I wrote this on Midsummer Day, which was a beautiful sunny day and I got up, thought that I couldn’t be bothered to do any proper work, wandered out into the garden, and wrote this in one sitting. It sometimes scares me that this is what I write when I’m in a good mood.
- Summary
- Spike learns a lesson from Angelus.
- Sequel
- Thank You
- Spoilers
- None.
- Period
- 1882
- Written
- June 2001
- Word Count
- 2,904 words
- Rating
- Adult
- Characters
- Angelus, Dru, Will
- Content
- Fairly graphic descriptions of violence; strong language.
- Footnotes
- 1 footnote
Teaser
It’s cold, and I’m not sure exactly where I am. The floor feels like stone and there is a smell of old beer and coal, so it is probably a cellar, but I can’t see properly to be sure. It could be just a store-room. The house is large and we haven’t been living here long, there are plenty of places where I’ve never been yet. Not that it matters much either way. But it would be nice to know where I am.
I’m lying on the floor. I’m certain of that much, even if I have no idea of how I got there, or when. It could be minutes or it could be days that I’ve been lying here, with the gritty, cold slabs hard against the thin skin of my cheek and dirt under my fingernails where I have dug them into the cracks in the paving. Something has got driven right up, under one of my nails, and it is throbbing like hell. Why is it that the smallest things always seem to hurt the most? Or is it just that my mind prefers it that way, finds it better to think about that – rather than the other thing.
It is cold here.
There are noises, the sound of feet, bumping and scraping and shuffles, someone being made to do something against their will. And a voice. ‘No! I want to talk. Let me talk first. Let me explain why!’
Oh God, he’s coming.
I stand up. I am not going to be found still shivering on the floor when he comes in. Only when I stand I almost fall over again, because I suddenly discover just how dizzy I am feeling. Conceivably it has been days since I ate, or maybe it has something to do with the drumming pain at the back of my head. Perhaps I was knocked out and that was how I got here.
But somehow I manage to stay upright, even if I am swaying.
The door crashes back and light floods in. And behind the light, a shadow.
‘Sleepy head’s woken up, I see!’
She is silent as she is pushed through the door. He’s gagged her already, a bright blue scarf twisted tight over her mouth, the loose ends dangling down on one side, soaked dark with spit and brushing against the ragged red hole in her neck. He’s been feeding off her to keep her quiet. It’s possible she tried to let me out. Is that why he’s brought her here? Are we both in trouble now?
Read on…
Disclaimer
Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Angel, and all the characters in them, are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, the WB, UPN, and just about everybody else on the planet except me. I acknowledge this fully; and I promise I’m only playing with them without hope of profit. I will put them back in the box carefully when I’m done and apologise if they got a bit hurt while I was using them. But come on, they are vampires, they can probably take it.
Please be aware that since the stories involve vampires some of the subject matter may be unpleasant or otherwise not suitable for children. To help protect minors and those of a sensitive nature, all the pages on this site are labelled with ICRA.