Title: Return to Shadow
Author: scy
Feedback: scynneh@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Not mine
Fandom: Angel: the series
Pairing: Angel/Dru
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: The entire run of both BTVS and A:ts.
Summary: Some things can never be lost.
Author's Notes: An OTP of mine, whose history and nuances make them endlessly fascinating, and sometimes frightening.
February 2008

The earth spoke to a good listener and Drusilla had always able to persuade the elements to bring her news. They whispered that all the messy heroics had ended as she expected. Battles were fought over the same dull things, and there were mounds of reasons decaying past consultation. Eventually those still able to stand buried the dead and tried to remember why surviving had been so important. Such problems did not concern her; she had her own councillors and kept their advice close enough to grab onto when sense floated away.

Yet, as she turned back toward the wilderness, there came another song that advised that the heart should be followed, and that someone should fill the space beside her. Drusilla pressed a palm to her chest and listened hard, but there were no words to guide her, so she let the wind that was pulling her hair lead the way.

Her destination was a town she knew; so many glittering lights and people worth savoring as she drank them down. But she also remembered the flames and failed plots. There was no pretending that smoky air was a memory without unwanted screams, and only family could make fire such a scolding. Still, Drusilla could tell that there had been changes enough to ensure that whatever happened this time would be something new.

With her head tilted to catch warnings of which way not to go, Drusilla let her slippers pick a path not so exciting that that she would go astray. Beneath her feet, the pavement felt hard and broken all at once. It was angry and solidly reinforced with bitterness. This place had always been a city where fame slipped away too quickly to be enjoyed, of late it had become nowhere fantasies dared linger. All dreams had been opened up at the waist, and then emptied out so each hope moldered on the ground.

Drusilla could almost grab what remained of the good times, but without pockets she didn't know where to keep them. Instead she narrowed her eyes and watched as they spun off into a sky where near darkness competed with sunset for space.

Orange and red still made her hunch a little in fear as she recalled that daylight had never been so terrifying as when she confronted its power alone. The sky had been unfriendly for so long with family lost and confused, but change had swept much of that away.

What rubble stood in her way was made for climbing over and rough landings. Miss Edith warned of uncertain footing but Drusilla knew how to ask for passage and slipped only the tiniest bit. Street signs wrenched from purpose and home whimpered their metal woe to gouged stucco and crushed glass.

She had never understood news reports but if there were headlines to be found they would be printed so that even she could read them. What people had refused to leave the city were burrowing toward the earth's heart. Soft things had been abandoned in favor of making it through another day, and truth turned in a direction she knew well. All blood flowed homeward, and the route came at once with the surety of having stepped onto solid ground again.

So many years of games played in tunnels and darkness made her certain in looking for Daddy, so even though Drusilla had never been to the grand old building that he'd claimed, she could track him anywhere. Her lectures might not have been quite so strict as Spike's, but Daddy was not about to leave her training to chance.

I need to be sure you can find me in times of need, he explained in the tunnels under a city she remembered only for its archways.

He wasn't hiding from her now, but he felt so quiet that she quickened her step. His silence was never submissive; it was always about waiting for an opportunity. Now he barely whispered directions in her blood.

The moon stood out in the lightening sky. Clouds gathered around the pale disk, framing it for all those looking upwards. Drusilla moved from one shadow to another, appreciating the light fog that clung to the city. There had been more than a few scuffles in the area, and parts of those who'd hesitated at the wrong moment littered the ground. She paused briefly and sampled their stories as she made her way through the wreckage, and then continued on.

The hotel loomed tall and there was a tight feeling to the air as she ascended the steps. Not anger but crystal bright isolation. Drusilla knew such an edge, and took it in before making a commitment of entering. Spinning with the drafts took her further inside. A polished counter complained of stifling dust and stacked records teetered near a cup of stale coffee. Drusilla frowned as she took in the neglect. It was unlike him to let clutter accumulate, and she wondered at what had changed.

She didn't try to muffle her steps; Daddy always knew what his girl was up to. The carpet was thick enough to belong, and she inhaled years of up-and-down-traffic before going further.

Any other member of their family would have announced themselves, demanding acknowledgment, trying to get a reaction. She didn't have to do a thing but continue forward, knowing that the hallways were like lonely years, and no matter how many pictures hung on the walls, there were still empty patches. At the end his door was shut, as good as a wooden stopper on loss.

Her lips parted to taste the feelings that flavored the air. Pain clawed through him, barbed wire lashing memory into raw guilt. On top of that, the hammering of unworthiness was like a skipping heart. There were no lamps lit and even the candles slumped in their holders did not dare add flickering light to the room.

