I hate Red Dwarf.
That's where this all started. With fucking Red Dwarf. I mean, yeah. Funny British guys. Hah-hah. All Brits are funny. Sure. Whatever. It's just a bunch more motherfuckers, only this time, we're talking motherfuckers on TV. So, it's a Saturday night, and I don't feel like channel surfing again.
I don't like what's on TV.
Let's look at the alternatives, shall we? Go drinking. Shoot some pool. Shoot myself, wait to heal. The usual.
God I hate this town.
And I'm still bored.
I'm sitting around, on a big bed, with nothing to do but fuck or go to sleep. I'm not wondering where that shit-for-brains idiot of a vampire is - maybe the Slayer got her. But thinking of that particular blond brings up last night's dream, which brings up altogether too many things I don't want to think about.
I latch onto the mental picture of Harmony, dusted. Yeah, that'll improve my mood for at least a few minutes.
There's stuff to get done, and shite I have to deal with too, before I can get some rest or drinking in tonight. There's a new vamp gang in town, going on about dimensional portals and life in prison.
I saw the inside of a prison once. But, I saw the inside of a flower person, too.
Still. Adebisi's got some brains, if you don't count the 'building a utopia' ideal he's still carting around. He's a little off the deep end, but has a solid right hook. And a mean temper. Yeah, I think I'll stay out of that fucker's way for now.
What better way than to go make nice? So I get up, put on my jacket, and go outside. This is where things go wrong.
~
"It's been forever, dearling."
And a day.
I'm cutting across the park to the warehouse district, where Adebisi has his digs, when I see her. And she greets me with that. And, I have to laugh at myself for a minute. What a great development to the evening.
What the fuck is Dru doing back in town?
"Dru, baby--"
"Shhhhh." She puts a finger to her lips -- is it just my imagination, or is she getting thinner? "You'll wake all the children."
I - this was not in the plan. I was gonna go drink at Willy's bar. Piss some people off. Maybe challenge that Riley to another game of checkers.
The great and mighty William the Bloody, reduced to playing checkers with an AWOL ex-sergeant, current lay of Miss I-Always-Look-So-Delicious. It's enough to make a vampire cry.
The new lads in town, maybe they'll have some work for me. I close my eyes, take a breath. That's it, just - push away this vision. Dru is just some spectre that you're using to get rid of the boredom. Any minute now, you'll see her disappear, or try and kick your ass.
Or... move closer to you and hold up a pigeon by one hand, kissing its head while it coos at you.
Well, Dru did always have a thing for birds. I swallow. Say, "What are you doing here, baby?"
She beams at me. "I want a new necklace."
"But there are hundreds of other--"
She puts a fingernail to my lips, draws it across slowly. I taste salt. "Shhh... lamb."
I swallow again. This. Is. Just. Not. Happening. "You didn't come to see me?"
See, I have a nasty habit of asking exactly the right questions at exactly the wrong times.
She lets the pigeon go, and it flutters away in a flurry of feathers. One falls down and settles in her hair. I don't think she's ever looked this good. She plants a chaste little kiss on my cheek. "Of course I did, lamb." Her skirts swish as she turns around. "You're going to get it for me."
~
So my night of drinking turns into a night of pushing Dru on a swing, and hearing about Europe. She's been busy, my baby. She saw the sites. She went to war. She did all those things that we used to do.
Nostalgic, me? Never.
And I'm about to miss my meeting, when she finally decides that she's done in the park. Thank god. All bets aside, I don't want to fuck this one up. Whoever the new boy in town is, I might be able to use him. Apparently, he's got connections who have connections to people who are livin' with the Watcher.
No, none of these people have names yet. But I might be a little closer to the source; today, I meet with his human contact.
If I were that human contact, I'd be shitting my pants every time I laid eyes on the guy. Not playing with a full deck, hah. I'd bet this Adebisi doesn't even have one card in his hand. That, I can deal with. But if I can get a lead on something more reliable, more's the better.
When she gets up, bright and doe-eyed, my heart does a little flip-flop.
Oh, *yeah*. Definitely not in the plan.
~
"So, brotha. You wanted what?"
"I'm just the welcome wagon, you know, the whole 'meet your neighbor' kind of thing. And to find out where you fit into this whole structure we call Sunnydale!"
The last part is said with some sarcasm, but I think it's lost on the big oaf. The skinny white guy beside him though, he grinned. Sharp one, then. Have to be careful. And behind the skinny guy, there's another guy, with altogether too much facial hair.
Who was it that said you can't trust a man in a beard?
"I don' want to meet my neighbors. Fuck off."
"I'm just trying to be friendly, like."
The black guy turns around, waves a hand, goes back to his cronies. They've got some kind of drugs -- I guess angel dust -- and mentally, I choke on laughter at the name -- and are going at it fairly steadily. God, vamps on drugs regularly. That even scares me a little. God isn't gonna be satisfied until they wring every last drop of irony out of this damned town.
