Two Turtle Doves

Chapter 2. On the Second Day of Christmas… Two Turtle Doves, by Cass

Boxing Day, December 26th, 1880

“Bloody hell! A bit of warning next time, huh?” Spike blinked and looked around.

Another drawing room, this one even more sumptuous than the last. The walls were papered in expensive, richly patterned flocking, and vast swags of tasselled brocade hung at the windows. The dark wood furniture was polished to a deep sheen that would have reflected the light of the brightly burning fire and glittering candles if every available surface hadn’t been either covered with embroidered cloth or cluttered with photographs, porcelain figures and potted plants. In one corner a huge aspidistra spread its sombre green leaves, jostling for position with a large vase of hothouse flowers, on a small, damask-covered table. High Victoriana at it costliest and ugliest, Spike thought, frowning.

Amongst the rich smells of polish and spices, wood smoke and oranges, the pungent smell of pine caught Spike’s attention and he turned slowly to its source. Another richly decorated tree stood in pride of place, resplendent in glittering red and gold, branches groaning under the weight of sugar-plums and gingerbread and gilded fruits. His eyes travelled up to the top. Yep, there it was, resplendent in white and gold. No escape from the Angel. Another bloody Christmas. Was he going to have to re-live each and every one of the last 124?

“Haven’t you had enough of all this? It’s getting like something out of A Christmas Carol: ‘God bless us every one’! Bloody Dickens.” Spike growled. “Never could stand him myself. Miserable old git.” He frowned. “Where are we?”

Illyria tilted her head. “You do not recognise this?” She reached out a finger to touch the tree gently. “Why do the humans kill the green at Christmas?”

Spike shook his head vaguely. “I dunno – some bloody peculiar custom brought over by the krauts. Look, love…”

“Is it a sacrifice?”

“Only to the gods of commercialism. Illyria, where are we?”

“Your first Christmas as a half-breed. Show me how this differed from before.”

“First as…” Remembrance dawned. “Then where’s…?” There was the sound of laughter and the door from the hall flew open. A symphony in silks and satins, she twirled into the room, black hair flying, dark eyes flashing. “Drusilla.” Spike finished softly.

Drusilla stopped spinning and looked around. A slow smile curled her lips. “Oh, William.” She purred. “What have you done?”

William came into the room behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Do you like it?”

“Like lollipops at the fair, my love.” Dru leaned back against him, swaying gently. “Look at all the pretty things.” She caught sight of the pile of brightly wrapped presents under the tree. “Oh!” She clapped her hands in child-like glee. “Are they for me? May I have them?”

“Don’t see why not. They’ve got no use for them.” He jerked his head toward a sofa at the far side of the room. Two pale, crumpled figures were propped against each other; a man and a woman in their holiday finery, eyes half-closed, more dead than alive. A trickle of blood stained the smooth skin of the woman’s neck and pooled on the curve of her breasts where they bulged over the constrictions of her corset.

“Oh, William.” Dru pouted. “You started the party without me!”

“Just a nip, love, to keep them quiet. Plenty there for you.” He kissed her neck. “Besides, I saved you the little ones.”

“Tasty little sweetmeats. They sang like angels.” Dru swayed against him, one hand rubbing her stomach. “Tasted like milk and sugarplums and mischief.”

“Slaughter of the innocents!” William gave a hard laugh. “How deliciously appropriate. Ah, my love,” he spun her around in his arms and pulled her into a tight embrace. ”A new year awaits us! They will tremble at the sound of our names! We shall lay waste to the world!”

Drusilla patted his arms. “And so we shall, my dear. But first…” She smiled seductively up at him, then grinned wickedly. “Presents!” She twirled away and threw herself down next to the tree, skirts billowing.

Illyria walked closer to Dru, examining her, head tilted. “This half-breed is broken.”

“Well, not so much broken. Maybe two sandwiches short of a picnic…”

Illyria turned her ice-blue gaze on him. “I do not understand.”

“I mean, she’s… Dru went through a lot when Angelus turned her. Did something to her mind. She doesn’t quite function on the same plane as the rest of us.”