Drusilla had never seen her angel curled in on himself. Even when he and Grandmother, lost and dead daughter had quarreled, snarling and neither bending even under the weight of discord, he'd kept his spine straight. It took more than anger to wound so badly.

Crawling on hands and knees sent a ripple through air and across her tongue. It was a room as bare and cold as a dead marsh. As she approached she could see the stuttering rise and fall of his chest; he'd forgotten that he didn't need to breathe, after all vampires robbed the air for sound.

Reaching out, Drusilla might as well have been one of the spirits tied to the building. For him nothing was real but his grief. He was colder than she'd been upon learning her Spike had left her for a warm embrace.

The conflagrations that families made and destroyed themselves with were nothing new to either of them, but this time he had no support. She sensed that there had been more than a single burial, and mortals could not return from that final planting.

She folded her skirt neatly under her legs and bent forward until she was nearly level with his face. He looked asleep; eyes closed, body stiff, but she knew his stillness and could read the set of his muscles and could tell that he was awake. This was the silence of a man who thought his surroundings were unnecessary and chose not to respond.

Reaching out, Drusilla wiggled her fingers in front of his face. "Come back now, there is more on the outside than within, and you're needed."

She concentrated on the rigid lines of his face and hummed, and when the room accepted her as another worthy presence, it was easy to press him down to the flat thoughtfulness of carpet. Wrapping him in skirts and the scent of family returned was the matter of moments. Long seconds passed before she felt him respond, but soon she twisted against him with the spasms of returning awareness, speaking softly in his ear. When he'd calmed she lay next to him, one hand somewhere that didn't inspire him to twitch, and eased when he relaxed to allow her more contact. He let her get comfortable along his front; a touch on his back sent a ripple of tension down his spine, and so she was permitted to get directly against his chest. He adjusted to her body with a leg over her hip, and she decided that the movement went back to his need for control. Once he understood that she was waiting for him to act, there was a shift in his muscles, a little less knotting of his shoulders. From her position on her side she watched as his head tilted back, eyes clouded with silent words, and she saw him wet his lips, biting them to hold back sounds as he came to grips with her offer.

One hand came out from under his head to anchor at her nape. With that point of contact established, she moved closer by millimeters, careful not to disturb his wary calm with any of the memories each were conscious of.

I'm sorry baby; I'm a bad, bad man.

Around them were ghosts that would appear, even with the lights on.

I'll dance with you, pet. On the Slayer's grave.

None of his friends, if any had survived, would immediately come looking for a leader in the place they had abandoned. Despite what lip service he paid to moving on, Angel knew more about coveting and cosseting than they would guess. He knew better than to discard what he wasn't using; interest or need would return, and then he would have it ready.

"They think you're a fallen king," Drusilla murmured, running her nails counter to the wave of his hair. "Someone will collect what's left and rebuild. Not here, memories haunt them, though they won't admit what drives them to honor this place."

She could hear arguments of mortals in the distant night, too many chattering babies barely past knowing why they were Chosen for orders to matter. "There are more voices now than ever, the girl-children think they can make a better world and forget what's gone before."

Angel's head jerked to one side as if in denial, and Dru agreed. "We know better; sometimes where we come from is all we have to guide us." Although he didn't answer aloud, she could tell that Angel felt the same way.

There were wounds, beneath his clothes and further, under his skin, but it was the ones that kept him still and bleeding that she worried over.

"Have to move," Drusilla said, eyes on the sky she could see through the windows. "It's never safe where the sun can find us."

"Come with me," she begged, and when he didn't shift, even with dawn threatening, Drusilla said, "Daddy, please."

Angel moved, sliding closer to the corner of the room, where they couldn't be touched by daylight, even at its brightest. Then he stopped again, eyes open and on Drusilla as the sun rose.

Transfixed, she couldn't turn away from the way light slid over the floor, hot even from where she hid, Drusilla spoke softly.

"It purifies where it touches." She eyed a chair that was now completely bathed in sunlight. She quivered, then wrapped her arms around her body and rocked back and forth. "But it can't touch me, I can't be cleaned, nothing can save me." Distress rose out of her in a thin moan and she huddled against the wall.

"Dru," Angel said and rose shakily from his spot on the floor. Putting an arm around her waist, he held her, and ran a hand soothingly over her hair. "Shh, the sun's not going to get you, I won't let it."

"Can't be loyal to both night and day," Dru groaned.

