Old Times

Leaning on the bar, the blonde swirled the clear liquid in the glass, praying it would help her find the oblivion she had been seeking, the dull fuzziness from the previous three drinks already seeping through her uneasy blood stream.

All around her, couples canoodled together, dancing and kissing in the dim light of the crowded club.

All except her, settled on her solitary seat by the bar, only in the dull, yet comforting company of her drink.

“Gimme a beer.” A familiar British accent growled from alongside her, a leather-clad figure sliding onto the stool, his bleach-blonde head falling into his black-nailed hands, elbows propped on the bar.

Tilting her head to stare at him, she felt a flicker in her memory. “Spike?”

The bottle-blond froze, his hands slowly falling from his temples, as he pivoted to face the woman alongside him, a confused expression crossing his chiselled face. “Darla?” His eyes flitted over her, his frown deepening. “What the bloody hell happened to you?”

“You mean with this whole-being-human-again thing?” A sad smile crossed her lips. “It’s a long and messy story, childe.”

Spike nodded warily, taking in the scent of her. She was weak, that much was visible, her face pale and eyes rimmed with dark circles in spite of her best efforts with the make-up.

The nauseating scent of sickness rippled off her, barely noticeable, but it was there. Not some apparent disease, but something that was wasting her away from the inside.

“Bloody hell…you’re…You look terrible, mam…” He didn’t want to say it, but she nodded slowly.

“I know, childe.” She replied softly, swallowing hard. “That’s one of the problems with having a reflection again. I see what I’m becoming. Rotting away, full of the life that came back just to destroy me slowly and painfully.”

Tears glimmered in her blue eyes, her hands curling around her glass, as she released a deep sigh.

“You want to be turned again?”

Nodding, a tear trickled down her cheek. “More than anything.” She replied softly, lowering her head. “I come here every night in the hope that someone who is worthy or able…” She shrugged. “But it never happens. Someone…” She let the word linger between them, leaving no doubt who it was. “He keeps protecting me from the ‘undead’ fiends.”

Blue eyes met blue in a challenge.

Spike tried to fight back the bitter, ironic smile that twisted his mouth. “I would love to help you, pet.” He murmured, accepting the pint from the barman. “But I can’t, even though I wish I could.”

“What do you mean?” Her smooth, pale brow furrowed slightly.

Tapping his temple, the vampire sighed. “The feds got me.” Running a hand through his short hair, he gave her a wry smile. “They put something in my head. I can’t bite. Can’t even hurt anything except demons. It’s hell.”

“You can’t kill?” The disappointment in her voice was evident. “Even if your victim is willing?”

“Sorry, luv.” He shook his head, the bitter hatred in his eyes reflecting his disgust at his condition. “It hurts when a vampire bites so if I inflict any pain on a human, this chip fries my brain until I give up. I’d rather be human again.”

With a snort of disgust, she glared at him. “It’s overrated, childe.” She replied, her voice dripping with venom. “Slowly crumbling away from the inside out with no way to stop it. No healing. Nothing. I want revenge on the people who cursed me to live like this.”

“I know the feeling.” The vampire’s eyes glinted gold, a low growl rumbling through him. “Even though, in my case, the company has been…disbanded and I’m stuck like this permanently as far as I know.”

Both fell into silence, regarding their drinks with an intensity that seemed strong enough to shatter their glasses.

“I wish we could be back in the old days.” The vampire finally sighed, rooting through his pocket and drawing out a battered wallet. “All the destruction and death…those were the good times.” Flipping open the wallet, he fished out a sepia-tinted photograph and smiled. “Remember Yorkshire?”

“How could I forget?” Taking the photo, she looked at the four familiar faces. “I remember all the trouble we had getting Dru to sit still for this.” She traced a nail over the face of Angelus with a low sigh. “If only it was so easy to go back.”

Spike nodded. “Look at us now.” He gave a tiny grin. “A poof vampire with a soul, a sick human and a harmless demon. Dru’s the only one left with any vampire credibility at all.”

“And she’s as mad as a hatter.” The blonde woman chuckled without humour, downing her drink. “Could we possibly be more pathetic? All of the Scourge of Europe reduced to such miserable semblance of existence.”

“At least we’re not dust.” Spike put in on a positive note that betrayed the depression in his eyes.

“True.” Signalling the barman, she ordered two more drinks, then turned her attention to her former grand-childe. “I guess we should be grateful for that small mercy, even though I’d rather be dead.”

As the two drinks were put down in front of them, she pushed one towards the vampire with a world-weary smile.

“Here’s to the old days.” Spike smiled genuinely for the first time in weeks, clinking his glass against hers.

“Hear hear.” She returned the smile. “To the old days.”