and go to them. Freedom awaited him there in Drusilla’s cold, dead arms and in Spike’s calculating companionship, but so did a violent emptiness that he knew was there as well, but he would never miss it once he did not have a soul.
“Oh God,” he blurted as he realized where the swirling, circling chaos of his thoughts was leading him. “I think I’m in trouble,” he whispered to Wesley.
~~~*~~~
Drusilla's passion and intensity never faltered as she sat on the edge of her seat for every second of the production. Already two dead bodies lie on the floor behind them. She had made such a noise at the chaos on the stage that it had attracted a few people. Amazingly, Drusilla had not been the one to kill them, so enraptured was she with the play that Garrison, hungry always, drained the intruders quickly.
Yet by the end of the play, Drusilla was sitting with a frown on her face. This confused Garrison, because during most of it, she had been smiling, only hissing when the 'good guys' came out.
"Dru?" Garrison asked carefully. They had to leave soon, nearly the whole theater was empty and the dead bodies were not going to go over well with security.
Without a word, she stood gracefully and left.
Following, unsure of her mood, Garrison hooked her arm in his and carefully strolled out of the theatre and to the car. He settled her in the passenger seat, before getting in himself and driving off back to the house.
"Hide, hide, and hide some more," Dru said, disgustedly. "All like Daddy, bad, pretending to be good."
Okay, Garrison thought, not voicing anything.
She spun around to face him, startling him in the process, her eyes black and flat, depthless. “They lie, my sweet. Serpents tongues, sharply inventive, more so than what I can create.” She was angry.
Thinking that he understood, he placed preternaturally strong hands on her shoulders, kneading the flesh softly like he had witnessed Spike doing a few times before. “They aren’t really lying, Drusilla … just pretending, for our entertainment.”
Her head tilted and she favored him with a smile. “My William’s right. You are a silly one. Of course, they’re pretending.”
“Then what…” he began, letting his hands fall to his side.
“Come along, dearie.” She took him by the wrist, a grip so tight that his bones shifted painfully. “I want to make a play of my own.”
tbc
by FemailoftheSpecies and claudia6913
Spike/Drusilla, Spike/Other, Spike/Drusilla/Other, Spike/Dawn
Adult (NC-17)
Summary: Set Season 5 "Crush.” Dru's come back to reclaim her boy. Just how hard is it to reconstruct and resurrect Spike?
Warnings: Sex, bloodplay, violence, underage...these are vampires, right?
Disclaimer: Joss owns all, we but play in the fields of his imagination.
Feedback: Yes please
Here is another chapter that Missy and I wrote together. I will put the rest out soon. If you need to catch up or refresh your memory, previous chapters are here. I hope you enjoy.
Too weak to put up any successful resistance both Spike and Willow were easily manipulated and chained to different corners of the room. All the while, Drusilla sang softly to herself and blatantly ignored Spike as he attempted to talk to her. Confused, Garrison follow orders completely and only shrugged when Spike told him to stop.
"You're not my Sire, man," Garrison said, effectively closing off any other consideration Spike thought the boy might have for him. When he got loose, he planned to rectify that situation, but for the moment Garrison, by way of Drusilla, had the upper hand.
"This is bloody ridiculous," Spike said tiredly. "What about the play, Dru? Can't very well go if I'm stuck in 'ere."
"Not to worry, my sweet," was all Drusilla would say. She spun in the middle of the room slowly, taking in everything. With meticulous care she had made sure that anything and everything that could aid them in someway had been removed from the room or from reach.
Spike watched her, growing more wary every minute. She was serious. In his mind, he chuckled; his Sire was actually going to exercise her rights over him, completely and apparently painfully.
“Dru, luv. If you want me to do something, just say so. All this …” He rattled his chains, “Isn’t necessary. You know you’re my everything,” he told her, his voice smooth and warm, like hot blood sliding over her demon.
Her attention appeared to be focused on putting things in a drawer, but when she turned around, her eyes gleaming darkly he knew she had heard him and was oddly displeased. “But you think you’re not my everything, Spike. You need reminding.”
Willow watched, not too worried. Once Drusilla was gone, she would just ask her sire if he wanted to be freed and then use a little magic to make it so. He was her sire and she certainly had to obey him. Those were the rules.
With great relish, Drusilla pulled a long, flowing, red shawl from the drawer and draped it over her shoulders. Reaching out, she wrapped her arm around Garrison's and pulled him in for a soft kiss on his lips.
