Chapter 7: Eye of the Beholder
“So what do we know?” Lindsay demanded of the man they’d set to watch Drusilla.
The man known only as Jones shrugged. “Not much. That vampire isn’t going anywhere near her, and she’s staying mostly with the English guy.”
Lilah frowned. She had no idea what Lindsay was planning for either Drusilla or Angel, and he was refusing to tell her. It was really pissing her off. “I don’t see how that’s supposed to let us get to Angel, Lindsay. We wanted him dark. Drusilla staying elsewhere isn’t helping.”
Lindsay shook his head. “Haven’t you been listening, Lilah? Drusilla doesn’t want anything to do with Angel, and she was his greatest obsession. It’s going to drive him crazy that he can’t get to her.”
Lilah rolled her eyes. “He’s a hero, Lindsay. It might drive him crazy, but he’s not going to do anything about it.”
“Maybe not, but we can,” Lindsay replied. “What do you think Angel would do if someone went after her? Or if we drove her crazy again? He’d insist on protecting her, and that’s only going to get him into trouble.” The young lawyer looked back at Jones. “Keep watching her,” he ordered. “But make sure she knows she’s being watched. That should unsettle things.”
Of course, the funny thing about dealing with the paranormal on a daily basis is that you often forget to take it into account. No one at Wolfram & Hart seemed to remember that Drusilla had her visions long before Angelus had come along. If they had, Lindsay and Lilah would have had very different plans for the woman.
Very different plans indeed.
~~~~~
Wesley had not lived with another person since he’d shared a room at the Watcher’s Academy, and that had been a very long time ago. In fact, he hadn’t shared a room at all his last year, since the Head Boy had a private room. He could therefore be excused for forgetting that he had a guest, especially a female one, when coming out of the bathroom fresh from the shower, with only a towel around his waist.
Wesley had been thinking quite intently about the rather knotty problem of exactly what one did with former vampires, and it slipped his mind that said ex-vampire was currently sharing quarters with him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Drusilla called out to him.
One hand over his heart, one hand desperately clutching the towel, Wesley stared at her. Drusilla looked as scared as he probably did. “I’m sorry,” he managed to gasp. “I-well, you startled me.”
“I’m sorry,” Drusilla said, watching him warily, as though he might strike out. Then her eyes started traveling downwards and Wesley’s hand gripped the towel even more tightly. “I just-where’s the tea, please?”
Wesley blinked. “I’ll show you. Just a minute. I just need-” He gestured helplessly at his half-clothed state with his free hand and darted off to the bedroom. Drusilla watched him leave and then giggled. It had been nice to see someone other than herself flustered for once.
Thinking of his bare chest brought another sort of pleasure that Drusilla didn’t linger over too long. Dru might be a good girl, but she wasn’t blind. Nor was she dead-at least not anymore.
Drusilla frowned. There was someone watching them. She drifted over to the window and flicked the curtain aside. The man was standing down on the street, and she could see him clearly. In more ways than one.
The smile that graced her face was not guileless, nor was it kind. Spike would have recognized it for what it was-the smile of a ruthless woman.
“Drusilla? Is something the matter?” Wesley called from behind her.
She turned to look at him. He was fully dressed now in jeans and a short sleeved shirt, watching her with a mixture of puzzlement and concern. “We’re being watched,” Drusilla replied, then giggled at her own pun. “Watchers are watching the Watcher.”
Wesley came to stand beside her at the window, immediately seeing who she was talking about. A light entered his eyes that the Slayer would not have recognized, but that Drusilla welcomed. “Perhaps I should go down and have a little chat with him.”
Drusilla shook her head. “It’s not necessary. There’s no harm, not yet. They will try to hurt me.”
There was no fear in her voice, a fact Wesley found quite remarkable. “I won’t let them.”
She met his eyes, then smiled. “No, you won’t.”
~~~~~
Spike stood on the Summers’ front porch, wondering what the hell he was doing there. He and Buffy had patrolled together three nights in a row, and it was-and he couldn’t believe he was even thinking this-fun.
It was one thing to kill his own kind; Spike realized that made him a traitor. At the same time, it wasn’t as though he was actually on the Slayer’s side. If she kicked it tomorrow, he’d dance on her grave with the rest of them. No, Spike hunted demons because he needed a spot of violence before bedtime the way an alcoholic needed liquor. It was an aching thirst that was never completely slaked.
It was something completely different when you accompanied the Slayer while she killed vampires and demons, and enjoyed it. That was the real kicker. Spike was enjoying Buffy’s company. It was ridiculous-a vampire even thinking about a Slayer in a friendly manner.
Spike had made a promise to Drusilla to look after the Slayer’s mother, however, and that was a promise he didn’t mind keeping. That’s what he told himself. By helping the Slayer, he was actually helping her mother, since Joyce would be devastated if something happened to Buffy.
Yeah, Spike didn’t buy it either.
