Buffy tVS: Down to the Embers 1/1
Jan. 17th, 2009 07:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveTitle: Down to the Embers
Author: James (zortified)
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Threesome: Spike, Drusilla, Angelus
Rating: PG-13 for blood and vampiric gore
Word Count: 1010
Spoilers: set Season 2, with historical references
Notes: written for Anna (unfeathered) for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
3_ships ficathon.
Summary: Spike is trying to find a cure for Drusilla, and wishes things were the way they used to be.
Down to the Embers
She never used to sleep so much.
Spike watched her sleeping now in the bed he'd made up to remind her of the fairy princesses that only lived in her head and in storybooks. Luckily for him, he remembered reading those same storybooks as a boy. Finding the silk sheets and flowers for her pillow was easy.
Finding a cure was not.
She never used to sleep so much, except when they'd gorged on blood and fear and sated themselves in lust. Decades ago when they'd still belonged to Angelus and Darla -- with, he tried to tell himself. But his brain knew better and it whispered, 'to' even as he forced his thoughts beyond the word. Back when the four of them had traveled together and the nights had been filled with pain and fear and blood and everything a vampire could ask for. Afterwards, sometimes, Dru would curl up and sleep a week away.
Sometimes Spike would sit with her, hand on her shoulder and waiting. Making sure no one disturbed her. Making sure if she woke and needed something, he would be there to fetch it.
It was wrong to see her sleeping now, eyes so lifeless when she did wake and no amount of promises to find and destroy and kill could rouse her spirit.
She whispered in her sleep and Spike caught every word, still sitting at her side like a loyal footman. Names and places and memories they shared, words and things he didn't know if they were real or garbled nonsense.
Sometimes she said his name, and Spike would whisper to her, ease her to a deeper sleep, wishing that such a thing would help her to heal instead of draw her ever so slowly farther away from him.
He sat beside her now, her hand in his, tracing his finger across the thin bones of her wrist. She was still, like the dead -- but without even that glimmer of whatever it was one would call 'life' if it weren't for an undead killer like a vampire. Spike remembered teasing Angelus, once, about the need for a whole new language, how vampires were so uncreative when it came to slang.
He'd kept it up until Angelus had finally spun on his heel, shoved his face into Spike's. Barely a hair's breadth apart, Angelus had glared at what, at the time, had been his relatively new addition to their little family. Spike had simply waited, still unsure of the rules and how far he could push -- and how far he'd push, regardless.
Spike remembers that day, Angelus' hand suddenly at his throat, finger brushing his neck in an echo of Spike's motion at Dru's wrist.
Angelus let him go and walked away that night, never spoke a word and Dru had simply laughed, and Spike had ended up dancing with her, swirling her and watching her hair fly out in the night air, the scent of children's blood on her lips.
He can't remember the last time she laughed, so full of -- well, he still didn't have a word for it, but 'life' was almost appropriate. So full of being Dru that anyone would be captivated.
He wanted her back. His Dru, the way she was. He wanted to cure her and make her better and make her his again. He wanted it so badly that he didn't even mind when his traitorous brain tells him that she was never his, that at most he was hers and really, they both belonged -- but there was a place he had tried never to go. Because he was gone, he was gone and cursed and had....
Spike hated to think such words. Hated it with as much passion as he missed and loved his Drusilla. It made him feel weak, and human, and sometimes he thought Dru had made a mistake, picking him to be her toy.
Then other times, like when he sat at her bedside, watching her sleep, and wishing for things he was afraid might never happen, he thought. Angelus had abandoned them, like playthings a child no longer wanted.
"It's better," Spike whispered, catching himself but then seeing that Dru was not disturbed -- and wishing that she had been. That his words spoken out-loud might have woken her and her eyes would be clear and dark and full of rage or joy or something other than faint longing.
He held her hand gently, raised it to his chest.
"It's better this way, my pet," he said. "Better that he is gone, because for all of these years we have been just the two of us. Alone together, roaming the world. Destroying whatever we took into our minds to destroy. Nothing stood in our way, did it?"
He kissed her hand, thinking of a story he could tell her. What memory might be a favorite? The time they'd locked the doors of a church with long wooden poles and set fire to it, dancing on the square to the music of the humans' screams? The time they'd broken into a Nathi hive, and kicked everyone out, and gorged themselves on the nectar of the queen's dead body?
Or the times when it was the two of them, alone in a dark place, nestled together and the rest of the world might have dried up and blown away for all they knew?
On the bed, Dru shifted slightly, and moaned. He knew the sound, the sound of pain that came from a lover's touch, and he smiled. Smiled until he heard the name on her lips.
Spike lowered his head, still clasping her hand. Then he looked at her, still sleeping, and began to talk.
"There was a night, once, long long ago in a country far, far away. When Angelus still walked the earth, and creatures great and small, feared him.