I note, with some surprise, that the skinny guy doesn't touch the stuff. I turn to him, and say a little quieter, "You're a brave lad, to be around vampires."
He shrugs, though a little shiver goes up his spine at the word. "I play my cards right."
"Spike, I'm hungry. Can we go out for dinner?"
My baby stalks in the door -- when, god, will I stop thinking of her as my baby, and what on earth will do it? -- and starts to purr. She's craving attention; I know this act. Any minute now, she's going to want to throw a leg over one of the stoned idiots.
She used to have better taste that that. God, I mean Angelus was an asshole, but at least he had class. Intelligence. That black guy, head-honcho stoner, might have world-class pecs, but you could hit him with a brick and you wouldn't fuck him up any more.
Though, it's doubtful whether you even *could* fuck him up any more.
They all watch her, tongues out and nostrils flaring. She watches them back, wide open face, that gleam in her eyes that says, 'If you dare'.
They better not dare.
The skinny guy, meanwhile, has moved a little closer to me, and now says in a low voice, "Listen, are you really interested in doing some business?"
I can't believe this one. "What, with a human?"
"With someone who's got access to the librarian's house."
I consider. Start to grin. "Yeah, why not. I'll meet you out back." He nods, and grins again. It's the grin of a predator, and I remember thinking, 'Oh, I like him already.'
Now that I think about it, this is probably where things take a turn for a worse.
~
I find myself back at my place, sitting with a couple of beers and a couple of humans. O'Reily -- that's the skinny one, mind -- and I are gettin' along well enough. He's got a-- a something about him, that I kinda like.
I think it's the slimy lack of morals. Or maybe it's all the tattoos.
At any rate, I'm slowly growing to enjoy myself. It's not a massacre, mind, and it's not a mind-blowing night of sex. But it's the most interesting conversation I've had in a while. This guy, now, this guy knows how to have fun.
The guy with him -- Beecher -- doesn't like it here very much. He keeps eying Dru, and playing with his cane. I don't see any injury, but some blokes are like that. They attach themselves to whatever big stick is around, and then live out the rest of their lives fidgeting and wanting to stab the big sticks from behind.
It's not like I speak from experience. And when I look at Dru, I don't remember Angelus at all, either.
"Hey, listen, Spike, right?" I nod. "Yeah, I should probably get Beecher home."
The bearded one -- Beecher, is it? -- growls. "You're not fucking *babysitting* me, Ryan."
Dru leans towards O'Reily, and starts to purr again. "Would you like to see my bird?"
I go to the fridge, get more beers. I've got stuff to do, yet, and a lot of it involves trying to figure out what necklace Dru wants me to get. It's either a ten pence trinket from Woolworth's, or the Crown jewels. Maybe it's a mock-up of the Crown Jewels, with the power to temporarily turn any human that wears it into a vampire, and vice versa.
Hey. That would be a fun trinket. Note to self -- find said trinket. There's a talisman for everything, there has to be one for that. And can you imagine the fun that I could have with that little bobble?
Get it to the Slayer, let her use all that pent up anger and aggression on something better than--
And this is where my thoughts hit a self-made wall, and I shake my head, and stare at Dru, hard. Not that I'm complaining, mind, but I don't think that fantasizing about that is going to get me anywhere tonight.
And Dru is beautiful.
Beecher is staring her down, or trying. My baby's put some kind of hex on him, I think, because his eyelids are most assuredly not blinking. "Dru, honey. Let the nice lawboy go."
She does, and he blinks, finally. Scowls at her. That's a girl. She picks up her doll -- I thought she'd burned that one -- and holds it out to O'Reily. If he dares laugh....
He snorts, but then shuts up when she says, "Miss Edith says you want something. What, Irishman?"
He's taken aback. There's my girl. I lean against the counter, watch the two of them exchange a glance. Last I heard, Ryan O'Reily was playing with the newly released wannabe-evil Slayer.
That was. And is. Or whatever. Faith, meet Ryan O'Reily.
I wish I could have been there. I never get any fun.
O'Reily leans in close to Dru. I wouldn't do that, mate, but it's your neck. She giggles, and I roll my eyes; if I didn't know better, I'd think that O'Reily was hitting on her. God, this guy has balls.
I like him even more, now. I might just keep this one alive.
"No!" Dru mewls, and right away I rush over to her side. I stroke her hair until she calms down a little, and then glare balefully at O'Reily.
His face is unremorseful. "Hey, she wigged out over nothing."
"My baby is *not* *nothing*."
He shrugs, puts up his hands in defeat. "Your baby. I getcha."
I shrug too. "Hey. No hard feelings."
Of course.
Dru, meanwhile, has stood up and started swaying, blissful smile on her face. Oh, lord, she's hearing music and there's nothing playing, again. She puts out a hand to O'Reily, and chirps, "Shall we dance, pretty boy? I used to like pretty boys. My daddy was pretty. And my daddy was, too."