"You're not to go anywhere," Drusilla said, giggling as the pair walked out of the room.
With disbelief, Spike watched them leave, following them out with his senses. This was no longer a game, this was no longer Drusilla crazily trying to make a point, this was real, and happening, and his Sire had just chained he and his own childe, leaving them there.
"Quit moving," Willow said in a harsh whisper from across the room.
"What?" he asked, shaking off his thoughts.
"I can't concentrate with you fidgeting like that."
“On what?” he frowned, wishing he could reach her, maybe kick her just for the hell of it.
She rolled her eyes and sighed. “On releasing the manacles and getting out of this. Don’t you want to?”
He tilted his head, thinking about it for a moment. “Best not, Red. I’m pretty sure I can break these myself, given a little time, which we have evidently, but she’ll just be in a right snit if I do.”
It was the redhead’s turn to frown. “She’s already in a, a snit.” She didn’t think she had ever once in her life or death used that word. “And I’m hungry. Now!” she growled, yanking on the chains.
He laughed, remembering being chained for weeks. “Get used to it,” was his only advise.
“Oh, no,” she shook her head. “I can free us, and we can go out get something to eat and come back before they get back.” She smiled widely at her planned, obviously pleased. “And Grandmummy,” she rolled her eyes again. “…won’t know a thing.”
Staring at her, his mouth agape he finally found words. “Have you gone completely around the bend? She’ll know. She’ll smell the blood on us, smell the fresh outdoors scent that will cling to us and she’ll pluck it from your overactive brain!” he yelled.
"Don't yell at me! This isn't my fault, momma’s boy! If you would have-"
"You don't want to finish that.” Spike’s voice was deep, cautionary, and she skittered away from the topic, clamping her mouth shut with some effort. Resigned, Willow wiggled a little, trying to get comfortable. It looked like they were going to be there for a while.
~~~*~~~
There was a persistent burr of tension in the car as Garrison drove down Wilshire, headed for The Los Angeles Opera. Periodically, Drusilla craned her neck, taking in the sites as they sped though the city. He saw her as child-like in this behavior, affection for her that had nothing to do with bonds and duty growing, and smiled at her whenever her bright eyes turned to him. At one point, as they neared the Opera house, Drusilla waved out the window. Looking, Garrison noticed it was that same hotel that he and Spike had tracked Drusilla to, the one where Angel lived.
"We'll not be dropping in tonight, dearie. The tea's all gone and it left a bitter taste in my mouth," Drusilla said.
He nodded as if he understood. “Okay,” he said, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Her hands were in her lap and he wanted to take one in his, but refrained. She was giving off a vibe that off-putting and compelling at once.
“Are you okay?”
She turned from the window, her eyes watery as she blinked away the forming tears. “I want Spike,” she pouted slightly, not one of her affected ones, but real and sadder for it.
“Uh, I guess, we could go back and get him.” They were early because Drusilla wanted to hunt close to the theatre and probably wouldn’t miss much if they hurried.
“No, we mustn’t,” she hissed, her hand clutched tightly on his forearm. Ignoring his wince, she went on. “The boy’s upside down and inside out, trying to fill what can’t be filled. The hole is large, and he has his own shoes.”
Garrison whimpered again, feeling his bone starting to crack and she let go, patting him on the head.
“You should wear square toes, dearie. They look much nicer with woolen slacks and naked sheep,” she advised.
“Okay. I, um will next time.” He really missed Spike right now as well.
Finally, they were within a block from the Opera house when the traffic slowed to a standstill. So many people were coming to see the play and parking was an issue. To avoid the thick mess of vehicles he could see a block in front of him, Garrison turned down one side street and then another, parking in the first available spot.
Before he killed the ignition, Drusilla was stepping out, walking dreamily towards the Opera house.
"Dru!" Garrison called and ran to catch up with her. "Wait for me."
Even this far away there is a crowd and he had to push his way through the fleshy mortals to get to his Sire. Her dark hair was visible between a chatty couple and he roughly pushed them to the side, ignoring the indignant remarks.
“Drusilla,” he called again. She spun around, her curled, dark hair bouncing gaily, and favored him with a malicious grin.
“Time for dinner,” she sang before whirling back around and blending in easily. Garrison knocked people aside in an attempt keep up, but was not able to gain much ground
After a few moments, he reached the steps to the theatre, along with what felt like a hundred humans, and tried to locate her. Remembering his lesson from Spike, he closed his eyes, hoping to use the link between them and was able to get a general fix on her, but when he turned that way, he did not see her.
