001: Lab Specimens [Holo]
“I had a dream about the hanged man.” Without opening her eyes, Drusilla stepped off the platform. She didn’t need to peep out in order to see. She could smell it from here. The change in the air, the sickening metal tang of the machines, the whispers of the false stars. It wasn’t right. “Is he upside down, or did he miss the world turning around
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There were boxes behind him in the little nondescript apartment. He'd been planning to move for a day or two. They went completely unnoticed now as he leaned in, looking closely at the hologram of Drusilla....and found the little red light that indicates recording was on.
"Damned bloody thing!" he cursed at it, and it looked like he might try to fling it across the room for a moment. But then the anger drained quickly away as he resigned himself and nodded at the screen. "Hi, Dru."
He was too familiar with that incredible pain, the one that took over every sense with bad intent- but seeing as he wasn't expecting Drusilla to be here at all (for some reason), it may take awhile for that one to sink in.
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"No! No ... no ... you can't be here ..."
She'd ran away. She'd left him behind to catch the Slayer, but she'd been swept up instead. In the end, it had been easier to stay in Sunnydale. She kept on running, all the while standing still.
"They're going to get you. Spike! The tin soldiers. You can't be here."
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And now he furrowed his brow, remembering what he'd seen. "Dru, you-" She'd reacted like she had a chip in her head, but that never happened...unless the Initiative continued on elsewhere, which was entirely possible given the nature of government institutions. Especially secret ones.
He shifted in his seat, wincing as his back hit the back of his chair. Thanks to plenty of blood he'd been healing right along, but he still wasn't in the best of shape after that humiliating beatdown they'd received from that other vampire. He ignored it the best he could.
"The tin soldiers, did they mess with your head? Put somethin' in it?"
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Drusilla shook her head sharply, as if she was attempting to brush a way a bothersome fly. Or as if she was attempting to force the nasty wires to come loose and leave her be. (It never worked. Oh, she tried and she tried, but it never worked.)
But he'd seen her, hadn't he? She couldn't hide away now.
"They caught me," she admitted petulantly, "Cut me up and stitched me back together with nasty little knick knacks inside. I'm all broken. You weren't supposed to see."
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"Would've thought you'd have avoided them, pet, considering what they'd made me into." He said it gently, hoping Drusilla would come back with something resembling an explanation. If she had a chip in her head, then he doubted she was dealing terribly well.
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But she was broken, wasn't she? Too broken for her William, too broken for the vampire who had tortured people with railway spikes and splattered pretty crimson across the pavements. (She missed those days. Missed them and and longed for them and hated them because she couldn't have then again.)
"You?" Drusilla looked at him in frank - or as frank as she ever could be, with the pixies making things ever so difficult - confusion. "They caught you? No! They're not allowed. They can't have you. I'll chop them up, tear them up. I'll cut out their hearts ..." She clutched her head again, with a snarl of annoyance and pain. "Oh, you poor, silly little thing."
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"What the sodding hell?" he said under his breath, which was pretty much his thoughts on the manner. He speaks to her in that tone he gets with her sometimes, like he's talking to a small child. "Dru, they caught me before you. You remember? You tried to come back and take care of me like a bloody vampire nursemaid and I wouldn't have it?" Well. He had it that once. But that woman was dead before he could do anything about it, and- okay, not the best time to be thinking of how delicious she was. Not like he had a soul then, but it's pinging him anyway, damned thing.
"When did they catch you?" he asks, carefully. "What happened before it? Time isn't steady here like it is other places, you know."
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It could have been a dream. It would even have read like a story, if it had had a better hero.
"I've never played nursemaid. Just when you were in your chair." Such a long time ago, now. A long time and no time at all. "We were in South America, but it wasn't right. I couldn't settle. You brought me so many beautiful things ... beautiful people ... but they all turned to ashes in my mouth. I had to kill her. I thought if I killed her, it would all be fixed." Drusilla paused, letting out a hollow, humourless laugh. "The tin soldiers caught me. Stuck their needles in my head. I couldn't kill her. She helped me. I can't kill her."
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"So you- you never pranced about with that chaos demon? You went to fix it instead, go to the root of the problem, you went to kill Buffy?" And so she was caught instead of him- this made him feel a bit sick, thinking of what must have happened to him if that chain of events occurred. He'd still be out, living it up and tearing things down, but he could hardly thing he wouldn't have tried to come back to find Drusilla.
One thing stuck in his head. 'I can't kill her.' "That's right, pet- Buffy helped you, so you can't kill her. I understand. You can't kill her here either, you know that, right?" He'd rather not have to worry about her attacking Buffy, even if he will likely do so anyway.
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In truth, Drusilla wasn't sure what had happened to Spike in her world. She'd slipped off in the night, covering her tracks with the utmost care. (She was no fool, not Drusilla. She knew how to avoid sinking ships and keep the stars on her side, and she knew how to get nicely lost.) She'd intended to go back to him as soon as she'd freed her head from the Slayer. She still would. He'd be ever so pleased when she showed him their new daughter. He might even forget to be cross with her for running away.
She growled at that, low in her throat. "I wouldn't. Not the Slayer. It's been written."
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And she wouldn't harm Buffy. Or at least won't try for now. Spike takes a breath and lets his shoulders relax a little. "Right, then. So you're the one that went to Sunnydale, not me. Took a bit more proactive path than what I remember. We split off somewhere, Dru, and I don't expect you to understand, but..." On second thought, it'd probably be a good idea to keep his mouth shut here. If she was going to understand the full story, she'd come about it in her own way. He didn't need to help it along.
"Look, do you know how to get out of there?" He really did not have enough vodka to last the day.
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Easier to seize on his last statement than question his first. She didn't want to know, she didn't want to know. The different paths they'd taken, the different lives they'd lived. It would only hurt.
Her fingers twitched, and she wrapped her arms unconsciously around herself. She missed Miss Edith. (Who would look after her, if Drusilla was trapped here?)
"I can get out?"
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He nodded at her. "Pick up the thing I'm talkin' to you on, and it'll let you out. You're just in the parlour room, pet."
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She missed the sun, sometimes. It had been such a long time since she'd seen it, and she hadn't savoured it properly then. Too busy running from Daddy before he was Daddy. You didn't realise you should hold on to something until it was already gone.
Obediantly, Drusilla did so, turning the metal over in her hands and causing the picture to spin once or twice before she gets bored and settles it upright.
"Is there anything nice to see? Or nice people? Are there nice people to play with?"
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