And there were two vampires who traveled with him, and when they were very, very lucky, he would feed on them."
Author: James (zortified)
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Threesome: Spike, Drusilla, Angelus
Rating: PG-13 for blood and vampiric gore
Word Count: 1010
Spoilers: set Season 2, with historical references
Notes: written for Anna (unfeathered) for the
3_ships ficathon.Summary: Spike is trying to find a cure for Drusilla, and wishes things were the way they used to be.
Down to the Embers
She never used to sleep so much.
Spike watched her sleeping now in the bed he'd made up to remind her of the fairy princesses that only lived in her head and in storybooks. Luckily for him, he remembered reading those same storybooks as a boy. Finding the silk sheets and flowers for her pillow was easy.
Finding a cure was not.
She never used to sleep so much, except when they'd gorged on blood and fear and sated themselves in lust. Decades ago when they'd still belonged to Angelus and Darla -- with, he tried to tell himself. But his brain knew better and it whispered, 'to' even as he forced his thoughts beyond the word. Back when the four of them had traveled together and the nights had been filled with pain and fear and blood and everything a vampire could ask for. Afterwards, sometimes, Dru would curl up and sleep a week away.
Sometimes Spike would sit with her, hand on her shoulder and waiting. Making sure no one disturbed her. Making sure if she woke and needed something, he would be there to fetch it.
It was wrong to see her sleeping now, eyes so lifeless when she did wake and no amount of promises to find and destroy and kill could rouse her spirit.
She whispered in her sleep and Spike caught every word, still sitting at her side like a loyal footman. Names and places and memories they shared, words and things he didn't know if they were real or garbled nonsense.
Sometimes she said his name, and Spike would whisper to her, ease her to a deeper sleep, wishing that such a thing would help her to heal instead of draw her ever so slowly farther away from him.
He sat beside her now, her hand in his, tracing his finger across the thin bones of her wrist. She was still, like the dead -- but without even that glimmer of whatever it was one would call 'life' if it weren't for an undead killer like a vampire. Spike remembered teasing Angelus, once, about the need for a whole new language, how vampires were so uncreative when it came to slang.
He'd kept it up until Angelus had finally spun on his heel, shoved his face into Spike's. Barely a hair's breadth apart, Angelus had glared at what, at the time, had been his relatively new addition to their little family. Spike had simply waited, still unsure of the rules and how far he could push -- and how far he'd push, regardless.
Spike remembers that day, Angelus' hand suddenly at his throat, finger brushing his neck in an echo of Spike's motion at Dru's wrist.
Angelus let him go and walked away that night, never spoke a word and Dru had simply laughed, and Spike had ended up dancing with her, swirling her and watching her hair fly out in the night air, the scent of children's blood on her lips.
He can't remember the last time she laughed, so full of -- well, he still didn't have a word for it, but 'life' was almost appropriate. So full of being Dru that anyone would be captivated.
He wanted her back. His Dru, the way she was. He wanted to cure her and make her better and make her his again. He wanted it so badly that he didn't even mind when his traitorous brain tells him that she was never his, that at most he was hers and really, they both belonged -- but there was a place he had tried never to go. Because he was gone, he was gone and cursed and had....
Spike hated to think such words. Hated it with as much passion as he missed and loved his Drusilla. It made him feel weak, and human, and sometimes he thought Dru had made a mistake, picking him to be her toy.
Then other times, like when he sat at her bedside, watching her sleep, and wishing for things he was afraid might never happen, he thought. Angelus had abandoned them, like playthings a child no longer wanted.
"It's better," Spike whispered, catching himself but then seeing that Dru was not disturbed -- and wishing that she had been. That his words spoken out-loud might have woken her and her eyes would be clear and dark and full of rage or joy or something other than faint longing.
He held her hand gently, raised it to his chest.
"It's better this way, my pet," he said. "Better that he is gone, because for all of these years we have been just the two of us. Alone together, roaming the world. Destroying whatever we took into our minds to destroy. Nothing stood in our way, did it?"
He kissed her hand, thinking of a story he could tell her. What memory might be a favorite? The time they'd locked the doors of a church with long wooden poles and set fire to it, dancing on the square to the music of the humans' screams? The time they'd broken into a Nathi hive, and kicked everyone out, and gorged themselves on the nectar of the queen's dead body?
Or the times when it was the two of them, alone in a dark place, nestled together and the rest of the world might have dried up and blown away for all they knew?
On the bed, Dru shifted slightly, and moaned. He knew the sound, the sound of pain that came from a lover's touch, and he smiled. Smiled until he heard the name on her lips.
Spike lowered his head, still clasping her hand. Then he looked at her, still sleeping, and began to talk.
"There was a night, once, long long ago in a country far, far away. When Angelus still walked the earth, and creatures great and small, feared him.
And there were two vampires who traveled with him, and when they were very, very lucky, he would feed on them."