by James A. F. Christie
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 Complete
Summary: What were they to do once they left Candlewood Drive and the roses were no longer in bloom? The tale of Drusilla's redemption, moving from Los Angeles to London to the Congo's heart of darkness! (Sequel to Drusilla's Roses)
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 Redemption, I also acknowledge references to and inspiration derived from the works of Joseph Conrad, Charles Dickens, Kathryn Hulme, Norman Mailer, Wilbur Smith, and excerpts from the Los Angeles Times.
A/N: This story is dedicated to Juliet Landau, with love.
Her heart could not beat, but it could break; and her soul screamed in pain as she saw her family scatter like windblown seeds. Journeying to Cleveland, Rome and London. Leaving their home on Candlewood Drive once again; a house, shuttered and empty, the garden neglected and the roses no longer in bloom.
She had tried so hard to cope, too! Drusilla fumed to herself as she scrubbed the kitchen island. After Xander had brought her back from that dank old church, newly ensouled and suicidal, she had clung to him for almost a day as the raw and terrible emotions coursed through her. Guilt, horror, self-loathing, fear and (admit it, Dru, the sweet contralto of the novice nun reminded her) complete confusion.
She simply had no idea how to deal with the full onslaught of human emotions after 143 years of self-absorption and slaughter without conscience. No names for the violent passions which had seized her, and no idea she had nearly broken both his arms with the force of her grip.
Funnily enough—she thought, laughing to herself with a shadow of her old insane giggle—she had been much more in control of herself as a deranged, soulless lunatic. Much better at gauging her strength, expert at applying just the right amount of force to snap a neck cleanly …
Xander had understood, though. God, she didn't deserve him! He was her white knight in spades even if she didn't feel she could call herself his princess yet …
What would she do without him?
But, oh no, he was mortal. Mortal! How would she manage when he is gone?
She knew her hands were flapping again. Knew she was swaying and looking up to try and see the stars. Knew everyone could hear that poor old Dru was having one of her turns, as Mr. Giles once said, but she couldn't stop herself.
She spun around the kitchen. Crazy vampire on the road to hell at two in the morning! All shook up and nowhere to go. Bouncing across the room like a billiard ball without a pocket in sight.
Crazy, silly vampire …
"Hey, golden eyes!"
She spun to a stop. There he was, with his broad shoulders, tousled hair and lopsided grin, unable to sleep again and looking for love (and possibly a side order of coffee and muffins) from his dear old Dru.
"Kitten!" she purred, loving the fire in her belly and the weakness that came over her knees whenever she saw Xander.
"Hey, bootylicious! Want to shoot the breeze a while?"
"Ooooh yes, love," she said as she shot to his side with girlish excitement and vampiric speed. "Sorry, Drusie's in a spin again and not set fair for the Great North Road."
Xander looked at her in loving incomprehension, so she tried to translate for him.
"Just sad everyone's going away. That they're all set for departure, so to speak."
"So am I, Dru," he said thoughtfully. "So am I."
Buffy came in sometime later, fresh from a kill and cheerfully twirling the Scythe. She found Dru and Xander dozing at the kitchen island like an old married couple, heads touching as they sat together, his cup of coffee right by her mug of blood.