Disclaimer: Everything BtVS and AtS is owned by Joss, ME, and all them over there. Everything Anita Blake is owned by Laurell K. Hamilton

Valley of the Dolls

Drusilla may have been an inept sire, and a faithless lover, but Spike had to concede that she had the right idea about one thing� dolls. Since he had acquired his pretty, little Willow, he understood his one-time Princess' devotion to Miss Edith for the first time in his unlife. Dolls were quiet, obedient, and above all, faithful. But he surely had done his sire one better, Spike thought to himself as he downed another shot of tequila. Miss Edith didn't have soft skin or green eyes that sparkled with emotion. She didn't smell deliciously of vanilla and fear. She couldn't warm Dru's cold body
the way holding Willow warmed Spike. And she could never do the things that Spike intended to teach Willow to do for him. Yes, his doll was a much better doll than his sire's.

Spike listened to a demon singing karaoke as he sat with the bottle of tequila next to his shot glass. He had found this bar shortly after bringing Willow to his lair in Los Angeles. His new lair wasn't much compared to his digs in Sunnydale. It was only two spartan rooms in the basement of an abandoned building. But there was running water, electricity, and he had made sure the rooms were reasonably clean. His doll maintained them now. She was such a tidy little thing, Spike mused. Even her hair was always perfectly combed. He wondered what she would look like with her hair in disarray after a night of passionate lovemaking. What her voice would sound like calling out his name.

It had been awhile since he'd heard her voice. He hadn't heard her speak a word since the morning he'd had to punish her for lying. He'd asked her favorite color and she'd said it was green. He knew what her favorite color was, it was the blue of his eyes. So he'd punished her.

Afterwards, when her eye was swollen and ringed in purple, and blood oozed from the corner of her mouth, he had so wanted to comfort her and tend to her injuries. Especially when he had heard her crying and moaning in pain in the bathroom. But he couldn't appear soft or weak, not if he expected her to be obedient.

So he had patiently waited while she cleaned and bandaged herself. He had ached to hold her that day while he slept, but he noticed her wince and hold her arm close to her chest when she walked and realized her ribs were broken. So he contented himself with sleeping close to her and watching her when he awoke as she whimpered while she dreamed. She was so beautiful, even with the marks of his `correction' on her sweet face. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Even more beautiful than his Dark Goddess, Drusilla.

He hoped that he'd hear Willow's voice again soon. He remembered how charming and compassionate it had sounded when he had brought her and the dark-haired boy to his old lair in Sunnydale to get her to perform a spell to get Dru to love him again. It was her voice and her words, more even than her lovely face and soft body, which had compelled him to change his plans and make her his own precious doll. He would have to see what he could do to get her to speak soon. He missed her voice.

Maybe she was so quiet because she was hungry. He realized it had been several days since he had brought home food for her. He kept forgetting that his doll was human and needed to eat. He remembered Dru's canary and frowned. He couldn't let the same thing happen to his lovely doll. Tomorrow, tomorrow for certain he would remember to get food for his precious Willow. Then maybe she would talk to him again.

But for now, it was nearly dawn. He needed to get home before the sunrise. He downed one last shot of tequila and smiled. Maybe there were better ways to spend the day than talking anyway. Maybe today he would really play with his doll.

The End

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