Chapter 8: Strange Relations
“Pastels, I think,” Cordelia said authoritatively. “Or bright colors. And you really should think about getting a tan.”
Drusilla eyed the shirt she held out dubiously. “You don’t think it’s too bright?”
“Are you kidding?” Cordy said. “I’m the queen of fashion. Go try it on.”
Cordelia was actually enjoying the shopping trip, not least because Drusilla was like a blank slate. She hadn’t the first clue what was in style, and she was thus willing to listen to any and all suggestions.
It had been easy enough to get Drusilla to come along. Cordelia had simply marched into Wesley’s apartment, insulted his décor, and announced that they were going shopping. She’d informed the ex-Watcher that he was in charge of getting Angel out of her apartment, and left. So, she and Drusilla had Angel’s convertible for the day, not to mention Angel’s credit card. Life didn’t get much better.
Cordelia watched, lips pursed, as the other woman came out of the dressing room, smoothing down the front of her shirt with nervous hands. “Do I look alright?”
Eyes narrowed, Cordy considered. She took her fashion very seriously. “That’s a really good shirt for you,” she finally decided. “I wouldn’t wear it, but you can get away with it for some reason. I think that’s a definite yes.”
Drusilla wasn’t so sure, although her concerns didn’t have much to do with the shirt. “Will D—Angel be angry? We’re spending a lot of money.”
Cordelia put her arm around Dru’s shoulders. “What you have to realize,” she began, “is that Angel will always feel guilty. How he decides to get rid of that guilt is completely up to him. Now, if he decides that buying a bunch of new clothes is the way to make himself feel better about driving you insane, who are we to argue?”
The logic of the argument was exquisite, and Drusilla was enough of a girl to appreciate it. Besides, while Buffy and Joyce had been kind enough to take her shopping to get some essentials, Drusilla still didn’t have much in the way of clothing. The opportunity to shop and get whatever she wanted was a balm to her spirit.
Everything might have been just fine had she not dropped a red shirt on the floor, where it puddled in a heap. To anyone else it was simply fabric, but in Drusilla’s mind it became a pool of blood—
Angel was fighting,
and he was going to kill the other man. The man’s severed hand already lay on
the floor—
He was furious. They had taken her again, and Angel was furious because no one touched what was his. She was his. She always would be his—body and soul.
“Is something wrong?” It was the saleswoman talking, and Drusilla suddenly realized that she was in a clothing store, with Cordelia, and nothing she had seen had happened. Not right then, anyway.
Cordelia had no idea what had just happened, only that Drusilla had dropped a shirt and now she was white as a sheet and shaking. The other woman looked over at her pleadingly, and Cordy made the first excuse that came to mind. “We’re fine. My friend just dropped the shirt, and she felt bad, you know. It’s been a really long day.”
It was probably the lamest excuse ever, since it was just
~~~~~
“How about this one?” Wesley asked. “It’s a basement apartment, which means you wouldn’t have to worry about the sun, and you’d probably have ready sewer access.”
Angel looked over the advertisement. “I don’t think so,” he said. “We need something that can double as an office.”
Wesley gave the vampire a dirty look. “Well, we won’t need an office if you don’t find something soon, because Cordelia will probably stake you.”
A deep sigh was all the response Wesley received, and so he kept looking. After a few minutes, Angel asked the question that he’d probably been dying to ask all morning. “How is she?”
“She’s fine, Angel. I think she’s adjusting better than we might have hoped, in fact.” Wesley kept his nose in the paper. Cordelia had made it very clear what he was supposed to accomplish by being here. He had decided that it would be best not to tell Angel that Wolfram & Hart was watching them. The vampire wouldn’t be able to do anything about it—or if he did, it would be something rather unpleasant. For now, Wesley believed himself capable of handling matters.
“I just—” Angel frowned. “I’m being stupid about this.”
“Is that a question or a comment?” Wesley asked, having his own opinion on the matter.
“I just want to help.”
“You are helping,” Wesley said. Then, muttering under his breath, he added, “Of course, you might do a better job of it.”
“I heard that.”
“I’m sure you did.”
Angel glared at his friend. “Fine. What would you suggest?”
“Finding another place to live and getting on with the business of helping the helpless.” Wesley met Angel’s eyes, his face uncharacteristically grim. “Angel, whatever Drusilla’s presence may have changed, you are still serving the Powers That Be. You still have the Shanshu prophecy to think of. Drusilla has been around for a long time, and she is doing quite well without you. So perhaps you can focus on what’s really important, like finding a new place.”
