Disclaimer: Select a random episode of Buffy, and study the details very carefully. Now tell me: at any place during the credits, did you see my name flash by? Nope. And unless they add an obsessive fan list to it, it's going to stay that way.

Warnings: mild violence, mild language, sex, character death... man, I was evil with this one :grins:


I love you.

Even to someone as insane as Dru, those words meant something. It was like a pledge, a promise of feeling even beyond the grave. Her whispers, his words, their unwritten poetry existed within her, inside his Drusilla. In each step she danced, those kisses she gave, every wound she inflicted - there was prose. Of course there were different moods to it, a gruesome one when she snapped a neck, a mothering one when she held Miss Edith, and a complete one when they made love. But it was all poetry, they were just different verses to the same lyrics... the poem that was Drusilla.

The poem that was destroyed.

In a single flash of wood, Buffy stole her life away. From Spike. From the world. His insane, midnight clad angel turned to ash before his eyes and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it, not a goddamned thing! She gasped as the wood pierced her, then was gone, showering her doll in her mother's remains all thanks to the slayer. He could remember his black Goddess very well, he could still see her walking through the door. That whispering moon outlining her figure... wintry cream skin veiled by even paler lace... those sparkling doe eyes filled with secrecy, beckoning to him, needing him - wanting him.


"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't, Spike!" Buffy commanded, holding his beloved in a choke hold. A wooden shaft positioned in her other hand, she pressed the tip against Dru's white dress, scratching the flawless skin beneath.

"If you don't want your brain torn from your skull, I think that would be a pretty good reason!" Panted the vampire, ready to bash the slayers head in. Exhaustion had claimed him from the fist fight with her, but if she thought he would let her kill Drusilla scratch free, then she was a dumber bint than he previously presumed.

"Wrong answer."

The Slayer stabbed Drusilla, ramming the weapon right through the fabric, right through her skin... right through her heart. And oh, those pools of hazel gaped at him again, her perfect lips chanting: "Spike, they've stopped singing..." With those final words she collapsed, her killer releasing her grip to allow her fall. She was graceful all her life and went out that way - with a light thud on the grass like a swan landing on water. Then she bathed Miss Edith in dust.


No, no! He had to get those painful images out of his head. The memories - the torment! Was this how Drusilla felt all along? Was this how she "lived"? Passing through each day with her dead family's faces in her mind, reliving each horrifying torture as if it was really happening again? No wonder she built her own world to escape... the dream land she could lapse into when things got too harsh. No wonder she was insane.

The way she would kiss him, the feelings she awoke inside the vampire... they were amazing. He loved her, she loved him too, they were meant to be together forever - not until some bloody bimbo decided to end it all! Spike nearly screamed those words as he clutched his scalp, as if trying to yank Drusilla from his thoughts. That waterfall of chestnut hair, those crazy riddles she spilled in front of him, they were magnificent! She was magnificent! She was all his and yet no ones at all - she was Drusilla, not another one like her in the world.

And now she's gone.


"You fucking bitch!" Spike screamed at her, charging Drusilla's murderer with flames of anger in his eyes. He grabbed hold of her, but was too distressed to land a kick - too distraught to even punch. He just shook her violently, so much that the blonde must have lost half her brain cells, before hurling her full force into a tree. He didn't even listen for the satisfying sound of flesh against bark, nor did part of him care too. All William could do was clutch the remains of his paramour, that gorgeous being who stood by him, who made him, who loved him.

He didn't even hear the footsteps of Buffy running away, he just cried for the first time in a century, those passionate tears mixing with the ash, blending with the one he loved, becoming part of Drusilla.


'Want to play?' Dru's voice echoed, the memories of her taunting him cruelly.

"Not real, not real." Spike reminded himself out loud, reciting this line like a mantra.

'Oh but I am, you know.'

"No, no you're not." The vamp' argued with his figment.

'Do you remember the tunes I sang? Hmm?' She cooed, that sweet honey voice pouring the words out slowly.

"Of course I remember!" He said out loud, glancing in the direction of Drusilla.