A cloud slid across the sun and doused the room in a hazy glow. She slumped against Angel, feeling the threat of heat and fire leave her.

Angel's fingers made swirling patterns on her belly as she relaxed.

"That's my girl," he murmured and she felt his lips on her cheek.

"You came back," Drusilla said and smiled at him.

"No, you did, Dru."

"Had to, the wind told me what happened, couldn't let you go without a map."

"You have one on you?" Angel asked.

When she didn't answer, he put his chin on her shoulder and hummed softly. "Dru?"

Dru stretched her arms up and wound them around his neck.

"Up?" he asked, and Dru put out her lip and nodded earnestly. "All right, sweetheart."

She loved the way he took her in his arms; it was like he was protecting her and reminding her of where she belonged all at once.

Angel eyed her position and shifted his hold. "Ladies don't usually cling like this."

"But I'm not a lady," Dru insisted, and darted up to nip at his neck.

"What are you?"

Dru growled and let her teeth answer.

Angel permitted the liberty, allowing her teeth to leave a mark and then pulled her off. "You looking for something to chew on, sweetheart?"

"My tummy is rumbly."

"Okay." Angel didn't argue with her; she knew what she needed, and if she couldn't say it, he would know. Somehow in this space there was room for the two of them and they would fit compromise between

"Anyplace in particular?" he asked and she tilted her head back and considered the question and shook her head. She wanted to see her angel's city, the way he would show it to her.

"And if we meet any of the sunshine girls we'll be sure to give them a scare." Dru snapped at the air several times and kicked her feet.

Angel carried her out through the garden and Dru ran her fingers over the greenery as they passed, seeing the gravestones scattered among the rockery, she didn't have to ask who they belonged to.

Once they were on the street, Angel set her down neat as she pleased. Dru smoothed her skirt and spun out in front of her escort. He walked a step or two back, his pace unhurried as she enjoyed the way anticipation built before a hunt.

Cars and other vehicles were strewn over the roads as if hurled by some immense hand. It was a playground for anyone to survive the devastation. Dru clung to a semi, giggling as metal protested under her grip.

They passed children and their families, and couples who squabbled and loved. Neither of the vampires paused; they'd recognize what they were looking for when they saw it, and in the meantime, their own company was enough.

-end

Title: Return to Shadow

Author: scy

Feedback: scynneh@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: Not mine

Fandom: Angel: the series

Pairing: Angel/Dru

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: The entire run of both BTVS and A:ts.

Summary: Some things can never be lost.

Author's Notes: An OTP of mine, whose history and nuances make them endlessly fascinating, and sometimes frightening.

February 2008

The earth spoke to a good listener and Drusilla had always able to persuade the elements to bring her news. They whispered that all the messy heroics had ended as she expected. Battles were fought over the same dull things, and there were mounds of reasons decaying past consultation. Eventually those still able to stand buried the dead and tried to remember why surviving had been so important. Such problems did not concern her; she had her own councillors and kept their advice close enough to grab onto when sense floated away.

Yet, as she turned back toward the wilderness, there came another song that advised that the heart should be followed, and that someone should fill the space beside her. Drusilla pressed a palm to her chest and listened hard, but there were no words to guide her, so she let the wind that was pulling her hair lead the way.

Her destination was a town she knew; so many glittering lights and people worth savoring as she drank them down. But she also remembered the flames and failed plots. There was no pretending that smoky air was a memory without unwanted screams, and only family could make fire such a scolding. Still, Drusilla could tell that there had been changes enough to ensure that whatever happened this time would be something new.

With her head tilted to catch warnings of which way not to go, Drusilla let her slippers pick a path not so exciting that that she would go astray. Beneath her feet, the pavement felt hard and broken all at once. It was angry and solidly reinforced with bitterness. This place had always been a city where fame slipped away too quickly to be enjoyed, of late it had become nowhere fantasies dared linger. All dreams had been opened up at the waist, and then emptied out so each hope moldered on the ground.

Drusilla could almost grab what remained of the good times, but without pockets she didn't know where to keep them. Instead she narrowed her eyes and watched as they spun off into a sky where near darkness competed with sunset for space.

Orange and red still made her hunch a little in fear as she recalled that daylight had never been so terrifying as when she confronted its power alone. The sky had been unfriendly for so long with family lost and confused, but change had swept much of that away.

What rubble stood in her way was made for climbing over and rough landings. Miss Edith warned of uncertain footing but Drusilla knew how to ask for passage and slipped only the tiniest bit. Street signs wrenched from purpose and home whimpered their metal woe to gouged stucco and crushed glass.