Angel was silent. “What other options are there?”
Even though the vampire sounded sullen, Wesley was relieved that they might actually be able to make some headway.
At least he hoped so.
~~~~~
Cordelia watched Drusilla pick at the salad she’d ordered. She wasn’t eating much, and Cordy had to wonder how Wesley was feeding her. Last she’d seen, he wasn’t much of a cook. She felt a stab of guilt. She really had left the ex-Watcher to his own devices with Drusilla, and it wasn’t as though he was particularly prepared for taking care of a crazy person. She was surprised he hadn’t gone crazy himself.
“So you want to tell me what happened in there?” she finally asked.
Drusilla looked up, startled and guilty. “It was—it was nothing.”
“Please,” Cordelia said. “I might be the queen of fashion, but I’m also the queen of bull.” Her tone suddenly gentled. “Was it a vision?”
The guilt on Drusilla’s face intensified. “I saw Angel, and he’d cut off a man’s hand.”
“That would be Lindsay,” Cordelia said confidently. “He’s one of the guys that brought you back.”
Drusilla breathed a sigh of relief, finally realizing why he’d looked so familiar. “And then I saw Angel again, and he was angry because someone had taken me, and he was going to get me back.”
Cordelia didn’t like the sound of that. Kidnapping was never good. “Just because you saw it, doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. I get visions all the time, and the whole point is prevention of mass destruction.”
Dru shook her head, not entirely convinced. “But I see them, and I’m not supposed to. I try not to.”
“I would have given anything at one point to get rid of these things,” Cordy said sympathetically. “I mean, who wants to get migraines and see demons eating people anyway? But then I realized that I could do some good.” When Drusilla appeared doubtful, she spoke a little more forcefully. “Look, not to be insensitive or anything, but you’ve done a lot of damage. Maybe you keeping the visions is a way to make up for it. You could help people.”
Drusilla swallowed hard. She’d been trying not to think about that—trying not to think of all the blood she’d spilt, because the madness threatened to pull her under again. Like it threatened to do right now.
With an effort of will, Drusilla pulled her eyes up from her plate to meet Cordy’s. It was time to join the world again.
~~~~~
Spike had never particularly cared for the Bronze. As far as clubs went, it was pretty small-time, catering to the younger population. He preferred something a little more—adult. The options were limited in Sunnydale, however, and so he made do.
He’d come in for a drink and to get out of the crypt for a while, feeling the need for a distraction from his own thoughts. If he wasn’t wondering about Drusilla, he was thinking about the Slayer, and Spike was tired of both.
Of course, it figured that Buffy was at the Bronze with her friends. Spike couldn’t get away from her to save his unlife.
Not that he wanted to get away from her, really. It just would have been nice to have a break.
Even so, since he was there, and she was there, it only made sense for him to go over and say hello. Besides, the Slayer and her friends had a table, and there weren’t any others open.
“Slayer.”
“Spike!” Buffy looked startled, as though she wasn’t expecting to see him. Compared to the greeting the Slayer had offered the past few days, tonight’s reception was downright chilly. “What are you doing here?”
He held up his bottle of beer in response to her question, raising an eyebrow to let her now how idiotic he thought it. “Just out for the evening. You?”
“Hanging with the living for once,” Xander said, interrupting whatever Buffy might have said in response. “So why don’t you go find somebody else to bug?”
“You have a free chair,” Spike pointed out. “Otherwise I might.”
Xander drew the chair closer to him with a foot. “We’re saving it.”
“For who?”
There was a moment of silence since Buffy, Xander, Anya,
Buffy refused to meet his eyes. “Well, you know, one of our friends from school said they might show up.”
It was a bold-faced lie. Spike could smell it, and he had a very good nose for that sort of thing. If Buffy had done it only a few days before, Spike would have shrugged it off and walked away. Called her a tight-assed bint and reminded himself that it was just one of many reasons to hate the Slayer.
Instead, it hurt—hurt more than it was supposed to. He was the Big Bad. Spike knew he wasn’t supposed to regard Buffy’s actions as a betrayal, but he did. That’s what it felt like, and Spike usually went with his emotions.
“Right then. Well, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your little reunion,” he said, his voice tight with a hurt he was trying to hide. “See you around, Slayer.”
Spike made sure his swagger was firmly in place as he walked away, slamming his bottle back quickly. It wouldn’t be enough to get him drunk, of course, but that wasn’t his goal anyway. He thought maybe it was time to go kill something.
