Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Joss Whedon, alas. 

Thanks as ever to my wonderful reviewers. My students' term papers are graded, so hopefully I'll be able to write more!


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Chapter 12 – Destination
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“I guess we’re here then,” Buffy commented. They had just passed a sign which read ‘Boston City Limits’. After what felt like an endless slog through New York State and the rolling hills of western Massachusetts, the end of their journey seemed to finally be in sight.
 
“Good thing, too. Only a couple hours until sunrise. Would be a shame to drive all this way and then dust me on the bloody Massachusetts turnpike,” Spike said.
 
Buffy noted a sign for a Motel 6, and took the appropriate exit. She found herself in a slightly dingy looking neighborhood just over the city line, but the motel seemed decent enough. There was a 24 hour pancake house next to the motel where she went to get some breakfast after settling Spike into the room. When she returned, Spike was dozing in front of some old movie. She turned it off, causing him to wake with a start. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” she apologized.
 
“Well, as you can see, it was highly compelling,” he yawned.
 
Buffy went into the bathroom to change before climbing in beside him. “Hungry?” she asked.
 
Spike frowned a bit. “Don’t think I should feed from you tonight. You’re going to need your strength to go after Dru.”
 
“But you need it, Spike,” Buffy protested.
 
“I’ll live for a night,” Spike insisted. “I want you to get a good sleep in. If I’m really suffering I’ll take a little nip when you wake up, alright?”
 
“Look, it just works better if you feed before I sleep. So shut up and eat, will you?” She held her wrist out accompanied by a patented Summers resolve face.
 
Spike shook his head. “You are, bar none, the most stubborn, exasperating female I have ever encountered in a hundred and fifty years on this planet, you know that?”
 
“Great, I win the prize then. Drink.” With a sigh of defeat, Spike ignored the proffered wrist and put his hands on her shoulders, gently pulling her close. He kissed her neck tenderly then vamped and sank his fangs in. Buffy closed her eyes, but found that after three small sips he was closing the wound and releasing her. “That’s all?” she asked.
 
“Told you, you need your strength. Now you get some sleep, or I’ll hire a minion to knock some sense into that blonde head of yours,” he growled.
 
Buffy understood his concern and relaxed her stern expression. She turned and snuggled down into the bed next to him, ignoring the second bed in the room entirely. “Mind if I stay here tonight?” she asked.
 
“Like you bloody need to ask,” Spike said. “Having you here next to me is the best thing in the world, love.” Buffy smiled up at him, then settled herself into the crook of his arm. Spike reveled in his good fortune for half the day before he fell asleep as well.
 
When Buffy woke around sunset, she stretched and rolled over to face the still sleeping vampire. Although he had recovered a little of his usual body mass on his Slayer diet, he still looked so thin and fragile, especially while he was sleeping. His cheeks were still hollow, with circles remaining under his eyes, although his lips no longer looked dry and bloodless. His arms were still like sticks, and his ribs still showed through his t-shirt in well defined ridges. How am I going to do this? she wondered. She had to somehow find Drusilla – not easy in a large city. Then she had to somehow restrain her until Spike could drink her blood, all while hoping that the amulet she wore actually worked to keep her safe from Drusilla’s thrall. Physically, she felt that Drusilla wouldn’t be that much of a threat. But if she gets her thrall on, I’m going to have a bad day. She wrestled with plans and doubts for a while longer before getting up and making her way into the bathroom to get dressed.
 
When she came out, Spike was still sleeping. With a little smile on her lips she went around to his side of the bed and kissed his forehead. He opened his eyes, surprised, as she said, “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”
 
“Prince Charming, you mean,” Spike said with a grin. He yawned and sat up with an effort. “Dragging a bit today I’m afraid.”
 
“I told you that you should have eaten more,” Buffy admonished.
 
“I’ll survive,” Spike insisted. “So what’s the plan?”
 
“Let me call Tara, and see if they have any other info for me,” she said. She fished the cell phone out of her bag and dialed the number. When Tara answered she said, “Hey Tara, it’s me. What’s the scoop?”
 