She had never understood news reports but if there were headlines to be found they would be printed so that even she could read them. What people had refused to leave the city were burrowing toward the earth's heart. Soft things had been abandoned in favor of making it through another day, and truth turned in a direction she knew well. All blood flowed homeward, and the route came at once with the surety of having stepped onto solid ground again.

So many years of games played in tunnels and darkness made her certain in looking for Daddy, so even though Drusilla had never been to the grand old building that he'd claimed, she could track him anywhere. Her lectures might not have been quite so strict as Spike's, but Daddy was not about to leave her training to chance.

I need to be sure you can find me in times of need, he explained in the tunnels under a city she remembered only for its archways.

He wasn't hiding from her now, but he felt so quiet that she quickened her step. His silence was never submissive; it was always about waiting for an opportunity. Now he barely whispered directions in her blood.

The moon stood out in the lightening sky. Clouds gathered around the pale disk, framing it for all those looking upwards. Drusilla moved from one shadow to another, appreciating the light fog that clung to the city. There had been more than a few scuffles in the area, and parts of those who'd hesitated at the wrong moment littered the ground. She paused briefly and sampled their stories as she made her way through the wreckage, and then continued on.

The hotel loomed tall and there was a tight feeling to the air as she ascended the steps. Not anger but crystal bright isolation. Drusilla knew such an edge, and took it in before making a commitment of entering. Spinning with the drafts took her further inside. A polished counter complained of stifling dust and stacked records teetered near a cup of stale coffee. Drusilla frowned as she took in the neglect. It was unlike him to let clutter accumulate, and she wondered at what had changed.

She didn't try to muffle her steps; Daddy always knew what his girl was up to. The carpet was thick enough to belong, and she inhaled years of up-and-down-traffic before going further.

Any other member of their family would have announced themselves, demanding acknowledgment, trying to get a reaction. She didn't have to do a thing but continue forward, knowing that the hallways were like lonely years, and no matter how many pictures hung on the walls, there were still empty patches. At the end his door was shut, as good as a wooden stopper on loss.

Her lips parted to taste the feelings that flavored the air. Pain clawed through him, barbed wire lashing memory into raw guilt. On top of that, the hammering of unworthiness was like a skipping heart. There were no lamps lit and even the candles slumped in their holders did not dare add flickering light to the room.

Drusilla had never seen her angel curled in on himself. Even when he and Grandmother, lost and dead daughter had quarreled, snarling and neither bending even under the weight of discord, he'd kept his spine straight. It took more than anger to wound so badly.

Crawling on hands and knees sent a ripple through air and across her tongue. It was a room as bare and cold as a dead marsh. As she approached she could see the stuttering rise and fall of his chest; he'd forgotten that he didn't need to breathe, after all vampires robbed the air for sound.

Reaching out, Drusilla might as well have been one of the spirits tied to the building. For him nothing was real but his grief. He was colder than she'd been upon learning her Spike had left her for a warm embrace.

The conflagrations that families made and destroyed themselves with were nothing new to either of them, but this time he had no support. She sensed that there had been more than a single burial, and mortals could not return from that final planting.

She folded her skirt neatly under her legs and bent forward until she was nearly level with his face. He looked asleep; eyes closed, body stiff, but she knew his stillness and could read the set of his muscles and could tell that he was awake. This was the silence of a man who thought his surroundings were unnecessary and chose not to respond.

Reaching out, Drusilla wiggled her fingers in front of his face. "Come back now, there is more on the outside than within, and you're needed."

She concentrated on the rigid lines of his face and hummed, and when the room accepted her as another worthy presence, it was easy to press him down to the flat thoughtfulness of carpet. Wrapping him in skirts and the scent of family returned was the matter of moments. Long seconds passed before she felt him respond, but soon she twisted against him with the spasms of returning awareness, speaking softly in his ear. When he'd calmed she lay next to him, one hand somewhere that didn't inspire him to twitch, and eased when he relaxed to allow her more contact. He let her get comfortable along his front; a touch on his back sent a ripple of tension down his spine, and so she was permitted to get directly against his chest. He adjusted to her body with a leg over her hip, and she decided that the movement went back to his need for control. Once he understood that she was waiting for him to act, there was a shift in his muscles, a little less knotting of his shoulders. From her position on her side she watched as his head tilted back, eyes clouded with silent words, and she saw him wet his lips, biting them to hold back sounds as he came to grips with her offer.