I roll my eyes, and say sarcastically, "She has a big family, y'know."
"Aww. Look at that. Little fucked up vamp girl wants to dance with you, O'Reily."
That's from the quiet, fucked-up little man in the corner, who's been tapping his cane for the last ten minutes and driving me bonkers with it. He's walking what looks to be a finer tightrope than my baby, and he's got a big stick as a weapon.
Funny, I didn't think anything was finer than Dru's line.
Ryan seems to take it all in stride. "Beech, I see the long time with no women around didn't hurt your charm with the ladies one bit."
This is new. These two have a-- a rapport.
And they're giving me a headache.
Did I mention my whole goal for the night was to get drunk and hope that Harmony never came home in the morning? Dru starts to pout, and I remember that, sometime soon, Harmony *may* come home. Oh, damn.
Dru isn't going to like Harmony. Not at all. But bad as it is for my fragile male ego, I don't think that even has to do with me having boinked Harm regularly.
It's just... Dru doesn't like competition.
"Miss Edith is a lady."
Peachy.
I drink another beer, mix some blood in for flavor, and start thinking about cutting off all the Slayer's hair.
~
It's almost three in the morning, and I try to hide my scowl at Dru's continually bright smirk.
Ryan and I actually have some plans. He knows what I want. I know what he wants. We both know that what we said, and what we meant, were two completely different things. He wants power -- craves it. I want--
Let's not go there, William. You'll start to be seeing blondes everywhere you turn. And *that* is too much to handle on a stomach full of cheap Mexican beer, and an evening full of insanity. With an Irishman.
God. It sounds like BBC telly.
Harmony picks now to storm in the door, whining about breaking a nail. Dru's eyes and mouth form little circles, and she turns to me. "You-- you--"
I stand up, and put my face in my hands. Harmony looks at the two men, and at Dru, and then bursts into tears.
I think, briefly, about joining the circus.
"Harmony, luv. Why don't you go in the back, try on some clothes?" This is me, with my hand on her shoulder and a bigger headache than before.
This is me, *not* looking at Dru's spiteful face beside me, and O'Reily's quiet smirking. This is also me, not killing the law boy.
O'Reily said something about a nasty boyfriend of his. I think I'll meet him, next. I get the feeling I'll like him, too.
Maybe we can play poker or something on Saturdays. You know, just a bunch of the boys, out for a depressing night on the town.
"I'm-- I'm leaving you, Spike! I thought you and *her* were through! I thought you loved *me*!"
Harmony, so help me god-- That's it. When her voice gets into the supersonics, so help me, *I'll* dust her. And this time, I'll make sure and finish the job right.
My baby has gone into the bedroom, crooning in the back of her throat. Harmony storms out again, as huffily as she came in -- not forgetting to throw her new bags of clothing down on the floor first.
Wonderful. That means she has to come back.
O'Reily and Beecher follow me into the bedroom, when I tip-toe in to see what Dru's doing. O'Reily says, "I think that's our cue to leave."
I don't answer. I'm staring at Dru, who's sitting on the bed, the remains of a stuffed dog Harm brought home strewn around her like pieces of apple pie. Or, nothing like apple pie, but what the fuck do I have to compare cotton batton to? I can't see clouds anymore.
It's worth it, all this bickering and pandering to these wankers, though, when Dru puts down the dog's glass eyes, and stares at Beecher. One second made my whole night.
She's gonna come up with something that'll make up for all the rest of the shite I've seen tonight. And that's why I love her. Yeah, this is better than drinking, I think. I'm definitely going to start that poker game, now.
When she points at him, mouth upturned and eyes dark as sin, I almost drool. When she speaks, my baby has the law boy absolutely pegged. "You're crazy."
His eyes bug out, and I can see him thinking about how to react -- whether to play it up, bare his teeth, or cow. See, he might be crazy, but he knows he's in the presence of a vamp -- he choses silence. Next to him, the Irish boy's lips turn up in a knowing grin.
Now, I might love Dru, might have always loved Dru, but she's six ways from Sunday crazy. I know this. But she's got a way about people, she can sniff out their secrets. And if she says that he's gone off his rocker, I cringe to think what it might mean.
And then I think to myself, Right. Entertainment, here I come.
Looking at the lawyer practically foaming at the mouth, I cover my mouth with my hand, and try not to snicker. This is so much better than television, I think to myself, and actually maybe look forward to tomorrow night. Lister might have more curry, and the Cat might get laid another time, and there might be all the undercurrent and laughs that anyone could *possibly* stand.... but I'm not gonna have to watch it.
I've finally got better things to do.
And this is about where things blindside me, and make my life a living hell. Which, you might think a vamp would like, but believe me. My hell isn't burning brimstone and the smokey depths, with demons and fire for all of eternity.
My hell has faces, names, and a headache that NOTHING is ever getting rid of.
If I'd known, I probably would have staked myself right then.