Chapter 62 - Reckonings

Revenge was a dish best served cold.

However, Spike’s blinding rage demanded immediate satisfaction.

So he’d settled on doing something as cold as possible.

His first impulse had been to track down Angelus and beat him until there was nothing left to beat. But that was too straightforward. He wanted more than Angelus’ blood staining the ground. That part could come later.

It needed to be complete.

And then it had hit him. It was perfect. Poetic, even.

And it was exactly how Angelus had said to begin destroying someone.

You took away what they needed.

-----

She liked the bluebloods. To snuff out someone with so much potential had always held a particular charm with her for some reason. She also liked any place where completely oblivious drunks would fall all over themselves for her. She’d picked up Angelus in a pub, from what he’d heard.

Weighing his options, Spike headed in the direction of the university.

After several hours of calculatedly prowling the campus and the surrounding hotspots, he found her coming out of a frat house.

Darla had a boy draped around her; she was more supporting him than he was walking with her. Spike waited until they got some distance from the house before he stalked over and smashed his fist into her jaw.

Caught off guard, she went rolling, her half-finished dinner falling to the ground.

She was up in an instant. Her eyes focused on him in frustration and then uncertainty. Darla glanced at the boy, who was groaning and stumbling to his feet.

“I wasn’t done with that,” she snapped.

“Not my problem.”

He delivered a kick to her ribs that sent her spinning into a tree.

She staggered a pace and then lunged at him. He was expecting it. Spike backhanded her away, watching as her body twisted at the impact of the blow.

He was on her before she could recover, catching her arms and holding her to him.

“What,” she demanded, “is your problem?”

“Angelus.”

“Go take it up with him, then.”

Spike jammed the cattle prod into her chest, discharging it until she fell in an unconscious heap at his feet. “I intend to.”

-----
.
.
.
Darla slowly became aware, still feeling the effects of the electricity that had coursed through her body.

She started to move, but realized that her arms were very securely bound behind her back. Taking in her surroundings, she got no further than noticing the wooden planks beneath her before her eyes landed on Spike.

He was sitting on a pile of rubble, smoking a cigarette as he regarded her.

“Hey,” he said, without any inflection at all. Which worried her more than the fact that she was immobilized.

Spike stood, covering the distance between them in a few short steps. “Can’t have you checkin’ in just yet.” He stuck the cattle prod into her side, and the world went black once again.
.
.
.
She woke up to Spike hauling her to her feet.

Morning light flooded the old house, and he pulled her to the door. She barely had time to realize what was happening as he yanked her in front of him and grabbed a large, black vinyl umbrella with the other hand.

One second later, they were off the porch.

Her legs weren’t restrained at all, and Darla twisted her arms experimentally.

“You can run away,” he said casually, as he pulled her out onto the main street, “if you want to fry.”

He did nothing to tighten his hold on her. Rather, he gripped the umbrella more firmly, locking his wrist into the curving handle.

“I s’pose you could try and take this from me. But you couldn’t hold it very well.” He snickered.

She knew that she could probably get away from him. But she wouldn’t be able to do it without throwing herself into the sun’s path. The shadows of his coat and the umbrella secured her in a moving prison.

They never passed into the shade once, never even neared it.

The neighborhood itself had scattered houses, most of them abandoned, and she realized they were only blocks away from the mansion. He pushed her steadily in its direction.

She had never fought Spike, really, but he seemed much stronger than he should have been. Especially considering how many times Angelus had put him in his place. That was a long time ago, but still—the easy determination with which he had bested her the night before was beginning to unnerve her slightly.

There was also something different.

This was not the vampire she remembered. Or even the vampire she had caught glimpses of as he had fought alongside the Slayer.

He was quiet now, driven. Set.

Quite simply, something had snapped.

And while she had no idea what it was or what had happened, Darla had the increasing feeling that it didn’t bode well for her. Panic was not an emotion she had much experience with, and she found that she didn’t care for it.

