Buffy sat and fumed for a long while. Then she stewed for even longer. Finally she sighed in resignation, then took out a tiny silver knife and cut her arm. She methodically bled herself into her plastic cup, then reached into her bag and tore a strip from one of her T-shirts to bandage the wound. She made her way carefully with the cup back to where Spike was sitting next to a sleeping Drusilla and reading a magazine. He looked up expectantly.
"Here." She said, handing him the cup. "This should tide you over."
He arched a mocking eyebrow and sniffed the cup. "Poisoned?" he asked.
"No. Mine." Buffy answered expressionlessly. "You win. Guess I was in a Red Crossy mood after all. Just don't tell Giles and the rest where I am. Oh, and do me a favor and try not to kill anyone until after I leave the airport, okay?" She turned and stalked away.
"Least I can do," he murmured, savoring the aroma of the cup's contents. He hadn't really expected his plan to succeed. He sighed in deep, rich contentment and downed half of the cup in one swallow, then stopped and looked at his sleeping princess. He played with the idea of waking her up to share some of this bounty, then discarded it almost immediately. He remembered the lost child in LA, and the fact that she had gone out with Angel the night before while he still stayed at home in his wheelchair, biding his time. Then she had come home with Angel, barely sparing a glance for her sweet little Spike before following Angel into his bedroom. The closed door had not quite muffled her gasps and squeals. His eyes hardened at the memory, and he swiftly drained the cup.
Whoa! Now he knew what had finally freed the master! Her blood's power went straight to his head, and he laughed. This was better than drugs, better than booze, better than - he cast a guilty eye at Drusilla and ended that line of thought. It was the best high he'd ever had. Made his wild experiences at Woodstock seem like a couple of caffeine jitters. The plane whirled around - or was it just him? He glanced at Drusilla again, with a different attitude. Suddenly, he was sick of catering to her constant bids for attention, having to always buy her birds and bring home pets for her to play with. He remembered, through a drugged haze, what it had been like without her: the freedom to do anything he wanted, to kill where he pleased, to wreak mayhem wherever he wanted. He grew misty-eyed, thinking of what his life had been like without Drusilla. He missed it. He began to entertain thoughts of staking her as she slept, but then remembered what he and the slayer had agreed upon: there were too few people on this flight. One of them would be missed if he did in anyone, even Dru. He started to calculate how soon he could off her after they landed, and these thoughts kept him smiling, enjoying the high, until the "Please Fasten Seatbelts" light came on.
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