His eyes narrowed in concentration, he scanned the area, using all his senses. He picked up her scent, fleeting and quickly masked by the masses of people around him and was about to give up, when a hand crept over his shoulder, startling him.
Licking her lips of the faint traces of blood, she smiled, showing too many teeth. “The waiters removed the Entrée. You’ll have to wait for dessert,” she told him and slipped her delicate hand in his, tugging him along toward the entrance.
It took some finagling, a few dark looks to the doorman who was having a horrid time understanding Drusilla, but finally, they were seated in what appeared to be very pristine, and expensive seats. A private balcony off to the left side of the stage. Garrison watched, amused as Drusilla bounced in her chair with excitement.
As the lights dimmed, she took hold of Garrison's hand, her eyes glued to the stage, awaiting. He felt a shiver run through her arm and into him at the first discordant notes of the opening music rang through the theater.
Resigned to the fact he would have to sit through an opera, Garrison leaned back in his chair and prayed the horror would end soon enough so that he could find someone to eat.
~~~*~~~
The door to the Hyperion lobby opened, revealing a flustered Wesley. The brunette glanced up from the fluttering papers and smile half-heartedly. It was tax time and Cordelia hated it.
“Is he up, yet?” Wesley whispered.
She shook her head and frown as her gazed drifted upward. “No and it’s weird. I went up to remind him of the Hossler demon that he was supposed to exterminate, but he only grunted and turned over.”
Wesley’s brow furrowed slightly, forming tiny lines in his otherwise smooth forehead. “Hossler demon? What’s a Hossler demon?” Marching over to the bookcase, he fell easily into research mode. “I don’t recall this case. Did you have a vision?” He selected a demon index and thumbed through it carefully.
“No, silly.” Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Mrs. Hossler called about the nest of Ignoramuses, remember?”
He did … slightly. “Inogamides, Cordelia,” he corrected, sighing.
“Whatever?” She waved her hand, dismissing him and the topic. “The point is, last time Angel pulled a Sleeping Beauty like this, he went all vampiry postal.”
Wesley's own eyes drifted heavenward as he contemplated this. "Surely he would have ...," he started to say, but stopped when Cordelia gave her opinion on that in the form of a snort. "It is possible that he’s simply tired?"
"Tired from what? He didn't do anything."
"That we’re aware of."
"No," Cordelia said, shaking her head. "He wouldn't."
Wesley gave her a pointed look that said otherwise.
"He couldn't."
Another look from the Watcher.
"He's not stupid enough ... alright, so he is." Standing up, she walked over to Wesley and leaned on the nearby wall. "So, which one of us is going to talk to him this time about the dangers of sex. I say it's you."
Wesley blanched. “Me?”
“Yeah, you,” Cordy stood, stretching with her arms over her head as she yawned. “Guys talk about this stuff all the time.” Raising an eyebrow, she studied him. “Oh, my bad. You’re not exactly a guy.”
Pushing his lips into a pout, he replied stepping toward her. “No, not when compared with you, Cordelia.”
Narrowed eyes met nasty sneer.
“Hey, kids no fighting.” The both looked up as Angel descended the stairs, wondering just how much the vampire had heard.
“’Bout time you got your lazy bones up. Get over to Mrs. Hossler’s pronto.”
Angel frowned at their seer. He would normally put the singular possessive on that, but since his epiphany, he’d been trying something new, less demony and possessive, with them all. “Since when are you so Gung Ho?”
“Since the woman paid half upfront.” She pulled a check from a manila file folder and snapped it in front of Angel’s eyes.
"Well, in that case," Angel said. Steadily he moved to the counter and took the folder from her hands, slowly looking through it. So, he may be a little less demony about things, but that didn't stop him from enjoying the occasional frustrated look from Cordelia as she tried hard not to say something.
Clearning his throat, Wesley stepped forward. "It is awfully late in the afternoon, is there anything wrong?"
Angel looked between his co-workers and knew immediately that they had talked about him. "I'm fine."
"Great. So, hop on over there and kill those Ignoramites," Cordelia said with a shooing motion.
"Inogamides," the vampire and Watcher said in unison.
"Oh my God. Whatever, just, go kill something stupid and bring back the other half of that fee."
This demon was big and cunning and Angel thought that more firepower was better than less in this case, but one look at Wesley and the vampire was certain a lecture was brewing. He left the counter and slipped quietly over to the weapons chest. “I think I’ll call Gunn.”
