I don't own Spike or the other "BTVS" characters. They belong to Joss Whedon and WB. I also don't own Monica. She belongs to the CBS series "Touched By an Angel." I'm been writing fanfic for a while. This is my first submission to another archive. If its unbelievable, just laugh like I did. Can you *really* picture the British bad boy talking to a gentle Scottish angel?
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Make me a witness
take me up, out of the darkness, out of doubt
I won't weigh you down, with good intentions
won't make fire out of clay or other inventions.
Will we burn in Heaven, like we do down here?
Will a change come while we're waiting?
-"Witness", Sarah Maclachlan
"You did the right thing."
The gentle Scottish burr came from the backseat of the vintage black Caddy and Spike's hands jerked on the wheel, pulling the car into the opposing lane of the deserted backroad. "You!" he gasped as Dru's unconscious form flopped against his shoulder.
"Yes, me." Monica smiled serenely at him in the rearview mirror, the angelic glow around her like a golden mantle.
"What d'you want, Woman?" he snarled as he regained control of his senses, peering through the black spray-painted windshield to make sure he was in the right lane again.
"Well, I came to thank you," the angel murmured earnestly, smoothing a lock of dark brown hair back from her lovely face.
"For what? Brainin' Angelus? Strangling Dru?" He cast his eyes deliberately to his lover, secretly glad she hadn't awakened since they'd left Sunnyhell. He had no desire to listen to her wail about 'her Angel.'
"For helpin' Buffy," Monica corrected, a little tug at her lips telling him that she knew his thoughts. "It was God's plan and you followed it."
He laughed, a sharp, violent sound. "God doesn't plan for vamps, Miss Monica. That's the Devil's job. I helped the Slayer for my own selfish needs--not 'cause you gave me a fright a few days back an' spouted all that 'God loves me' mumbo jumbo." He dragged a hand through his bleached white hair. "'Sides," he tacked on with a grin. "I don't think your God thinks too highly of my methods."
"Well, yuir right about that," Monica allowed, eyes glinting with knowledge, "But not about the rest. God does love you, William. He knows you. He knows you still have a soul and that, inside, you're just a frightened boy who wants to be loved. . .despite the curse that was given you."
His knuckles went white on the steering wheel. "Don't--call--me--William," he ground out. "I'm Spike, for the railroad spikes. Does God remember those?" he asked harshly. "Does He forgive me those?"
"Do *you*?" she wondered, arching an eyebrow.
And it was that one question that made him slam on the brakes. Drusilla moaned slightly but didn't stir. He ignored her, twisting in his seat to meet the angel's face directly.
"I don't need an angel. I enjoy my killing," he stated icily. "Why don't you go counsel the Slayer? Since the world's still here, she obviously finished off Angelus. She'll need this garbage."
Monica wasn't deterred--probably why the people Upstairs had sicced on her on him. "Buffy has angels watching over her in her time of need," she assured. "She will use the journey she is on to heal and love again. But you? William, God told me you were a special case."
"Yeah, a bloomin' *mental* case, for sittin' here talking to you."
Spike growled, shifting petulantly in and out of his game face because he knew it was futile. Monica had no blood. . .just energy. Energy that would burn him if he so much as touched her. "If God thinks I'm so bloody special, why'd He let Angelus change me?" he demanded. "Why'd He make Dru a loony? Why'd He make me love her?"
"Ohh, William," the angel sighed sadly, and it would've broken his heart if he'd had one. "Its not up to me to explain what God has intended for you. And He's terribly sorry for the tragedies that have happened to you. Drusilla's madness is not His work, but the love you've given her? *That* is God's gift. That is what you must hold on to."
He shook his head, embittered. "Is that what some other halo-girl is tellin' Buffy?" he demanded. "'Sorry you had to dust your precious but, hey, at least you loved him'? That's not comfort."
"Then *you* comfort her," Monica said simply. "Go to her and tell her what we cannot. She needs you. Needs you to find her and bring her home."
"God's plan?" he snorted, disbelieving. And he looked down at Dru, who'd slid down into his lap, lashes forming sooty crescents against her smooth white skin. "*Dru* needs me," he countered. "The Slayer's got friends, family. I'm all Dru's got. . .she's all I got," he reminded, looking back up at his celestial Jiminy Cricket.
