The Fever, Epilogue Author: Elsa Frohman Rating: PG-13 Spoilers: Post Chosen. This is my AU AtS S5. Summary: Spike is back, and he's human -- sort of. He's
working for Wolfram & Hart as an outside contractor.
Note: Thanks once more to my fabulous beta JanK, who has
contributed a great deal to this story in its tidiness, the
smoothness of its language, and some lovely bits of dialogue and
business. A good beta is worth her weight in gold. Writing is about
inspiration. But good writing is about discipline, editing, elbow grease
and collaboration. Thanks, Jan. This story wouldn't be half as good
without your contribution.
London, 1889
The hour or so after the theaters in the West End let out for the
night offered the best hunting. Spike and Dru were dressed to blend
into the crowds: Dru in a splendid royal blue, grosgrain taffeta
evening gown and cape; Spike in a dark, pinstriped suit and a top
hat. He carried a wolf-headed cane and she a sparkling beaded bag.
They strolled through the throng of evening revelers unnoticed,
choosing their victims and luring them away from the lights of the
Strand into dark alleys where the hapless theatergoers met their end.
And when Dru was rosy-cheeked and sated, glowing warm from the living
blood, they retired to their rooms at the newly opened Savoy Hotel,
where Spike would delight in removing all the complex layers of Dru's
costume, right down to the whale-bone corset and lace-trimmed
knickers.
A year had passed since he'd defied Angelus and Darla to collect his
princess and strike out on his own. This night, Spike was feeling
pleased with himself. Angelus always claimed he'd be dust within a
day or two without the guidance and restraint the older vampire
provided. But here they were, living high and eating exceedingly
well.
He'd had to change his ways, of course. Without Angelus to accept
responsibility for their safety, he had to rein in his impulsive
nature. No more picking fights for the joy of brawling. No more
risky, high-profile kills.
But he'd met every challenge. And when Dru had turned her desires to
the things money had to buy, he'd worked out a scheme that yielded
all the cash he needed to pay for the expensive hotel rooms and
carriage rides she begged for.
Once each fortnight, he changed into his workman's clothing, and they
rode a train to another city -- it didn't matter which, as long as it
was different from the ones they'd visited before, and far enough
from London that they were unlikely to be recognized.
There, Spike trolled the rougher pubs and found out where the local
bare-knuckle fights were held. When he found the ring, he would
swagger in and challenge the biggest fighter he could find. His
slender frame and smooth, unmarked face always led to heavy betting
that he would go down in the first round.
Naturally, it never worked out that way. Sometimes he decked his
opponent in the first few minutes; sometimes he would tease the game
along, just to enjoy a few more minutes of punching and taking blows.
Not that the fights were particularly satisfying for him. He always
had to hold back to make it look convincing. Wouldn't do to stave in
a fighter's chest with a one-handed punch or crush his skull with a
blow to the face.
But while the fights were too easily won to sate his hunger for
mayhem, the pay was more than adequate. He walked away each time with
his pockets stuffed with banknotes and coins.
It was all for his queen. If Dru wanted to live the life of royalty,
he'd endure any trial to give it to her. The money meant nothing to
him. All that counted was the little squeal of joy Dru would let out
when she saw what he'd won for her.
So this night, when they returned to their rooms, and Dru stood by
the open window looking down at the dark city spread out beneath
them, he was puzzled that something about this scene pricked at him.
There was something off. Something was tainting his well earned
pleasure at seeing himself as good a provider, if not better than
Angelus had ever been.
He took off his hat and slipped out of his well-tailored coat and
waistcoat, loosened his tie and pulled it off, and released the studs
to remove his stiff, starched collar. These clothes fit better than
the garments one stripped from corpses. The coat, vest, shirt and
trousers had been made for him -- tailored by one of London's many
merchants who catered to those who liked to shop after the sun went
down -- just as Dru's fine gown was sewn for her by one of London's
best-known dressmakers.
Spike looked fondly at Dru's slender silhouette, framed by the window
and the vista beyond. For weeks now, she'd been lucid and relatively
calm. There had been no episodes of shouting prophecy or weeping
uncontrollably. She'd said nothing odd to any of their neighbors met
in the hotel hallways or lobby.
Things were going exceedingly well -- except...
She turned back from the window to face him, and he saw the emptiness
in her eyes. She had all she asked for and more. He prided himself on
anticipating her desires and providing what she wanted before she
even asked. But she wasn't happy. She smiled, but the smile never
rose above her lips. She held out her arms to him, but he could see
it was a perfunctory gesture.
And suddenly, in a flash of bitter insight, he saw the truth. He saw
the pattern behind the material things she demanded. Saw the
wide-open window with its view of the city.
A room with a view.
The phrase struck him like a cuff to the ear.
The bright-colored frocks. The hats with ostrich plumes. The hotel
rooms with big windows.
These weren't things that Dru had ever cared for -- before. And
truthfully, she didn't care for them now. These were the things Darla
lusted after.
He looked down at himself and finally saw what Dru had turned him
into. He was the very image of Angelus -- crafty, careful,
well-dressed and wealthy.
But, he wasn't Angelus. He would never be Angelus. He was only a pale
imitation -- a simulation that would never satisfy entirely.
Spike's heart fell. Was this all independence had to offer? For all
eternity, he would strive to be Angelus -- and fail. He couldn't bear
the thought.
He looked up again and saw that Dru knew exactly what he'd just felt.
Her eyes were sympathetic. She wanted to comfort him, but knew she
couldn't.
"You want to go back to them, don't you?" he asked, trying to keep
the accusation out of his voice. "I'm not enough for you," he
thought, but didn't say.
"Family," Dru said simply.
Spike hung his head.
"It will take a while to find them," he mumbled. "And I don't know
they'll take us back if we do. Angelus gave you up, pet. Darla said
if I went after you, they'd never let us close again."
"Been long enough," Dru replied.
"Still take time to find them," he replied sullenly.
"Dover, two nights hence," Dru said in a distant voice -- the voice
that spoke from her visions.
"All right, love," Spike replied, defeat hanging on each word.
"Oh," Dru cooed, coming to him and drawing his head down against her
shoulder. "Don't be sad, my sweet paladin. It's all for the best. You
can stop playacting. You don't have to be the daddy anymore. You can
let your power loose and dig your claws into the world again. You'll
be my wild man. Can't be wild when you have to be Daddy. Not time to
grow up, yet."