“Hey Buffy,” Tara answered. “Anya and I tried doing the spell with a map of Massachusetts. She’s definitely in Boston. We tried to get more specific, but we didn’t have any luck.”
 
“Well, I guess that’s something,” Buffy said, a little disappointed. Tara passed the phone to Dawn, and the sisters exchanged the usual warnings, admonitions, and expressions of affection. Then Buffy finally rang off and turned to Spike. “They’ve narrowed it down to Boston, not that it helps that much.”
 
Spike thought for a moment. “Do they have any of those tourist map things in the front lobby?”
 
“I’ll go look,” Buffy offered. She stepped out to the lobby and found a small, dusty rack of tourist info. Some of it looked a bit outdated, but there was a current ‘Boston Visitor’s Guide’ brochure that she brought back to the room. “What did you want to see?”
 
Spike took the brochure and started flipping through. “Need to see where the oldest neighborhoods are. The newer places have fewer places for vamps to go to ground, and like I said, Dru likes the old places.”
 
“There’s a map of historic graveyards,” Buffy pointed out.
 
“Those might have some tombs to hide in, but most aren’t used for burials anymore, so you’re not going to find a ton of vamps there. Even with the steady diet of tourists.” Spike read on, putting himself in Drusilla’s shoes. “I think our best bets will be the North End or Beacon Hill,” he decided at last. “Both old, really dense, lots of little alleys and whatnot, and lots of tourists for dinner.”
 
“So, what do we do, go door to door looking for vampires?” Buffy asked.
 
“No, you daft bint. You do your usual routine of walking around looking vulnerable until a vamp finds you. Then you persuade them to tell you any news of Dru. I guarantee, if she’s here, someone will have heard of her. She makes quite an impression.”
 
“You mean discussions with invisible things make even vampires take notice?” Buffy said.
 
“Got that right. Good or ill, hard to forget a conversation with Dru,” Spike said, shaking his head a little sadly. “Never was right in the head, poor girl. Never had a bloody chance.” Taking a deep breath, Spike faced Buffy. “Ready to go scout?”
 
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said. After she helped Spike to the car she stopped in the office again. She made arrangements to keep the room for another night, to avoid having to drag all their stuff around Boston. Then with Spike navigating, she headed downtown.
 
Within fifteen minutes Buffy was gripping the wheel with white knuckles and beads of sweat were appearing on her forehead. “These drivers are insane!” she cried. “There’s no lane markings, the intersections are all fifteen streets coming together, no one signals, aargh!”
 
Spike tried very hard not to chuckle too loudly at her distress. “Clearly you’ve never driven in New York either. Drivers are just as bad, although their streets are more like a grid and less like…”
 
“A random set of lines drawn by a deranged five year old?” Buffy finished for him.
 
“Something like that,” Spike agreed. Studying the map he said, “If you see Hanover Street, take a right.”
 
Ignoring the horns blaring behind her, Buffy slowed down to study the signs. “Hanover, here it is. Jesus, what a mess.” Hanover Street proved to be narrow, lined with parked cars, and filled with tourists looking for Italian food.
 
“This would be the North End,” Spike said, looking at the tourist guide book. “Old part of the city, home to a large quantity of Italians. Not so you’d notice or anything.”
 
Buffy slammed on her brakes when she noticed a car pulling out of a parking place in front of her. By the time she maneuvered the car into the spot, she was practically deaf from the horns of the impatient drivers trapped behind her, but at last she was able to shut off the car and lean back.
 
“Buffy, love, did I mention that you are a terrible driver?”
 
“Once or twice,” she sighed. “But seriously, I never have to parallel park back home.”
 
“You never drive back home.”
 
“And your point would be?” Buffy reached behind Spike’s seat to grab a small bag containing stakes, a couple bottles of holy water, and other assorted weaponry. “I’m going to go hunt vamps. Will you be alright here?”
 
“I’ll be fine,” Spike insisted. “Be careful, yeah? I’m a bit dependent on you.”
 