One hand came out from under his head to anchor at her nape. With that point of contact established, she moved closer by millimeters, careful not to disturb his wary calm with any of the memories each were conscious of.

I'm sorry baby; I'm a bad, bad man.

Around them were ghosts that would appear, even with the lights on.

I'll dance with you, pet. On the Slayer's grave.

None of his friends, if any had survived, would immediately come looking for a leader in the place they had abandoned. Despite what lip service he paid to moving on, Angel knew more about coveting and cosseting than they would guess. He knew better than to discard what he wasn't using; interest or need would return, and then he would have it ready.

"They think you're a fallen king," Drusilla murmured, running her nails counter to the wave of his hair. "Someone will collect what's left and rebuild. Not here, memories haunt them, though they won't admit what drives them to honor this place."

She could hear arguments of mortals in the distant night, too many chattering babies barely past knowing why they were Chosen for orders to matter. "There are more voices now than ever, the girl-children think they can make a better world and forget what's gone before."

Angel's head jerked to one side as if in denial, and Dru agreed. "We know better; sometimes where we come from is all we have to guide us." Although he didn't answer aloud, she could tell that Angel felt the same way.

There were wounds, beneath his clothes and further, under his skin, but it was the ones that kept him still and bleeding that she worried over.

"Have to move," Drusilla said, eyes on the sky she could see through the windows. "It's never safe where the sun can find us."

"Come with me," she begged, and when he didn't shift, even with dawn threatening, Drusilla said, "Daddy, please."

Angel moved, sliding closer to the corner of the room, where they couldn't be touched by daylight, even at its brightest. Then he stopped again, eyes open and on Drusilla as the sun rose.

Transfixed, she couldn't turn away from the way light slid over the floor, hot even from where she hid, Drusilla spoke softly.

"It purifies where it touches." She eyed a chair that was now completely bathed in sunlight. She quivered, then wrapped her arms around her body and rocked back and forth. "But it can't touch me, I can't be cleaned, nothing can save me." Distress rose out of her in a thin moan and she huddled against the wall.

"Dru," Angel said and rose shakily from his spot on the floor. Putting an arm around her waist, he held her, and ran a hand soothingly over her hair. "Shh, the sun's not going to get you, I won't let it."

"Can't be loyal to both night and day," Dru groaned.

A cloud slid across the sun and doused the room in a hazy glow. She slumped against Angel, feeling the threat of heat and fire leave her.

Angel's fingers made swirling patterns on her belly as she relaxed.

"That's my girl," he murmured and she felt his lips on her cheek.

"You came back," Drusilla said and smiled at him.

"No, you did, Dru."

"Had to, the wind told me what happened, couldn't let you go without a map."

"You have one on you?" Angel asked.

When she didn't answer, he put his chin on her shoulder and hummed softly. "Dru?"

Dru stretched her arms up and wound them around his neck.

"Up?" he asked, and Dru put out her lip and nodded earnestly. "All right, sweetheart."

She loved the way he took her in his arms; it was like he was protecting her and reminding her of where she belonged all at once.

Angel eyed her position and shifted his hold. "Ladies don't usually cling like this."

"But I'm not a lady," Dru insisted, and darted up to nip at his neck.

"What are you?"

Dru growled and let her teeth answer.

Angel permitted the liberty, allowing her teeth to leave a mark and then pulled her off. "You looking for something to chew on, sweetheart?"

"My tummy is rumbly."

"Okay." Angel didn't argue with her; she knew what she needed, and if she couldn't say it, he would know. Somehow in this space there was room for the two of them and they would fit compromise between

"Anyplace in particular?" he asked and she tilted her head back and considered the question and shook her head. She wanted to see her angel's city, the way he would show it to her.

"And if we meet any of the sunshine girls we'll be sure to give them a scare." Dru snapped at the air several times and kicked her feet.

Angel carried her out through the garden and Dru ran her fingers over the greenery as they passed, seeing the gravestones scattered among the rockery, she didn't have to ask who they belonged to.

Once they were on the street, Angel set her down neat as she pleased. Dru smoothed her skirt and spun out in front of her escort. He walked a step or two back, his pace unhurried as she enjoyed the way anticipation built before a hunt.

Cars and other vehicles were strewn over the roads as if hurled by some immense hand. It was a playground for anyone to survive the devastation. Dru clung to a semi, giggling as metal protested under her grip.

They passed children and their families, and couples who squabbled and loved. Neither of the vampires paused; they'd recognize what they were looking for when they saw it, and in the meantime, their own company was enough.

-end