The mansion came into view, and Spike stopped about thirty feet from the house.

“Angelus!!” he barked. “Come look what I caught.”

Several minutes later, Angelus appeared in the shadows of the covered entrance, clothing askew. Dru trailed lazily after him. It was clear what they had been doing.

His eyes widened fractionally, but he said nothing.

“Somethin’ wrong, mate?” Spike pulled Darla closer to him. “I figured this to be your sort of show.”

Angelus crossed his arms. “Is that so?”

He looked irritated, but not concerned. He clearly didn’t think Spike had it in him to do anything.

“Angelus!” Darla yelled, not caring how it looked.

“A blonde for a blonde. Sounds good to me,” Spike continued. “Whaddya think?”

Darla looked at Angelus with wild eyes. “Whatever you were planning to do, whatever you’ve already done, bring her out!”

“What?” he finally sputtered at her.

“Give her back to him!”

“I don’t have her. I didn’t even kill her.”

Darla looked at Spike. He returned her gaze indifferently.

“This isn’t a trade, love.”

She simply stared at him, agape.

-----He’ll throw you to the sunshine-----

Drusilla’s words came to her out of nowhere.

“So what do you think?” he asked Angelus again.

“About what?”

“Thought I’d take a page from your book. I think it’s fittin’. Not to mention, well, fun.”

“I don’t know what you think is—”

Darla felt Spike’s body shift against hers. “Angelus!!” she screamed.

Without another word, Spike pushed her from him and stepped to the side, not even watching her burn. His eyes never left Angelus’.

She was a scream, and then she was nothing.

After a moment, Spike looked at the spot where Darla had been. “Huh,” he said, as if he had given it careful deliberation. “You were right.” His eyes flicked back to Angelus. “That was much more satisfying.”

Angelus, who stood unmoving on the landing, had dumbfounded shock written all over his features. As his face turned to Spike’s, there was anger and a disbelieving sort of loss.

Spike gave him a good-natured ‘well, what can you do?’ kind of shrug, before he turned and went on his way.

He paused at the edge of the property. “Well, are you gonna come after me or help your girlfriend?” Then he frowned, like he remembered something. “Oh, that’s right—you can’t do either.”

With a grin, he spun the umbrella around on his shoulder as he walked away. When he was past the mansion, he tossed it in a ditch.

-----

Angelus stood frozen in place. His hand practically dug into the stone archway as he stared at the ground.

Darla was gone. He couldn’t even see her ashes in the grass. Just gone.

She had always been there. Even when they’d fought, she would come back. Or he would come back. She was constant.

She was the last thing he had seen before he’d died, and the first thing he’d seen when he had crawled out of his grave. She had congratulated him as he’d destroyed his village. Shown him that everything was about pain and death and pleasure. Reveled in the blood he’d spilled as she created her own fountain of death. Brought him back to himself when he’d been lost for years.

And she was gone. Just like that that.

Killed by Spike. Spike.

Drusilla, who had been silent up until now, suddenly began to chant.

“There’s no helping him now. So faraway, can’t get him back. Lost to the sunshines.” She moaned. “My Spike walks in the sunshine, walks in the sunshine. My Spike walks—”

“Goddammit, Dru! Shut up about the fucking sunshine!”

She wailed dismally, and that damn dog at her feet wouldn’t stop yapping with her.

With an infuriated growl, Angelus snatched up the dog. In one swift motion, he snapped its neck and flung it into the yard.

Dru screeched louder, a high-pitched keening that turned into a wail of “Grandmummy, grandmummy…” as she pushed herself back against the wall, sliding down it with her head between her hands.

Angelus stood at the edge of the shadows, staring into the daylight.

She was just gone.

His mouth hardened into a line. She wasn’t the only one who was going to be gone.

Drusilla was still talking to herself, a quiet rambling of ‘grandmother and sunshine and my boy.’

“Walks in the sunshine,” she was mumbling. “It burns. But he doesn’t burn.”