“Spike?” Joyce smiled at him when she opened the door. “Come on in. Would you like something to drink?”
That’s what Spike appreciated about Joyce. She was always warm, always welcoming, and always had a cuppa for him. “Hot chocolate would be great,” he replied hopefully.
“Or blood?” Joyce offered.
Spike blinked. This was the first time he’d been offered blood. “Uh, sure. With little marshmallows?”
Joyce didn’t even bat an eyelash. “Of course.”
Spike followed her back into the kitchen, grabbing a seat at the kitchen island. “So, uh, is your daughter anywhere ’round here?”
“She’s out with Willow tonight,” Joyce replied. “I don’t know when she’s going to be back. Was there something you needed?”
Spike wanted to ask if Buffy had said anything about patrolling with him, but he didn’t want to press his luck. Instead, he asked the other question that had been bothering him. “You heard from Dru at all?”
Joyce gave him a compassionate look. “I believe Wesley called yesterday to let us know that things were going well, but nothing more than that. Did you want to call her, Spike? If you wanted to use our phone-“
Spike cut her off with a shake of his head. “No, I was-just wonderin’ if she was alright, ‘s all. Don’t want to bother her.”
“I doubt you’d be ‘bothering’ her, Spike,” Joyce said gently. “Maybe she’d enjoy hearing from you. I’m sure she’d appreciate knowing you’re still thinking about her.”
Spike was afraid that if he even heard her voice, he’d be too tempted to take off and head to L.A., no matter what kind of promises he’d made. “Better to let her get settled in,” he replied. “Don’t want to disturb her or anythin’.”
Joyce couldn’t resist. She put an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. “It’s going to be just fine, Spike. I’m sure you’ll work things out.”
Spike glanced up at her, blue eyes vulnerable. There was no one else in the world he’d allow to see him like this, but Spike had always told his mother the truth. He treated Joyce no differently. With her, he was all boy-uncouth, perhaps, but a boy again nonetheless. “Not with Dru,” he admitted, the first time he’d said it out loud. “‘s never gonna be like it was.”
“It never is,” Joyce said, thinking about her own failed marriage. “Sometimes you just grow apart, Spike. It’s not really anybody’s fault, but it happens.”
When she had suggested as much the first time he’d cried in his hot chocolate over Dru, Spike had denied even the possibility. Being immortal also meant that they were unchangeable. They were supposed to have had an eternal love, and it had somehow ended. They had-as Joyce suggested-grown apart.
“We weren’t supposed to change,” he said. “We were supposed to be forever.”
“I know,” Joyce replied gently. “Been there, done that.”
Spike looked at her, and a brightly mischievous glint entered his eyes. “He was a bloody wanker-if you’ll excuse the expression.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Joyce replied. “Do you want to watch a movie?”
~~~~~
Buffy hated to admit it, but she’d been disappointed to find Spike gone when she got to his crypt. It was wrong-sick and wrong. The vampire Slayer should not even be friendly with an evil, unsouled bloodsucker, and yet she found herself having to create a new label for Spike. Or, well, do away with labels altogether.
She was beginning to think that Spike didn’t have a box.
It was an uncomfortable feeling, indeed. If she had to rethink Spike’s position in relation to the universe, did that mean she had to rethink vampires in general?
Well, Buffy wasn’t the queen of denial for nothing. The Slayer simply told herself that Spike was the only vampire in the history of the world to have gotten a chip in his head, and that made all the difference. After all, if he hadn’t had the chip, Spike would have turned Drusilla immediately, rather than waiting.
Yeah, Buffy didn’t really buy it either.
She felt that Spike’s treatment of Drusilla had unseated her world from its axis. She preferred her world to be completely stable. Buffy preferred stability. It would be easier if she just avoided Spike, and all associated thoughts of the chipped menace, from now on.
Of course, that would mean losing her Slaying partner. She didn’t particularly want to lose the one bright spot in an otherwise dull summer.
However her opinion of Spike might have changed over the last week or so, Buffy was still just a little shocked to arrive home and find her mom and Spike ensconced on the couch watching some old black and white flick. “Mom?”
“Oh, hello, sweetheart,” Joyce said absently, her eyes glued to the screen where Deborah Kerr and Cary Grant were involved in an intense conversation. “You want to watch the movie with Spike and me? We’ve got popcorn.”
The world had definitely become topsy-turvy.
~~~~~
Angel was moping, and Cordelia was rapidly getting fed up. There were still visions, still racing off to the rescue, but she was going nuts, where before things had felt almost normal. Now, Wesley stayed at his apartment a good bit of the time with Drusilla, leaving Cordy to handle Angel all by herself.
He was driving her insane.
“Are you sure she doesn’t want to see me?”
It was the fifth time Angel had asked that question. He was beginning to remind her of a five-year-old on a long car trip. “Angel, for the last time, give Drusilla a little space. She’ll come around when she’s ready and not before.”