Buffy was touched by his concern. “I’ll be careful. Promise.” She got out of the car and slammed the door before darting across the street to avoid being run over by a taxi. Hoisting her bag onto her shoulder, she started walking the streets. The main drag was packed with restaurants, but a street or two away the clamor of the crowd died down, and she was walking through a maze of narrow streets with dark alleys that led to a Revolutionary War era graveyard. Here vampires, Buffy thought. I know you’re out there. She wandered further from the busy streets, deliberately trying to look like she wasn’t paying attention, all the while waiting for that prickle at the back of her neck that meant there was a vampire nearby. A short while later, as she turned into a narrow passage between two buildings, she felt it.
 
She continued down the alleyway past a dumpster, knowing full well there was a vampire on the other side of it. Three…two…one… Just as expected, the vampire jumped in front of her as she cleared the dumpster. “Lost, little girl?” he asked. He was a little taller than Spike, wearing a Red Sox jacket and jeans. Local boy, gone vamp, she surmised.
 
“Actually, no,” Buffy responded brightly. “You were just the person I was looking for.” The vamp was momentarily confused at the response, and Buffy took that moment to deliver a spinning kick to his jaw that knocked him into the wall. She followed it up with a side kick that broke his knee and sent him crashing to the ground. She leaped on him and pounded him in the face four or five times until he lay there stunned and barely moving. As she sat on him, pinning his arms with her knees, she reached into her bag and grabbed a bottle of holy water. “So, let me tell you how this is going to go. You answer my questions, and I don’t pour holy water into your eyes too much. Understand?”
 
“Wha…. Fuck… who?” the vamp sputtered.
 
“Just a vampire slayer on vacation,” she said with a perky grin as she waved the bottle of holy water in front of his face. “Now, I want to know about a vampire you might have run across in your travels.” The vampire’s eyes got wide in disbelief and fear.

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By the time Buffy got back to the car, two hours later, Spike was practically pulling his hair out with worry. “Where the hell have you been?” he exploded as she got in the car. “Thought I was going to have to crawl around the streets of Boston trying to find the vamp who got you so I could kill them!”
 
“Sorry it took so long,” Buffy apologized. She was a bit disheveled from her fight, and looked exhausted, but her eyes were triumphant. “The first vamp I found hadn’t heard of her, but directed me to a nest a few streets over. There were five vamps there. I took them down, then interrogated them one at a time. It took a while – had to wait for a few of them to regain consciousness.”
 
“Remind me to be ever so careful not to get on your bad side, love,” he said, impressed by her efforts. “So did you get any information from them?”
 
“After watching the other four vamps go first, the last one was more cooperative. She said that she had heard about a new female vamp in Beacon Hill that seemed to be gathering a bunch of young male minions around her. ‘Some crazy old vamp from Europe’ was how she described her. She was so helpful, I almost felt guilty dusting her.”
 
“So are we off to Beacon Hill then?” Spike asked.
 
“Actually, I was thinking that maybe I want to try to go after her during the day. She can’t get away as easily then,” Buffy explained.
 
“Good thinking,” Spike agreed. “How about we drive through Beacon Hill a bit tonight, see if I can sense her, then head back to the hotel early. You can get some sleep, and then go after her tomorrow.”
 
Buffy took a deep breath. “I guess that means I have to drive in these crazy streets again, huh?”
 
“’Fraid so, pet,” Spike said.
 
Muttering curses under her breath, Buffy started the car. She made her way through the streets, trying to pay attention to where she was, in the event she needed a quick getaway tomorrow. It was exceedingly difficult. The streets seemed designed to thwart her. Finally she found herself cursing as an ambulance cut her off. “Are they trying to drum up more business?” she yelled, slamming on the brakes.
 
“No, I think they’re just heading for Mass General,” Spike replied. He pointed out the large hospital, which Buffy had completely failed to notice in her attempt to not get killed by the other drivers.
 
“Fine, but they don’t need to kill me on the way,” she grumbled. She turned at last off of the main street and started winding her way through another set of narrow streets that headed steeply up Beacon Hill. She drove slowly, not only to give Spike a chance to see if he could sense Drusilla, but also to avoid hitting parked cars on the barely passable streets. “I can’t believe this is a two way street. It’s like a half-way street.”
 