Illyria watched as William knelt down beside Drusilla. He laughed with her as she joyfully ripped open the packages and pressed a kiss on her forehead as she smiled up at him. “Yet you show feelings for her.” Illyria looked back at Spike. “Why would you care for a damaged creature such as this?”

Spike crouched down next to Drusilla, watching the play of the firelight on her profile with a soft smile. “You’ve no idea. All you saw before? All the frustration and anger, the stupid, pointless, dull life I was leading? Dru saved me from that.” He reached out a hand and let his fingers brush her cheek. Drusilla paused and looked blindly in Spike’s direction, a small frown creasing her forehead.

“Dru, love?” William caught her hand. “What is it?”

Drusilla gave a puzzled shake of her head. “I thought a ghost came visiting,” she said vaguely. Her mood shifted quickly and she picked up anther parcel, flashing an excited smile at William.

“My dark queen.” Spike said quietly. “A century we spent together. Drained a continent of blood, we did. People knew our names and feared us. She delivered me from a life of tedium and obscurity. She was my salvation.”

“I have something for you.” William stood up and ran from the room, returning with an ornate, white birdcage. “Here.” He handed it to Drusilla with a shy smile.
Dru tilted her head and peered at it. “What is it?”

“They’re birds, love.”

“Oh.” Drusilla gave a puzzled frown. “Do they sing?”

“No… not exactly. They’re doves.”

“Doves?” Drusilla looked at the two cowering birds curiously. “What do they do?”

“Do? Well, nothing…” William reached over and covered her hands with his. “They’re… they’re a symbol of love. Pure, faithful, eternal love,” he looked at her intently. “Like mine for you.”

Dru smiled slowly and reached up to cup his cheek. “Oh, my sweet William.” She looked back at the birds. “I think I would rather have a bird to sing sweet songs to me.” She shook the cage and the birds inside fluttered helplessly. “Can we eat them?”

“Eat…?” William heaved a disappointed sigh. “I suppose we could. Maybe I could find you a nightingale or something.”

“I would like that.” Drusilla dropped the cage and turned her attention back to the parcels. She tore apart the brightly wrapped packages eagerly, exclaiming over their contents excitedly, discarding them carelessly as she quickly lost interest. A jumble of hair ribbons, books, carved wooden animals, silk fans, marbles and toy soldiers built up at her side. She picked up the final package and began to slowly unwrap it. A blandly smiling bisque face appeared from the pink and gold tissue paper. Drusilla unwrapped the doll tenderly, reverently. “Oh, William, look!” She held it out to him, handling it gently as if it were a child. “Isn’t she beautiful? I had a dolly once, you know. Before…” there was a flash of vulnerability, a lost, sad look in her dark eyes. “She had a scarlet dress. Mummy made it. She made one for Anne, too…” her voice tailed away. “But Anne got eaten.” She said sadly. She gave a short, sharp giggle and looked at William blankly.

William took her hand and pressed it to his lips, alarmed at the emptiness of her stare. “You shall have more dolls, my love. As many as you desire.”

Drusilla blinked and pressed the doll’s smooth face against hers, her head tilted as if she was listening to something. She gave William a slow smile. “Dolly say’s her name’s Miss Edith. Say hello to Miss Edith, William.” She held out the doll.

William gave a mock bow. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Edith.” He said formally.

Drusilla giggled and hugged the doll to her. She looked down at the torn wrapping paper and discarded trinkets with a sigh. “No more. All gone.” She pouted and tilted her head to the doll again. “Miss Edith wants a story. Tell us a sad song, sweet William.” She settled back against him. “Tell us of love and pain and death to cheer us.”

William paused for a moment in thought. He looked down at the discarded cage and its terrified occupants, and smiled.

“Oh, no… not the Shakespeare.” Spike winced.

William began.

“Let the bird of loudest lay,
On the sole Arabian tree,
Herald sad and trumpet be,
To whose sound chaste wings obey.

But thou shrieking harbinger,
Foul precurrer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever's end,
To this troop come thou not near!”