“I just-I feel like I should be doing more, helping her through this,” Angel protested. “She’s alone in the world because of me. I’m the one that turned her, and Wolfram and Hart brought her back because of me.”
Cordy sighed. She did understand Angel’s guilt. She also wanted him to snap out of it. “Angel, there is nothing you can do. Accept it and move on.” Cordelia paused. “Although, if I was Drusilla, I could think of something you could do.”
Angel was ready to do anything to assuage his guilt. “What’s that?”
“Shopping. New clothes always help.”
“You think?” Angel looked thoughtful. “Dru always did like a new dress.”
“Absolutely,” Cordy said. “I’d be happy to take her tomorrow. I’m sure Wesley could use a break anyway.”
Angel started digging for his wallet. If he couldn’t do anything for Drusilla himself, he’d let Cordelia do it for him. “Okay,” he said, handing her the credit card. “Get her whatever she needs.”
The seer’s eyes lit up at the sight of the plastic. “Perfect.”
“And go ahead and get something for yourself,” Angel suggested. “For putting up with me still being here.”
Cordelia smiled at him. “Will do. And while we’re shopping, Wesley is going to help you find a new place.”
~~~~~
” An Affair to Remember ?” Buffy asked, her voice squeaking slightly. They were sitting out on the back porch so Spike could have his smoke. “But why?”
Spike shrugged. He’d originally seen the film with Drusilla when it had first come out, and so he refused to be ashamed of it. “Your mum wanted to watch it.”
It was a perfectly reasonable response. It even made sense, in a weird sort of way. But seeing Spike lounging on the couch with her mother, eating popcorn and watching one of the sappiest romances ever made-
Buffy could swear that Spike got misty-eyed at the end of the movie too.
“Spike, that’s probably one of the most sentimental movies ever made. Why on earth would the Big Bad be watching it?”
“Your mum wanted to watch it,” he repeated patiently, as though speaking to a very small, very slow child. “Besides, there’s nothin’ unmanly ’bout wishin’ for lasting love. Everybody wants that.”
Vampires weren’t supposed to care about lasting love, but Spike’s actions with Drusilla had already made Buffy a trifle suspicious of that theory. The Slayer finally plopped down on the step next to Spike, watching him warily as he smoked his cigarette. Spike, for his part, was trying not to get too nervous about the way she was watching him.
“What?” Spike demanded, unable to take it any longer.
“You really do like my mom.”
“Said I did, didn’t I?” Spike sighed. “She’s nice.”
“She hit you over the head with an ax.”
Spike’s eyes went dreamy. “Yeah, she did. Your mum’s got stones.”
Buffy made a disgusted face. “You like my mother?”
“What?” Spike stared at her in horror. “No! Bloody hell, what made you think that?”
“You! You were talking about her like-like-ew!”
“Was not!” Spike glared at her. “Yeah, I like your mum. She’s nice. Maybe in another situation I’d be interested, but as it is, I just think she’s a decent person. You don’t meet too many of those.”
Buffy had to admit that much was true at least, and the real dismay on his face caused her to relax a trifle. “I don’t get you.”
“Well, same goes here,” Spike replied sullenly. “Slayers aren’t supposed to have friends and family, an’ you’ve got a whole gang of ’em.”
“Well, vampires aren’t supposed to be able to love.”
“Who told you that?” Spike scoffed. “We can love. Get it a bit twisted sometimes, I s’pose, but we love just fine.”
“Angel-“
An emphatic eye-roll cut her off. “Slayer, Angelus was a bastard before and durin’ being a vampire. Don’t see how the soul has improved him all that much either.”
Buffy decided she didn’t want to go there. “Well, vampires aren’t supposed to be able to change anyway,” she stated, determined to win at least one argument with Spike.
“You might think that,” Spike replied. “But if you don’t change, you die, Slayer. You don’t adapt, you end up dust on the end of a stake.”
Their eyes met, enemy to enemy. Ally to ally. Friend to-friend? “Dru told me to look after your sister too,” Spike said after a long silence.
“I don’t have a sister,” Buffy said automatically. Then she sighed. “Drusilla said something about having a sister to me too. Something like she’d be the key to the whole thing, whatever that means.”
Spike was quiet, then said in a low voice. “She made me promise to stay here, you know. Said there’d be more blood shed if I didn’t. I was goin’ to leave town.”
“I know,” Buffy replied. “At least, I figured on the whole leaving town part. Why didn’t you go?”
“Because she was right.” Spike glanced over at her. “Don’t know what’s comin’, but I don’t think I’m supposed to be with her anymore.”
“Are you offering your services?”
Spike leered at her, although Buffy could detect the spark of mischief in his eyes that suggested he was trying to push her buttons. “You askin’ for ’em?”
Buffy smiled sweetly. “I could always use more muscle, Spike. There shouldn’t be any trouble finding work for you.”
“Oh?”
“You can always take out the garbage.”