“London used to be a lot like this,” Spike remarked. “All narrow and twisted. Except we also had loads of horse shit everywhere, cars not having been invented yet.”
 
“Blech,” Buffy said. “Sort of glad I didn’t know you then.”
 
“You have no idea…” Spike trailed off and sat up straighter. “Stop the car,” he said quietly.
 
Buffy jammed on the brakes, gentle stops not being her strong suit. “What is it?” she asked.
 
Spike rolled down the window and stuck his nose out. Closing his eyes he inhaled. “She was here, not too long ago,” he murmured. He looked up the street, scanning the houses. Most were three stories, but one small, dark two story brick structure was crammed into the middle of the block. “Drive up a bit – near that one with the black door,” he said. Buffy complied and stopped in front of the house. A ‘For Rent’ sign lay discarded in the gutter in front of it. The house was dark, but a small amount of light came through the edge of a basement window which was otherwise covered on the inside. The hair on Spike’s neck stood up a bit at a familiar sensation. Sire. After all the shit she pulled that bond is still there. Fuck me. “That’s it,” he said quietly. “She’s there.”
 
“You’re sure?” Buffy asked.
 
“Yeah,” he said. After staring at the house for a long minute, he turned to Buffy. “Let’s get you home to bed, love.”
 
Buffy searched Spike’s face for some sign of what he was feeling, but she couldn’t quite figure his expression. Nodding, she drove off, heading back to the hotel. Spike was quiet all the way back, and said little other than to give directions. When they got there, Buffy helped him inside and got him to the bed. “I’ll be right back,” she said, heading to the bathroom to change. Spike took off his coat and shoes and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about what was bothering him. When Buffy returned, she lay down beside him and rested her head on his chest. “Want to talk?” she asked.
 
Spike drew her close and asked, “What about?”
 
“Well, something’s bothering you. Usually I can’t get you to stop talking, but the second we find Dru’s hideout you’re the silent type,” she observed.
 
Spike sighed. “I don’t know what it is,” he began. “Actually, I do know what it is, but I don’t know why it bugs me so much.”
 
“Splain?”
 
He thought about it for a moment then said, “Dru ditched me. Broke my heart eight ways to Sunday, screwed bloody Angelus in front of me, left me for a Chaos demon, all that crap. But I still, I don’t know, seize up at the idea of her dusting.”
 
Buffy remained cradled in the crook of his arm, watching her own hand gently stroke his thin torso. “Do you still love her?” she asked softly, not certain she wanted to know the answer.
 
“No, it’s not that,” he replied, planting a reassuring kiss on the top of her head. “It’s just… she’s my sire. I’m here because of her. I would have been a long forgotten tombstone in England by now if it hadn’t been for her. I’d have never met you if I hadn’t dragged her to Sunnydale looking for a cure. I feel like I owe her a debt for that.”
 
“Do you think all vampires feel this way?” Buffy asked after a few moments of silence. “I mean, Angel killed Darla soon after I got to Sunnydale. He never really mentioned what he felt about it.”
 
“Must have felt something,” Spike said. “Even if you bloody hate your sire, takes a lot to overcome that bond. I suppose the soul must have helped his Broodiness. He must have seen killing her as another step toward redemption, or whatever the hell he’s trying to accomplish.”
 
“I really can’t see letting Drusilla go,” Buffy said. “At the same time, I guess I see what you’re saying. I’m… well glad isn’t exactly the word. Grateful? Arrgh!” She was suddenly frustrated at her inability to say what she meant. She lifted her head to look Spike in the eyes. “I can’t see myself ever saying that I’m glad someone got turned into a vampire. But if you had to be a vampire, then I’m glad we crossed paths eventually, so I guess I’m somehow grateful to Drusilla for turning you in the first place, and am I making any sense whatsoever?” she finished, blushing a bit at her usual roundabout way of expressing herself.
 