“Oh, hell.” Spike muttered, as William droned on. “The phoenix and the turtle dove. I really was an insufferable prig.”

Illyria watched William, her stare unblinking. “These words. They are what you call poetry? It is a feeble thing.” She said scornfully. “It pales beside the ballads offered to me in praise and fear.”

“Hey! Hands off the bard!” Spike considered. “Have to say, though, kind of agree with the feeble.” He looked at William with a frown.

William finished the poem with self-satisfied flourish.

“Arse.” Spike muttered darkly.

Dru sighed happily. “Poor birds, to die for love! Would you die for me? Am I your phoenix, my dove?”

“My bright, beautiful bird.” William’s eyes shone with adoration.

She took his face in her hands and there was a world of sadness in her eyes. “Ah, but it is you who will be the phoenix. And you will burn.”

“Only with love for you.” William pulled Drusilla on to his lap. Drusilla laughed delightedly and moved to straddle him, wriggling against him seductively.

“Right.” Spike turned to Illyria abruptly. “I think we should go now.”

Illyria watched William and Drusilla curiously, her head tilted. “I desire to stay.”

“No. We go. Do your mojo and get us out of here.”

Illyria gave a slight shake of her head. “I will stay.” She moved closer to William and Drusilla.

“You bloody well will not! Illyria…!”

William’s hand was sliding ever higher up Drusilla’s thigh, fighting past layers of silk and petticoats, finding cool, smooth skin above fine, cashmere stockings. Dru giggled against his mouth.

“Naughty William, messing mummy’s satins. What shall I do with my bad, bad boy?”

William pulled back and grinned up at her, tongue against his teeth. “I should be punished.”

“Oh, yes, you should.” Drusilla teased his lips with hers. “Because you are very, very naughty…” Her hand reached down between them, and she grabbed the bulge of William’s crotch with a seductive growl. “Such a hungry child.” She purred.

“You are about to copulate?” Illyria watched them with the cool detachment of a scientist observing a pair of insects involved in some unusual activity.

“Cop… what? No! Copulate?” Spike glared at Illyria. “It wasn’t just copulation.”

“But why would you do this? There was no point to this action.”

“There was every point to this action to a fucked-up, repressed Victorian prig like me.” He frowned thoughtfully. “It was what it was all about - from Dru’s bite to this,” he gestured at William and Drusilla. “The release, the power becoming a vampire brought. Not that much difference between the biting and this.”

“I do not understand. This act is for procreation.” Illyria glanced at him briefly. “You can not create life.”

“You really have a lot to learn about human nature, haven’t you? It isn’t about making babies.” He paused. “Well it is, obviously, sometimes... But it’s a lot more, it’s…” William tipped Drusilla on to her back and settled himself between her legs, his mouth hungry on hers. Drusilla wrapped her legs around William’s back and Spike groaned. Bloody hell! This was getting embarrassing! Now was not the time for a synopsis of the Kinsley report. “We go. Now.”

“If I am to learn of your traditions, I should observe.” Illyria’s eyes were fixed on the couple on the floor.

“It’s not all about gettin’ laid! There’s other stuff!” Spike cast around in his mind for something to distract Illyria from the rapidly developing tableau in front of them. “Friendship! Yeah. Friendship. Christmas is all about friendship – or so they tell me.” he added, muttering.

Illyria turned her gaze back to him. “This…” she gestured vaguely back toward William and Drusilla. “This is not friendship?”

Spike snorted. “It’s a lot of things; but not friendship. Shagging your mates isn’t normally good practice. Friendship’s different.”

Illyria’s gaze focused on him. “Show me.”

Spike raised his eyebrows. “Me? Don’t think I’ve ever had a friend as such…” He frowned uncomfortably under the intensity of her stare. “Do you have to look at me like that? I can virtually feel my brain cells freezin’.”

She gave a short nod and her body stiffened with effort. “I see it.”

“What? Who? Oh, about time…” Spike cast a last glance back at William and Drusilla, engrossed in each other in the flickering firelight. Happy Christmas, mate, he thought, as time and space shifted around him again.