Disclaimer: I don't own Ats or BtVS.
Ignorance is Bliss
Chapter 7: Broken Toys
A dolly lay on the bed, all porcelain and white, painted blush on her round cheeks, glimmering green plastic eyes, always open. She was covered in cream lace and brown curls and looked as innocent as the corpse beside her. But she would never wake. The body, however, would: Drusilla would awaken soon.
Spike watched her a moment longer, a strange part of him wanting to see the vampiress's long fingers wrap around the poppet he'd bought her, give it her demented, childish love. Another part of him wanted Drusilla to stay down, always down, never to move again. It would be better that way, for both of them.
The ensouled vampire plopped down onto the edge of the mattress, cupping Dru's chin with one hand. He squeezed until her lips parted and slipped a straw into her mouth, holding a ceramic mug half-full of thick crimson with his free hand. A minute passed before the woman tensed, her face transforming into its demon mask. She suckled at the drink greedily, only opening her eyes when a slurping sound told her that the cup was empty.
"More," she said, her voice soft and hoarse. "And no piggy—I can taste the mud and slop in its juice, like dust on my tongue."
"No more, Dru. No more until we get to where we're goin', love. I can't afford you getting loose and drawing attention," Spike said, not looking her in the eye. "And pig's the best I can do—unless, of course, you'd prefer field mice."
"You naughty prince. Stole a girl's life and won't even buy her breakfast. Mummy didn't raise such a rude boy," she muttered with a lidded gaze. A sly smile was on her face, as if Spike's actions were more amusing than offending, as if he was a child with his hand in the cookie jar.
She was limp, still weak, even with the bit of blood Spike had fed her. He'd drained her dry on purpose, knowing that his only other option was a set of chains he hadn't yet bought. He'd driven through the day and half the night with her propped up beside him, just like the old days, the bloody days. It was almost like the last time he'd ran out on Angel, when Buffy had been fighting Angelus to the death, before he'd cared about the slayer. He'd escaped off into the sunset, car blacked out and lover knocked out in his lap.
Good times. It was so much simpler then. Save Dru, make her love him. Kill, maim, feast, and make love— so simple. There were no feelings for his enemy, and there certainly wasn't a damn soul in the equation.
But things change.
"I bought you something, Dru." Spike picked up the doll, holding it in her line of sight. Another ex-Big Bad might feel foolish at having to buy a grown woman toys, but Spike didn't, even when he was all fang and claw. He'd been the initiate giving her dolls when she'd gotten weak—they'd pleased her so. "A friend for you while Miss Edith is on holiday."
"She's broken," Drusilla hissed, glaring at the toy as if it was sunlight on her skin. "She's all broken inside, glass shattered and cutting, slicing, spilling. . . Shake the poppet once, shake it twice, hear the pieces making noise inside. Oh, it's beautiful, Spike, a blood lament, a toy song, broken broken broken."
The female vampire's pointless ramble dribbled off, and her eyes closed again.
Bright headlights filtered in through the shear curtain over the window. Spike stood, dropping the doll. He crossed the length of the motel room, opening the door before his visitor even had time to knock. Without missing a beat, the vampire grabbed the demon at the entrance by the scruff of his collar and pulled him inside, tossing him into the room's wooden chair.
"What took you so bloody long?" Spike growled, putting on this game face.
The yellow demon whimpered from where he sat, his skin fading to match the flowery Hawaiian print of his button-up shirt. "Sorry, Spike, dude," he squeaked. "I. . .I was. . ."
Always the most bloody annoying informant.
"Drop the chameleon routine." Spike stepped forward, crouching down until he was face to face with the minor demon's flabby face. "Now, what took you? What? Were you off telling your bar mates about me? Did you tell all your small town associates that I was here, Melvin?"
"No! No, Spike! Never! I'm your guy!"
"Keep it down—the little lady's sleeping," Spike drawled. "I certainly hope you didn't hold me up in this rat's nest for nothing."
"No! Dude, no!" The demon lowered his voice, noting the threatening glance toward the female vampire. "My info is crisp and fresh, Spike—I'd bet my last batch of offspring on it."
"Did you get me a name?"
Melvin pulled a folded post-it out of the pocket of his cargo shorts. "Just like I said," he added. "Name and address, but I don't know if you really want to do this—this guy's one big sorcerer in these parts."
"And he has it?"
When the demon didn't answer, Spike growled, leaning down with fangs bare.
"Not exactly," Melvin said, wincing. "But he was the last to own it. He'd know where it went, right Spike, buddy? I mean, that's what you wanted, right?"
Spike kept his frown, his face smoothing out into a human's. He nodded solemnly.
Melvin nodded in return, as if his confidence was suddenly returning. "Yeah, yeah, ol' Mel's always got the right stuff. So, Spike, what about my fee? I mean, I don't want to sound pushy but . . . I got about two hundred little larva to feed at home. Wife would kill me if I didn't ask for payment."
Spike pulled a set of keys from his pocket and tossed them to the demon. "This should cover it—if someone comes through town lookin' for me. . ."
Melvin's eyes widened, and he grinned. "I haven't seen you since that party in '76, dude."
The demon let himself out, giving a wolf whistle when he noted the vehicle parked beside his own.
The vampire raised a brow, looking down at the note the demon had passed him. "Looks like we're going to see a wizard, love," he said to Drusilla's sleeping form.