rest of it:
"I'll tell you in a moment," she told him, and walked up the shallow stairs to the broken window of Number Thirteen, ground floor. Reaching inside, she twitched the curtain to one side, just as a cloud scudded past, leaving the moon shining brightly.
I heard the noise she made, a strangled cross between horror and something I couldn't name. She backed away from the steps, nearly falling. Taking a moment to compose herself, she faced Angelus.
"Yes," she nodded, "you've kept it. I have the Ripper's name. And I believe we each owe you another drink."
"Oh, I won't need it, not tonight." The fangs gleamed as he turned his head in the moonlight. "You might offer it to the ladies, though."
He put his mouth to the base of Montague John Druitt's throat. Even from where I stood, I heard the rip of flesh as those enormous fangs met muscle, and skin, and defeated both, finding the great vein beneath.
Angelus held the Ripper up, ignoring the initial struggles, the kicks that became progressively more feeble as Angelus steadily drained him of his life's blood. I missed his final moments, for Dru had taken me in her arms.
"Thirsty," she whispered, "thirsty for you."
"Drink me, then." The decision had been made hours earlier, with the first breath against my cheek. "And let me drink you."
She held a wrist out. Using the same technique Darla had used, she opened one of the blue-tinted veins at her slender wrist, and offered it up to me.
I drank.
I tasted her blood, I took her life into me, a rich coppery darkness. It was sweet, and metallic. I was unaware of it, when she leaned forward to open the jugular and drink, and I made no attempt to stop her.
Just before I lost consciousness, I looked up and across at Am. She had tossed the card case on top of Montague John Druitt's empty shell of a body, and had given a wrist each to Dru and Darla.
We're still in England these days, Am-Chau and I, but the others are scattered and lost. Darla is gone, three times dead; Angelus bit a gypsy girl and was cursed with a soul. Dru is still out there, in the night; sometimes I dream of her, and she comes to us, Am and I.
Montague John Druitt was fished out of the Thames, with stones and money in his pocket, an apparent suicide, a month after Mary Kelly's death, our own deaths, in Miller's Court. We never put a name to the Ripper, but by then, we had our own need for blood. And, as Am says, there are women reporters everywhere. You can hardly put the telly on without seeing one.
A hundred years and more have passed, and the world has changed enormously, but we adapt, for the night is always the night and the food is always plentiful.
finis
Teppy, the fic I was asking after wasn't Graveyard Shift it was the Spiderman/Spike. Which I still want to see.
Well, I tried Spike and Spider-Man (not slash!) and it wanted to become "Graveyard Shift," and on edits, I took out the scene with drunk!Spike wondering what would happen to *him* if he drank from Spider-Man, or what would happen to Spidey if he were vamped.
It was kind of funny -- it was Xander and Willow babysitting drunk!Spike in Willy's Place.
one word: dreamy
I'm lost in it Deb, couldn't edit to save my soul right now.
I have to go be mommy for awhile. storyma vibes for me please. I have something, just might turn into something.
Deena, vibes to you. And this one, as long as it makes Am-Chau and RL reasonably happy, it's done its job.
I do quite like the picture of the Ripper meeting that particular end.
I think she liked it.....
I LOVE YOU, DEB!
Me too! Love you, Deb! I'm unreasonably happy over its existance.
Boys in the Basement 3: Getting Meta
(Post 'Bring On The Night' and 'Long Day's Journey'.)
~~~
“Rat?”
“Thanks.”
“Nasty chest wounds you’ve got there.”
“Yeah—evil thing bled me to open the Hellmouth.”
“Nothing new happening, then?”
“Not really. Your son still sleeping with that chit you fell for?”
“As far as I know.”
“It’s shocking, what girls do these days.”
“Some are more shocking than others. Is the Hellmouth still open?”
“I don’t think so. It closed when the Turok-Han came out.”
“The what?”
“You know-- Turok-Han. Mythological uber!vamp.”
“Oh, I remember. I used to scare Drusilla with stories about them.”
“Back in the day.”
“Back in the nights. When I was… when we were evil.”
“And we aren’t now?”
“We both have souls.”
“That doesn’t stop us being evil, Angelus.”
“I’m not Angelus any more.”
“Oh, aren’t you? Because I am. I’m still Spike, and I’m still evil, even if I try not to be.”
“Shut up, Spike.”
“What are doing, telling me to shut up? You’re a fucking hallucination.”
“No. *I'm* not! *You’re* a figment of *my* imagination!”
“Am not!”
“You mean—you’re real?”
“It’s you that’s not.”
“Spike, are we both really here?”
“Looks like to me. But I’m crazy, you don’t want to trust me.”
“No, I don’t. However, on this occasion I agree with you. Which leaves the questions how, and why, and where, are we?”
“Does it matter? There’s still some juice left in this rat.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
Am, I truly love this entire concept you've got going with this.
But I’m crazy, you don’t want to trust me
Whee!!! One of my biggest hopes for the post-Buffy world is that Spike will be around to annoy Angel.
I truly love this entire concept you've got going with this.
Thank you! One of my crazy moments that turned into a thing worth following.
One of my biggest hopes for the post-Buffy world is that Spike will be around to annoy Angel.
Life would be dull with no Spike at all, that's for sure.
BTW, connie, I want to read Ethan and the Potentials again. Have you posted it at your site? (Yes, I'm too lazy to check.)