~~~~~
Buffy watched Spike’s back, recognizing the tension in his shoulders for what it was, and feeling absurdly guilty. After all, this was Spike they were talking about. He might be marginally helpful on patrol, and sure he was nice to her mother, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t an evil vampire. And it certainly didn’t mean that she had to include him in everything she did.
The problem—and where the real guilt came in—was that Buffy
honestly wouldn’t have minded if Spike joined them. The other girls probably
wouldn’t have cared either.
And Buffy didn’t want to explain to Xander why she was allowing an unsouled vampire to hang out with them.
“Can you believe him?” Xander demanded, once Spike had disappeared back into the crowd. “He thought we’d actually let him sit with us.”
“It’s not that big of a deal, Xander,”
Her friend stared at her in disbelief. “Since when did you get on the pro-Spike bandwagon?”
“I’m not!”
“No,” Xander said patiently, as though speaking to a particularly slow child. “But if Spike was there, that would prevent a more well-deserving person from sitting. As in, someone who actually was a person.”
“You know, I think I’m going to go patrol,” Buffy announced, standing. She couldn’t stand it anymore. She was having mildly friendly feelings for Spike, and hearing Xander talk like that just made her feel guilty. And angry. It made her feel as though she was collaborating with a bully, and Buffy had never been one for bullying.
Unless it was Spike. And that just made her feel even more guilty. Which again, was absurd, because he was evil and deserved whatever came to him.
Then why don’t you just stake him? asked the little voice in the back of her head.
“But you said you didn’t think you needed to patrol tonight!” Xander protested. “You were going to hang with us.”
Buffy didn’t bother telling him that it would have been easier to stay if Spike had been there. She wouldn’t have felt quite so much like the fifth wheel then. “Yeah, but you know those pesky vamps,” the Slayer said cheerfully. “They just keep popping up.”
“Yeah, you should go take care of that,” Willow said knowingly.
The Slayer shot her friend a look. “There’s nothing like that going on.”
“Like what going on?” Xander asked.
“Xander, shut up,” Anya advised him. “You’re pushing it.”
“Pushing what?”
“Buttons.” Anya stood and grabbed his hand. “I want to dance now.”
When the couple was on the dance floor,
“I don’t!” Buffy replied heatedly. Then, quietly, she said, “Okay, so I don’t hate him quite as much. He’s been really helpful lately. But that doesn’t mean I want to be best friends!”
“No, just that you didn’t really want to lie to him.”
Buffy sighed. “It wouldn’t have killed Xander to let him sit at our table.”
~~~~~
It was a very good question, and one that wouldn’t leave her
alone as she patrolled. Buffy knew that
“I kind of like him,” had been
Like that helped Buffy feel better.
There really weren’t any demons or vampires out, which was the entire reason she’d decided that patrolling wasn’t necessary. She’d wanted some time with her friends, and that didn’t include evil vampires.
Buffy heard him before she saw him. There were the sounds of fists on flesh, grunts and cries of pain, proving once again that Spike could find trouble wherever it might be. “And it’s the Slayer to the rescue again,” she muttered.
Spike was holding his own against three vampires, and Buffy paused to appreciate his fighting style. The vampire really was grace incarnate. In another moment, she was right in the middle of it all with him, and they were fighting back to back. “Did you get bored with all your little friends, Slayer?” Spike asked, a definite snarl in his voice.
“No, I just figured you were probably out trying to get yourself killed.” She grunted as one of the vamps got a blow in to her face. The trio weren’t mere fledglings, that was for sure. They were both skilled and graceful, and Buffy had the feeling that while she and Spike together would have no trouble dusting them, either one of them on their own would have been hard-pressed.
Spike dusted one of the vamps, and whirled to face her. “I can take care of myself!”
“Well, excuse me for caring!” Buffy shot back, dusting another vamp. She and Spike got the third at the same time. They were nose to nose now.
“Didn’t think you did,” Spike replied, a thick coating of anger over his words. “You couldn’t even be bothered to let me sit at your table.”
Buffy glared at him, although the flush in her cheeks gave her away. “Well, you know, our friend might have shown up.”
“What was the friend’s name?” Spike challenged.
She had to think about it too long. Spike turned to walk away. “Spike! Don’t be like this!”
“Like what?” Spike called over his shoulder. “Like an undead, evil thing? ‘s what I am.”
Buffy watched him go with a sinking feeling in her stomach, and hating it. She hated that she felt guilty, and she hated that it mattered.
Unfortunately, Buffy couldn’t quite convince herself that she still hated Spike.