Work Text:
"What shall we do without you, grandmother?" Spike watched as Darla bristled at Dru's use of "grandmother."
"Whatever you want to," she said briskly. It was obvious to Spike that Darla really could not have cared less what would happen to Dru and him.
"Must you go?" asked Drusilla. As far as Spike was concerned, good riddance.
"My master has called me," she said. "I must answer. I hope you would show me so much respect."
Right, thought Spike. He just happens to call you a few years after Angelus leaves himself—a subject which Darla still refused to talk about it. And it has nothing at all with being a convenient excuse to get rid of us.
Drusilla's thoughts, however, seemed to be in a different place. "Of course, grandmother," she said. "You will call out to me, and I will save you, put you in the dirt and we will be together again."
"Erm, yes, Drusilla," Darla said, clearly having no clue what Dru had just said. (Spike didn't have a sodding clue either, but then, she hadn't been talking to him now, had she?) "I have no doubt that you will do that. Keep Spike in line, Drusilla; never forget who is the sire."
"Oh, my Spike'll be good," Dru whispered to her grandsire conspiratorially. "He's my knight in blemished armor."
"That's right, love," said Spike, choosing to take the comment as a compliment. "We'll get along."
"Well, good luck with that," Darla said. "And who knows? We might meet again."
"Goodbye, grandmother," Drusilla said with something close to actual sorrow. "The cloth of the Church does not become you. Angelus knows. Or else, he will."
"The Church doesn't become me, you...." Darla trailed off, clearly trying to keep the parting civil. "Goodbye, Drusilla. Goodbye, William. Have fun."
Spike put his arm around the waist of his lover and his sire. "We will," he said to Darla. "Don't worry about that, we will."