Chapter Text
With the midday sun high and bright, Dawn walked through the graveyard smiling. The grass crunched underfoot, already starting to dry out as the days grew warmer—not to mention it being constantly disturbed by the emergence of the undead.
The cemetery was not her ideal Saturday hangout spot, but she was there with a purpose.
Dawn knocked on the door of Spike’s crypt, clutching her notebook under her arm. She waited for a moment and then banged louder on the solid wood.
“What is it now?” Spike grumbled as he pushed open the door a few inches, shielding his face from the sun with his arm. He started to sizzle and took a step back.
The vampire was shirtless, his usually slicked back hair sticking out some.
“Hi, Spike,” the brunette chirped, her face glowing pink, “Did I interrupt something?”
“Yeah, my sleep. At least I had the honour of opening the door myself. Since when do you Summers girls bother knocking?”
“Since I have a favour to ask?” She answered, smiling awkwardly.
“Of course you do.” Spike’s face remained neutral, but he pulled the door open nonetheless to let her in. He was also eager to avoid the sunlight.
“Thanks! You really don’t have to do much at all,” she reassured him, talking quickly as she came in and closed the door behind herself, “You see, I’m just tryna study for my history exam and it was going well but all the these decades are starting to merge together and—”
“I’m not your study-buddy, kiddo. Go get Red’s help,” he interrupted.
“But the thing is, Spike, you’ve actually seen this history, lived through it!”
“So you’re here to pick my brain about what Queen Victoria’s favourite bloody food was? Not happening.”
“Well, it’s okay if you don’t have all the answers,” Dawn insisted, “It would be helpful just hearing from you so I can tell the years apart better.”
Spike looked skeptical but didn’t answer. He disappeared into the shadows around the sarcophagus, finding a black shirt to put on. He reemerged wearing it and Dawn could finally stop blushing.
“What years are we talking about here, niblet? Many of them blur together for me too.”
“Don’t worry about that! You can just tell me whatever comes to mind!” Dawn clicked on a lamp and sat down on his couch, setting her notebook and pencil on her lap.
“I’ve got a lot of the old stuff memorized but the twentieth century is so crazy busy,” she clarified.
“The good news for you is that it’s over now and I lived through all of it.” Spike strolled across his crypt, turning to face her as he sat on the edge of the sarcophagus.
“And how would you describe it overall?” Dawn asked half-jokingly, though her hand was poised to write.
“Downright miserable,” he scoffed, “I loved it.”
“Of course you’d say that.” She dropped her pencil with a grimace.
“What’d you expect? Some sappy ode to bygone days?” The blond raised an eyebrow.
“No, but could you give me something to work with?”
“Where do I even start? That time I beat up some Nazis in Paris? That’s always a crowd-pleaser.” A cocky smile emerged on his lips as he spoke.
“That’s great! But can we start with the first World War?”
“Bah,” he exclaimed with disgust, “What a bore! Hardly any good meals to be found. Pickin’ off widows and orphans just ain’t my style.” He lit up a cigarette and with it between his lips said, “‘Sides everyone tasted all ashy.”
Dawn gazed at him with pursed lips, noticing the irony of that statement.
“Don’t get all judgy with me now,” Spike defended himself, smoke swirling out of his mouth. He took another drag of his cigarette and hummed thoughtfully. “After the war, now that was fun.”
New York City, 1922
The jazz club buzzed with hushed excitement. Many voices overlapped, but had become unified under the brassy notes of a saxophone. It was a small jazz band for such a large venue; their mellow tones warmed the room, brought it to life.
Circular tables draped in white tablecloths filled most of the floor space, with a clearing in front of the stage for those too brave or too drunk to sit still. They danced with their cares forgotten, compelled by some mix of alcohol, joy, or emptiness.
At the other end, by the entrance, was the bar. Every stool was filled on that Friday night. The occasional drunk would fall off one only to be replaced by another rosy face.
The stage and walls were bathed in streaks of golden light, making their true hues indiscernible. The ceiling was rather low, making the room feel unusually claustrophobic. Spike had no problem with that, if anything he felt more at home in a wooden box such as that.
The petulant vampire, with Drusilla at his side, sat comfortably near the stage. The vampires admired the people around them as though examining a fine wine menu. But it wasn’t enough for Spike.
“Remind me again why we’re here, love,” Spike asked, watching the ice he was swirling around in his glass. He took a sip, grimaced, and set it back down on the table. He was not a heavy drinker at that time, but prohibition was a stake to the heart unto itself. He leaned back in his chair, frustratedly gazing at the ceiling.
“Spike, you know I don’t want to play at home. It’s far too messy there.” Drusilla frowned at him, tutting softly. Her mocha ringlets bounced above her shoulders as she shook her head.
She was wearing a long maroon dress with gold trim and long lace sleeves. Around her neck rested a string of pearls. She didn’t bother rouging her cheeks like the other women, though, proud of her deathly countenance. It made for an even greater contrast with her blood red lips. She was stunning and Spike wasn’t the only one who took notice that night.
