Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Character/Pairing: Spike/Drusilla, Oz/Willow
Challenge/Prompt: nekid_spike: Ropes and Chains, lands_of_magic: April Showers (If you join, tell them Kat Lee of Team Winter sent YOU!), and beattheblackdog 70: Prejudice
Word Count: 1,582
Date Written: 20 June 2017
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.
He peers down into the library. His eyes narrowing, he looks pass the books to the little redhead reading a story and the beast growling just a few feet behind her. He has to give the little Witch credit. Her voice is surprisingly calm, her demeanor undisturbed even when the Werewolf lashes out at the bars of his cell. Spike knows more than most that the cell might not hold, but Willow doesn't seem bothered. It's not the metal or even the silver chains that she's trusting, however, or even her best friend, the Slayer, and her ability to arrive to her rescue in the nick of time. It's the man inside the Wolf Willow trusts, the boy who usually stays so calm despite the beast raging inside of him.
Spike's seen them in action. He's seen the girl floating pencils and the Wolf glowering from the boy's eyes when he's come to her defense. There's so much more to both of them than either knows just yet, and the story Willow's reading tonight is quite the appropriate tale. Still, it makes the Vampire draw back his black lips in a smirk. Beauty and the Beast, indeed! There's a beauty, he knows, and a beast in everyone. It's just that most people never let either out to play, or if they do, they embrace one and run like Hell from the other one. The girl, for example, has got a well of power inside of her that he doubts she'll ever truly tap while the boy, convinced that the only reason he can be anything more than a beast is because his beauty loves him, doesn't try for his own beauty any longer. He is what Fate has decided to make him, Oz thinks, nothing more or less, but Spike knows better.
Still, something deep inside of the Vampire stirs as he watches these two. Low, cold, and jagged fingers spread through his gut. He could pounce on them so easily, rip the girl to shreds and make it look like the Werewolf did it, fuck up the Slayer's little world so completely, but he won't do it -- not because of her, but because he has almost found a respect for these two. Despite anything else the world throws at them, they stay together. They believe in their love and one another more than anything else in this world, good or evil.
He used to want that kind of love, Spike remembers. He used to believe it was possible back when he was a mortal, a weak human, William . . . He even used to write poems about it. But as a Vampire, he's come to believe that such love is not possible. Oh, he's got his Princess back at the crypt -- he was on his way back home to her with a fresh virgin when he'd thought he would pop by the school for a moment --, but he's no fool. He knows Drusilla's only still with him because she needs him, and he knows they won't last.
He recalls the Slayer saying something about how sweet it was that he was willing to save the world for Dru. He scoffed, told her he just wanted to keep his Happy Meal ticket going, but the truth was, and is, he can't stand the thought of anything hurting his Princess. He'll protect Dru to his very last moment here on Earth, and yet . . . Yet, from time to time, his Princess murmurs about the messages she sees in the stars, messages warning that their time is coming to an end, that he will betray her.
Spike knows better. He'll never betray her. She will be the one to betray him. Angelus will find a way back, and she'll go doting after him again, or there'll be another Big Bad to raise its ugly head and flaunt its power, and she'll go tripping after it. Either way, eventually, she's going to leave him alone. She's going to leave him, desert him, for something bigger, something badder . . . He may love her, but she doesn't love him.
Angelus used to taunt him about being too soft. He said there was too much humanity left in him even after the change. Maybe, Spike thinks with a self-depreciating, downward turn of his smirk, maybe his grandsire was right. He hates to think it, but maybe he was. It would explain why he's such a soft touch where Dru's concerned. It'd explain why he has no desire at all to eat those kids in there, even though it would do such a painful number on the Slayer's soul. It would explain why, after all this time, he still believes in fairy tales, like the one Willow's reading, why he still believes in love.
Monsters don't love. Buffy threw that at him once. He'll never forget it. He almost lashed out at her over those simple words, that stupid belief, that . . . that fact, he admits to himself now in the deep dark of the night. She angered him so much with that simple, prejudiced belief partly because he knew she was right and partly because he didn't want the bitch to be right. It wasn't the simple fact that she was right, that humans did have something better going for them than his kind. It was the fact that she was right, that monsters, his kind, do not love.
They can pretend all they want. They can waltz over the dead they've killed and make love in blood. They can fuck each other senseless and claim to face the whole world, good and bad, together, but the truth is, he's the only one of his kind interested in love, in being loved and loving in return. Angelus doesn't count, because the only reason why that monster appears to love is because of the soul with which he was cursed. Spike doesn't have a soul. He's a true monster, . . . but he still finds himself yearning for love.
He could love Drusilla so easily. Despite everything she's done to him, a part of him still loves her. They say monsters can't love, and it's easy to believe that -- easy to see that in his own kind --, but the truth is whereas monsters don't love, he does. It's why he keeps coming back to her night after night, bringing fresh trophies to his Princess who sees their inevitable end in her stars, doing everything he can to dote upon his Princess and make her well again. He loves her. She, like a true monster, loves power, but he loves her.
The Wolf has calmed now, Spike realizes, and the rain must have started falling too, because he has to bat something wet out of his dark eyes as he peers into the library again. He half expects to find the Werewolf glowering at him, but the Wolf no more knows he's here than the little Witch does -- or perhaps it simply doesn't care. It's curled into a ball in the floor, laying much like a four-legged wolf, but its -- his, Spike realizes as he sees Oz's simple, intent stare in those yellow eyes -- are focused solely on the Witch, who's still reading from that dreaded tale.
They say there's truth in all fairy tales, that every one of them started with a real happening. Spike doesn't know about that -- it was before even his time, and he's never dared to ask Angelus or Darla lest they make even more of a laughing stock out of him --, but in a way, it's nice to think that they could be based on reality. It's nice to think that for some folks, somewhere, some once upon a time, real love did happen. It's nice to believe somebody can have it, even if it's not him.
Something wet falls down his cheek. Spike dashes angrily at the raindrop. The Wolf's ears perk up at the sound of the movement, and he whines. Willow looks up, following his gaze, then jumps. Spike knows he's been seen and the Slayer will be called a second later as the girl's already whipping out her cell phone. He doesn't wait. He doesn't wait. He just runs into the night, forgetting about the rain and running flat out until, at last, he's near his Princess again.
Drusilla looks up, almost as though she's surprised to see him. "Spikey! The stars were wrong! Silly stars, and silly Miss Edith! I told you all not to worry! See? Our dark Knight has returned!"
Spike drops the virgin at her feet. "Brought you dinner, luv," he says and inches pass her. He's not in the mood to listen to her ramblings tonight, especially if they're about things he'll never do. She might leave him, but he'll never willingly leave her.
Thunder rumbles. Drusilla looks up with a smile at the rain begins to fall. "It begins," she murmurs, her crooning voice holding an almost songlike quality to it.
Spike doesn't say anything. He just shrugs out of his black leather duster and realizes that it is indeed dry. Standing in the shadows behind his Princess, he touches his cold, pale cheek with the back of his hand and remembers back to staring in the window and watching a love that will never be his to claim. Maybe it wasn't a raindrop after all.