Spike smiled. “I get it, Buffy.” He kissed her forehead tenderly. In response she stroked his cheek, then pulled him down into a sweet, almost chase kiss. The kiss went on, deepening, tongues gently mingling but without the violence and wild abandon of previous kisses. When they finally came up for air, both of them were nearly gasping with emotion. “Thank you,” Spike whispered.
 
“You’re welcome,” she whispered back. She moved upward, repositioning herself so that her neck was level with his lips. “Drink,” she said simply.
 
Spike vamped slowly, and Buffy’s eyes never left his as they changed from blue to gold. She didn’t flinch or make any movement other than to turn her head to let her golden hair fall to the side. He kissed down the line of her jugular, sending shivers of anticipation down her spine. “I love you, Slayer,” he whispered. Then he sliced gently into her neck and began sipping her nectar. Buffy closed her eyes and mentally traced the flow of heat down her neck, across her breasts, spreading out into her sex. Spike’s hand moved from her cheek down to skim her hardened nipples, then to gently massage her clit through her soft sweatpants. It wasn’t long before Buffy moaned involuntarily and clutched his arm as she shuddered in a lightning strike of an orgasm. Spike withdrew his fangs and kissed her neck again, once more repeating, “I love you. Always will until I dust.”
 
“I know,” Buffy replied, still shuddering slightly. They lay there in each other’s arms a long time, eyes locked, until at last they both nodded off.
 
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Modern times can be quite a bore, Drusilla reflected as she brushed out her long black hair. She was seated in front of an antique vanity in a white nightgown, looking exactly like the 18th century girl that she had been. The only thing wrong with the whole scene was the lack of reflection in the mirror and the dead real estate agent on the floor in the corner. When she had arrived in Boston she had fallen in love with the twisted streets and gas lamps of the old neighborhoods and felt instantly at home. She had found this lovely little house, for rent and nicely furnished, and had moved in with the latest in a series of young minions. She turned young men who initially saw her as a mysterious enchantress, but soon grew tired of her mad conversations and whims and lit out for saner pastures. But unlike in the old days when one could eat the occupants of a house and be reasonably free from anyone bothering you for quite a while, now everyone was busy, busy, busy. Like bees buzzing about, she thought. She had had to dispatch a real estate agent and a prospective renter already, and the voices were telling her that more would come. She supposed she should move, but she liked this house. According to the advertisements scattered from the dead real estate agent’s briefcase, it was ‘built in 1720 and had been lovingly restored to its original condition’. It felt more like home than anything she had found yet in this too-new country, where there weren’t enough spirits to talk to most places. Not like when my William brought me to the hellmouth. The stars talked to me all the time there, and they screamed so deliciously. Wicked Slayer, ruining my William.
 
She put down her hairbrush with a sigh and wandered into the next room where her most recently acquired minion was sleeping the daylight hours away. He was blond and blue eyed. She found that most of the young men she turned ended up blond and blue eyed. She vaguely wondered where the other two – or was it three? – minions had gotten to. Perhaps the pixies got them, she decided. It was so difficult to keep track of the blond men who came through her life, each less satisfactory than the last.
 
Sometimes in her clearer moments she thought she might have made a mistake with that Chaos demon. Spike hadn’t liked that one bit. But then he had already been lost to the Slayer before that. The stars had told her with their tinkly little voices, and they had never lied to her. She frowned at her new minion. He wasn’t quite right. His hair wasn’t quite the right shade, and he was rather too tall, and seemed less attentive to her as the days went on. I shall have to find a new one if he doesn’t work out. How very tiresome, she thought.
 
Wandering into another room she reclined on an antique divan and closed her eyes, listening to the whispers around her. Something seemed… off. She felt like something was scratching at the corner of her brain, trying to get in. Like the stars have their hands over their mouths, she thought. The stars were buzzing with something important, but it wasn’t coming through. Not William, nor Daddy, she reflected. Daddy tried to kill me and Grandmother, and he doesn’t want to play anymore. And Spike cares only for the sunshine. She wondered if she had angered the stars somehow, but she couldn’t think of anything in particular she had done. She drifted into dreams, still wondering what was coming.
 
TBC