Spike was dressed in a simple white dress shirt and black slacks with suspenders. His collar was unbuttoned, revealing a silver chain necklace. His short hair was light brown and neatly slicked back.
Overall, Drusilla’s opulence greatly outshone him, but Spike had no problem with that. He just wanted to keep her happy and safe as he always had—her penchant for unfaithfulness notwithstanding.
The sparse lighting kept much concealed in the shadows, but the vampires could clearly be made out as a well-to-do pair. For starters, they were clean, their skin shining alabaster among even the wealthiest patrons. “A beauty secret from an angel,” Drusilla would explain coyly to the girls who flocked to her, desperate to glow like her.
“Sure, England’s a bit of a mess but the liquor here is rotten! Where’s a bloke gotta go to get a good drink? Might as well go north and try my luck in Canada.”
Seated next to him, Drusilla patted Spike’s arm. He put his hand over hers.
“The songbird will put your unquiet mind at ease,” she reassured as a woman stepped out onto the stage.
The woman wore a tight white dress glittering with glass beads. Her hair was much shorter than Drusilla’s with her curls meticulously framing her face.
She glided over to the microphone in her black heels and introduced herself in a sultry voice. Then, she began to sing a clear melody.
“Isn’t she lovely? She would make a perfect dolly,” Drusilla sighed.
The brunet just hummed in agreement. He was too busy staring at the singer. Her throat bobbed with every note, glimmering bronze. If she was a feast for the eyes and ears, he could only imagine how she would be for the tongue.
“Oh, Spike, will you get me a dress like that?”
“In any colour your little black heart desires, my sweet.”
“I want that one ,” she clarified, pointing at the singer.
“Consider it done.” Spike smirked and lifted up his partner’s hand to kiss the back of it.
As the singer finished her enchanting song, she thanked the audience and gave an elegant curtsey.
Later that night, the two vampires stood outside the singer’s dressing room. Spike rapped on the door, managing to subdue his impatience.
“Hello?” The woman asked, opening the door. She was wrapped in a lilac silk robe. “Is there something you need?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Spike smirked. “My lady and I came here for a private performance.”
“Sorry, but I have no more performances tonight.”
“That just isn’t true, love.” He shoved her away, causing the woman to stumble backward.
Spike held the door open for Drusilla to enter. He stepped inside too and locked the door behind them.
“Who are you? I’ll scream if you try to hurt me!” The singer’s eyes were wide as she braced herself against her vanity.
“I know you will,” Drusilla cooed, strolling over to her side and calmly petting her hair, “What a noisy little dove you are.”
“But no one out there will hear you,” the brunet explained, a look of smug satisfaction on his face, “We’re just some admirers of yours. No need to make a big fuss.”
“Won’t you sing for us again, little lark?” The vampire dragged her nails lightly down the other woman’s cheek. “I want to hear a song.”
“Seems she needs a little prompting.” Spike flicked open a switchblade, approaching the singer. “So how about it?” He asked menacingly as he raised his hand, the knife pointed at her face.
The woman whimpered in fear, at a loss for words.
“Feeling shy?” Drusilla grabbed the singer by her hair and wrenched her head back, exposing her neck. The vampire then spotted her necklace. “Such lovely pearls,” she mused, running her fingers over them, “Such a shame they’re fake.”
“How long do you want to play with her, Dru?” Spike huffed, twirling the knife in his fingers.
“Are you hungry?” She asked, looking at her partner.
“I could eat.” The brunet’s face morphed into his true vampiric image.
In a swift motion, he slashed at the singer’s necklace and the glass pearls scattered at their feet. The blade also left a slice from her collarbone to sternum and blood began spilling out. The woman screamed, clutching at her robe to stop the bleeding, but she could barely move with Drusilla’s firm grasp on her head.
“It’s beautiful!” She exclaimed, grinning at the woman’s aghast expression. “Such a lovely voice.” Her face turned and she bit into the woman, crying helplessly.
“Knew I could make her sing for you, pet.” Spike licked his lips and leaned in to feast.
Present
“And she tasted good ,” Spike chuckled with dark amusement.
“That’s so twisted.” Dawn gawked at him, though she was clearly enraptured.
“That’s the best part.” He nodded. “Though, between you and me, I think Dru was jealous.”
“How do you know?”
“For starters, we nicked the bird’s dress but it wasn’t enough. Next night, with the main act ready to be pushing up daisies, Dru got up on stage and sang.”
“She wanted a taste of fame?” Dawn wondered.
“Something like that. Only problem was she was bloody awful!” He scowled at the memory as the girl let out a laugh.
“That bad?”
“Like a cat yowling in heat. Needless to say we slaughtered the crowd after they shared that same sentiment.”
“Drusilla doesn’t take criticism very well, does she?”
Spike shrugged.
“Who knows what goes in that one’s head. I suggested she work on her singing voice on the way out, but she might’ve been too elated to hear. Just kept going on about how much fun there was to be had in New York City.”