There was silence in the car, as if Monica finally had no well-prepared response to his arguments. Then, a fresh smile spread across her face, as if someone had just whispered something wonderful in her ear. "William--*Spike*!" she began, excitement edging her tone. "What if there was a way? A way to keep Drusilla safe?"
"I'd do anything for her. I *have*," he admitted instantly.
"You aren't ready to put your faith in God's hands. .. but will you put Dru in His hands?" Monica wondered. "Will you let God take this sick, lost lamb into his fold and heal her?"
He sifted through the poetic words. "You mean you want to take her with you? Up there?" He cast his eyes instinctively upwards, shuddering at the unknown.
"Yes. Her demon is weak and it barely covers her true soul. God can save that. And then you can save Buffy Summers," the angel finished, a note of faint pride in her voice.
Spike swallowed hard. He'd been loathe to have Drusilla awake. . .didn't want the jealous pain that would come up if she keened about her their dead sire. But more than that, he wanted Drusilla happy. Loving him had made her happy once. .. but would it again? After everything they'd recently been through? "Bugger me," he muttered. "Its not my decision, Monica! Ask *her*." He gestured to the body splayed across the front seat. "Ask Dru what she wants."
His whole form throbbed with all the emotions the angel had stirred up. He tenderly straightened Dru in her seat. "Pet. . .wake up," he urged, voice hoarse and choked.
"I'll do it," Monica said softly. "Dru? Drusilla?"
Her lashes fluttered and she whined quietly, "I hurt. . ."
Spike winced. He hadn't meant to choke her that hard. "Pet? We've got something to ask you."
Dru's cat-like eyes were open now, fixed on his face. "Questions?" she said in her child-like lilt. "Mommy has questions, too. . .where's my Angel? Miss Edith says he's far away. . .so far. . ."
Monica's offer kept him from getting angry. Instead, he just touched Dru's face. . .traced her eyebrows. "Would you like to see lots of angels, Princess?" he asked. "Would you like to go to Heaven?"
She whimpered, pulling away from his touch, shaking her head. She saw Monica over her shoulder and her panic seemed to intensify. "N-no! My mum always s-said I was a bad girl. . .and all bad girls go to Hell. . .burning. . .its-so-hot!" she keened. "I can't go there. Not alone. . ."
"Hush, Drusilla," Monica interrupted gently. "You don't have to be alone if you trust God to take care of ye. And your mother is sorry for what she said. She forgives what you've become. She misses you. You father. . .sisters, little brother. . .they miss you, too."
Spike knew that Angelus had slaughtered Dru's entire family as incentive and threat. He'd been lucky--all ready full grown and orphaned when his turn had come.
"Kit?" Dru's eyes lit up. "I can see li'l Kit? He was just beginning to walk," she mumbled dreamily. "Beatrice. . .Lucy. . .always fightin' over hair ribbons. . .Papa always had candies in his pockets. . ."
It was then that he knew she would go. It was inevitable. Above all else, Dru had wanted a family. After Angel had killed hers, she'd tried to make it work with her 'daddy' and him, but it hadn't been the same. She was still just a little girl inside. . . one who would now find eternal rest and absolution for all her horrible sins. "Good-bye, Princess," he heard himself say as he fixed his eyes on the windshield.
And there was a break in his lover's deranged monologue. She patted his shoulder, sane again for just a moment. "I'm going home, Spike. Where I belong. You be happy." Her fingers stroked his temple. "I can see. . .you will be. You'll be good when I go with Monica. . .you'll save the Slayer."
"She's right, you know," the angel added. "You will."
Spike closed his eyes, struggling with regrets and rage, accepting what he couldn't change. "Go!" he gasped. "Take Dru and leave, Woman, before I change my mind!"
And the car seemed to fill with Monica's glow. . .it didn't burn, but felt like a thousand kisses on his skin. He could hear Dru's laugh. . .musical and sweet. So full of youth.
"Good-bye, my Spike."
"God loves you, William."
It was much later, when the silence had settled, that he made himself look, and he knew he was alone. Except for a pile of ashes and a black velvet ribbon on the seat beside him.
Spike didn't feel the blood tears trailing down his cheeks as he rolled down the windows and gunned the engine. All he knew was that he had to move on. . .there was someone else to live for. Someone who evidently needed him more than they needed family or salvation. For now, God's plan and his plan were going to coincide. But after he got through with the Slayer? All bets were off.
As the car sped into the darkness, the ashes swirled up and out, scattering in the wind behind him.
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