Wesley followed, not only because Cordelia was giving him the evil eye of encouragement, but also because he was concerned.
“Are you dreaming of them?”
“Hmm…” Angel frowned, half-hearing his friend as he tried to make since of how the weapons were stored.
“Your childer, Angel. Are you having … that sort of dream again?”
He sighed and turned to face the inquisition. “No. This is nothing like Darla, okay?”
The vampire spun, snatching a weapon quickly, and headed for the phone.
“What happened last night?” Wesley asked pointedly. “We know you left with … her,” he stressed distastefully. “Hiding your dealings with them can’t be healthy.”
Angel paused in dialing, chuckling lightly. “Nothing about them … or me … is healthy, Wes. Can we do this later?”
“No, I’d prefer we do this now.”
Angel raised an eyebrow, enjoying this side of his … the watcher, as inconvenient as its appearance was. Still, he had no intention of sharing the fact that he’d almost screwed Spike into the mattress and was more sorry that he hadn’t than he was scared for his soul. Wesley would find fault with his logic for sure.
Thankfully, Gunn answered the phone before Angel could say anything. "Demon, meet us at the hotel. Bring a big weapon." He set the phone down after Gunn said he'd be there in five minutes.
"Angel, you cannot avoid this," Wesley said, being more determined than Angel remembered him being. "You have not had this type of contact with your childer since Darla ... and I fear you will become confused."
"Confused? I'm not confused Wesley," Angel said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "They're evil vampires. I kill evil vampires. See,” he laughed, “No confusion."
"Is that so? Then why, might I ask, is Drusilla still alive."
"Who says she is?"
"You certainly gave us no indication that she isn't."
"What do you want, Wesley, her ashes in a jar?"
"I would!" Cordelia chimed in from behind her desk, waving a hand in the air. "Nothing fancy just, you know, I wanna see them."
“Stop playing word games, Angel,” Wesley got back to the point. “Did you stake her? Yes or no?”
Angel picked up his jacket and shook his head.
“And you don’t think you’re confused?” Wesley pressed on.
Half of Angel was positively confused. The desire he felt for the evil he created clouding every aspect of his already shaky judgment. Then there was the demon; it knew exactly what it wanted and how to get it. The feral screams it unleashed inside Angel were growing more difficult to contain. He wanted to leave this all behind and go to them. Freedom awaited him there in Drusilla’s cold, dead arms and in Spike’s calculating companionship, but so did a violent emptiness that he knew was there as well, but he would never miss it once he did not have a soul.
“Oh God,” he blurted as he realized where the swirling, circling chaos of his thoughts was leading him. “I think I’m in trouble,” he whispered to Wesley.
~~~*~~~
Drusilla's passion and intensity never faltered as she sat on the edge of her seat for every second of the production. Already two dead bodies lie on the floor behind them. She had made such a noise at the chaos on the stage that it had attracted a few people. Amazingly, Drusilla had not been the one to kill them, so enraptured was she with the play that Garrison, hungry always, drained the intruders quickly.
Yet by the end of the play, Drusilla was sitting with a frown on her face. This confused Garrison, because during most of it, she had been smiling, only hissing when the 'good guys' came out.
"Dru?" Garrison asked carefully. They had to leave soon, nearly the whole theater was empty and the dead bodies were not going to go over well with security.
Without a word, she stood gracefully and left.
Following, unsure of her mood, Garrison hooked her arm in his and carefully strolled out of the theatre and to the car. He settled her in the passenger seat, before getting in himself and driving off back to the house.
"Hide, hide, and hide some more," Dru said, disgustedly. "All like Daddy, bad, pretending to be good."
Okay, Garrison thought, not voicing anything.
She spun around to face him, startling him in the process, her eyes black and flat, depthless. “They lie, my sweet. Serpents tongues, sharply inventive, more so than what I can create.” She was angry.
Thinking that he understood, he placed preternaturally strong hands on her shoulders, kneading the flesh softly like he had witnessed Spike doing a few times before. “They aren’t really lying, Drusilla … just pretending, for our entertainment.”
Her head tilted and she favored him with a smile. “My William’s right. You are a silly one. Of course, they’re pretending.”
“Then what…” he began, letting his hands fall to his side.
“Come along, dearie.” She took him by the wrist, a grip so tight that his bones shifted painfully. “I want to make a play of my own.”
tbc