'Were they not real to you? They were to me. More real than the air around us. I loved those songs so much, they remind me of you. I can sing them to you, if you like, I can make them real for you too.' She crept next to Spike on the old couch, the cushion leaving no imprint as she took a seat. She leaned in close to him, so near that her lips tickled the edge of his ear as she whispered: 'As real as me.'

Those words stung him like holy water, and he reluctantly shook away her luscious memory.

'What's wrong, dear? Don't you love me anymore?'

"You're damn right I do." He cursed out loud, close to sobbing. When would these torturous memories die, already?

'Then come and play...' she lured him, backing towards the bed.

Spike didn't move a muscle. There was no blinking, no twitching, nothing! He just sat there, remembering every inch of his beloved, that stunning creature in his grasp.

He could never deny her anything, they both knew this. He loved her, even if it was just a mirage of his love, and he indulged in his imagination without leaving his perch.

She was his princess, his beautiful and only one, the only lady who could make him complete. He would never stop loving her, it doesn't matter how many stakes the slayer punched through his chest, he'd never stop loving her! Not in anyone's lifetime, and God knows how many of those he had left. Could no one else hear the beautiful verses she contrived - did they only hear madness? She wasn't just a psycho babbling blood sucker, she was a poet, a classicist, and a lover. Drusilla was so many things, not even a mathematician could calculate how much she meant to him, but she was his; Spike's little angel in black silk.

With the nimblest of hands, William unhooked with white lace gown she adored, watching the fine fabric fall to reveal a grander spectacle. She was magnificent to him - any man would kill to have such a masterpiece in their beds, but she didn't want any of them. She wanted Spike and Spike alone, and he was more than willing to comply.

Their garments scattered around the tomb in a matter of seconds, the pair lost in a fury of passion and longing. The craving for eachother's touches was unbearable - they needed skin against skin, man against women, yin with the yang... but somehow, no amount was ever enough, they needed more. They had to have more.

Pleasure, emotion - all manners of feelings filled the couple as time flew by. The wild lust they experienced was enough to make the strongest will buckle with want, each moment setting them on fire with mind bending rapture. The feeling of her lilly skin against his own... those petal lips rushing across him in raging kisses... the moans she unleashed like a lone wolf, only drove him to a higher peak of madness. He loved her. He needed her. He lost her.

He tried so hard, but he could never push these memories out of his head. Big Bad was hers, only hers! He would die in a second for her if needed, even hell's flame couldn't keep him at bay if she needed him. And now the Queen of Hearts - of his heart - was gone, as if the heat of their love incinerated her into ash, not the pointy end of the slayer's stick.

'See? I'm real. I can feel you.' Her voice continued, tracing a thin hand over his chiseled features. 'And I know you can feel me.' Her touch crept inside his shirt to feel that perfectly sculpted torso, sending spirals of excitement up his spine. Even her illusion was irresistible, filling him with wanton urge to take her again, to feel her from the inside out...

'I can hear you sing to me... I can hear the whole world singing with us. Even the stars have joined in the chorus.'

"Dru, love?" Spike voiced out loud, looking deep into her enchanting eyes. Drusilla gleamed at him expectantly, waiting for Spike to surrendure himself to his fantasies once more, waiting for him to ravish her body again...

"They've stopped singing." Spike concluded, the bitter reality hitting him like an anvil.

In an instant her image was gone. Completely gone. No more scents of rose in the air, no satin skin pressed against his own firm muscles. His Goddess of light and dark, his princess, the Queen of his Heart, was gone. All gone. Truly dead.

Teardrops escaped his sapphire eyes as he cried, holding Miss Edith in his strong hands. This whole place reeked of Dru: her dolls littering the bedside, teacups stamped with her lipstick on the table, the beautiful ribbons she wove in her hair strewn across his floor... she was everywhere and no where at once. She was his, but no one's at all. She was dead, yet still remembered. She was Drusilla ... but now she's gone.

The stars had more than stopped singing... they existed only with Dru, and now she was completely dead. Those tunes of fantasy and longing were smothered by her corpse, by the slayer who became too stake happy with his sweetheart. No one sang anymore, only darkness, only death, just the funeral march... but not Drusilla. Never Drusilla.