Archive ~ Writing ~ Links ~ Extras ~ Site ~ Home
Disclaimer: The characters lovingly depicted in the following story are not my property and I derive no profit from them. They are, in perpetuity, the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and Warner Brothers. In the case of Drusilla’s Roses, I also acknowledge references to and inspiration derived from the works of Robert A. Heinlein, Harper Lee, Jack London and John Steinbeck.
Xander walked back to the house, not expecting any more problems. He had surely had enough trouble for one night anyway. He had sat next to a girl whose middle name was trouble, bought trouble a cup of coffee and even given trouble a bit of a lecture about the facts of life, or in her case unlife.
Funny thing, though, he actually felt a bit better for seeing her. Like it or lump it, she was a link with his past. A link to Sunnydale High School, Spike and the pre-First Scoobies with their shreds of innocence precariously in place.
Okay, the Drusilla of those days would happily have tortured them to death and feasted on their corpses, but that was life on the Hellmouth and like other war veterans he, Xander Harris, could not help but relate better to other survivors of the same battles, could only open up to people who had been through the same horrors.
If I’d talked to her, he thought, she would have understood.
Yeah, then she’d have eaten me.
The feeling that he had somehow just missed out on something important back at the coffee shop preoccupied him, and he made a mistake. Xander was a good, experienced demon fighter. His muscles were well-honed from construction work and he knew his way round Sunnydale’s cemeteries.
He was not used to dealing with humans in Los Angeles, which was why three muggers managed to jump him three blocks from the house.
One moment he was loping along normally, the next he was being bundled into a back alley by the youths, the smell of cheap liquor surrounding him, knives at his throat, neon light from the street reflecting on spaced-out eyeballs.
There’d be no mercy with these kids, he realised. They were Latinos, high on drink and drugs. All passion, impetuousness and stupidity. At least vampires were calm and calculating. Evil, yes, but mature.
His arms were pinioned. He couldn’t get any leverage to fight. For a split-second he thought the situation ridiculous. To survive an apocalypse only to let himself get killed in a back-alley mugging. Only Xander could have picked such a stupid way to die, his friends would say. Even Willow.
He was wondering why his life wasn’t flashing before his single eye when a rush of wind seemed to surge through the alley. The arms holding him disappeared and he reeled back into the side of a dumpster.
Half-kneeling, he propped himself up against it and saw…
What?
The wind seemed to have form, and it moved a hundred times faster than he thought possible.
The youths were slashed, pummelled, decked and thrown clear into the street before Xander could say Jack Robinson. Later he would remember the wet, smacking sound of fists hitting flesh with the speed of machine-gun bullets, but right there and then he recognised the roar of an enraged vampire setting about its prey.
The creature’s speed was incredible. Xander had fought vampires and lived, but he found himself wondering if Sunnydale’s vamps had gone easy on them for some reason, because there was no way the Scoobies could have defended themselves against demons literally faster than lightning.
He blinked and the wind died down. He could vaguely hear the muggers running for their lives and was not at all surprised to see Drusilla standing there, her demure white dress ripped and flecked with blood.
She staggered for a moment and steadied herself against the wall, then wiped her mouth, retracted her fangs and started to say, “Don’t fret, k-…”
Xander cut her off.
“Don’t call me kitten and don’t call yourself mummy! You damn near killed those kids.”
Drusilla just stood there, looking confused and hurt. Only a vampire, a slayer or a Scooby could see humour in such a situation and Xander suddenly found himself laughing.
He got to his feet, adjusted his eye-patch and felt the pain of a pulled muscle in his leg. Other than that, all systems go.
Knowing he was potential food for an angry, hungry vampire, he started to reach for his cross. Then he stopped.
The hell with it. This is the second time tonight she could have killed me, and she still hasn’t done it. Time to take a risk and find out what’s going on before the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard, as Sheryl Crow would say.
He raised his hands in surrender and said, “Dru, time out. Now will you please tell me why you keep saving my life?”
Fics by author ~ Fics by rating ~ Fic by pairing