Summary: Where Spike disappeared to; a missing scene set sometime during Chapter Four in “Team Gibbs;” technically not a crossover. You might not appreciate it fully without reading the NCIS/Buffy series 'Special Agent Harris.'You shake the cold off of your shoulders
Your bones harden in the breeze
Billowing smoke, white ghosts are bowed ribbons
“That bloody ponce,” Spike muttered, taking a long drag from his cigarette as he stared up at the hulking mansion that looked like some giant gargoyle in the middle of the fog-ridden landscape.
He had been searching for Dracula for a week now, going by train through Europe, though he had had to dip into his emergency funds to have a boxcar all to himself, with all the windows barred tight. It was certainly a trip. Down memory lane. He hadn’t been back in the old country since Dru.
And now he remembered why.
He hated winter, hated the slush that gets everywhere. He had to bundle up so he could blend in, and though the nights were longer, when the sun did come out, it was fierce and sharp, like some god’s judgmental eye.
Everyone else’s eyes were judgmental too, though in a remote place like this, with that pretentious snot of a Count as a neighbor, he could hardly blame them for being suspicious of a stranger. It was hard work just buying a pint of cow’s blood to tide him through.
So now, although a part of him wanted to step back and make a plan, knowing it’ll be tricky to corner the egotistical vampire in his own territory, the rest of him just wanted to get out of the cold. Although he couldn’t feel it like humans did, the wind still dried his skin, making him thirsty for warm blood or maybe a Guinness or two.
He found himself at the door, a tiny lumber axe in one hand—which he liberated from a farmer living several miles to the east—another hand raised to pound on the huge door. Except it swung open with a soft creak.
He expected someone to come and greet him, like a hunched-back little fellow with one eye larger than the other in a butler’s suit holding a towel. When there was no one, Spike almost smacked his own forehead. He’d been watching too many cheesy horror movies.
He walked inside like he owned the place. The floor was dark wood, burnished so that it shone. The walls were lined with tapestries, paintings and statues in silk and brocade, gold and marble. The old world opulence reminded him of China, for some reason. He passed by one suit of armor, and traded the axe for the sword, after testing that it held its edge.
He sucked on his thumb, letting his vampire saliva work its magic on the tiny wound. Then he stopped and removed the digit from his mouth with an embarrassed pop when he caught sight of her.
She was dressed in a long white gown, something frothy and bubbly, like whipped cream. It barely covered her heaving bosom, and Spike had to pinch himself to stop staring at them. Her hair was red, almost as red as her lips.
“Velcome,” she said in a Transylvanian accent that was obviously faked. She looked more Irish than Eastern European. “The Master vill see you in ze parlor.” She turned away to lead him in the right direction.
Spike itched to swing the sword and separate that beautiful head from those creamy shoulders. He shook his head, growling when he realized how closely he had been watching her.
“More gypsy tricks,” he muttered, looking around him in paranoia even as he followed the Irish bride.
Deeper into the house, he noticed something off. As the electric lights flickered, the brocade tapestries and richly colored paintings flickered too. He vamped out, and that destroyed the illusion on the house. The ceilings were covered in webs; the tapestries and paintings had been reduced to rags. And his footsteps were stirring up the dust. He stifled the all-too human impulse to sneeze.
He shifted back to his human features as soon as he stepped into the door. The walls were dark wood, barely visible beyond the mishmash of furniture and the heavy burgundy drapes. Standing in one corner was Vlad Teppes, in his poncy suit and cape.
The red-haired vampire joined the other brides lounging behind Dracula. Spike spent a moment eyeing the other two. Typically, they were young and pale and so very beautiful, one was a blonde waif that looked like a model and the other had long dark curls and a body that just won’t quit. They were staring at him with their come-hither eyes, and the dark-haired one was sucking on a finger so obscenely that he had to turn away to stop himself from jumping her.
“I suppose Alexander sent you,” Dracula said in a careful tone. “You still carry around that particular whiff of misguided heroics and sunlight.” He sounded like he wasn’t sure if he just gave Xander a compliment or an insult.
“Me? No. I came willingly. That’s something you knowing nothing about, isn’t that right?” Spike asked condescendingly, just to see Dracula’s eyes narrow and his nostrils flare.
“Leave us,” Dracula ordered his brides, and they all glided out obediently.
Spike stopped himself from copping a feel as the curvy one slid past him towards the door.
“Alexander was willing to accept my help,” Dracula said as soon as they were alone.
“But he hates owing you. Besides, your little visit to D.C. was more trouble than it’s worth.”
“What do you mean?” Dracula asked, frowning.
“Those prats in D.C. think you’re some kind of threat; they don’t know you’re only interested in banging chicks under thrall and playing with your food,” Spike snarled, suddenly remembering Drusilla, and then Buffy.
“It’s not my fault they overreacted.” Dracula waved a hand dismissively. “Besides, I’m sure Alexander would disagree about the worth of the information I gave him.”
“You could have sent it to him. But no! You had to see him face to face. You had to watch him humiliate himself before you.” Spike was on a roll, though he refused to recognize where the emotions in his tirade were coming from. “So you can rub it in that he was yours.”
mine, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” The older vampire was starting to lose his temper.
“We’ll see about that,” Spike said, bringing out the hand he had slid into his pocket and flinging a little envelope full of herbs and dust all over the other vampire, who tried and failed to cover his face. Dracula was attempting to change into mist, but the magic bound him to his human form.
Spike had spent considerable coin buying the ready-made spell from a gypsy witch and watched in satisfaction as it showed him all the lines that connected Dracula to his servants. He had expected a tangle of them, but only a handful showed up.
“I guess it’s hard to find good help these days,” he said even as he located the one that felt like the boy and brought the sword down two-handedly to sever it. The red line writhed on the ground like a headless snake before the spell winked out and the lines disappeared.
“You don’t know what you’ve done,” Dracula told him in horror.
Spike shrugged. “So? Doesn’t stop me from doing it anyway.” He turned to leave when Dracula spoke again.
“Alexander is mine,” he repeated.
Spike grabbed Dracula’s lapels lightning-fast and hauled him closer to his yellow eyes. “If you come near him again, I guarantee no gypsy trick will save you.”
“Why not kill me now?” Dracula asked softly, though there was a challenge in his tone.
“The boy doesn’t want you dead,” Spike said, shoving him to the ground. “But I wasn’t talking about me. His friends
will hunt you down until you’re dirt and ashes and little else. Or worse.”
“What’s worse?” Dracula asked.
“The witch could sic a soul on you,” Spike said with a visible shudder of horror that was echoed by the vampire across from him.
“I helped him,” Dracula said almost defensively, rising from the floor and attempting to regain his dignity. “I could have hurt him, but I didn’t.”
“And that’s why you’re still undead.”
“Why did you come for him? You’re not friends, and certainly not lovers,” Dracula sounded so bewildered that Spike couldn’t help but answer.
“I made a promise to a lady. The boy was hers and now he’s mine to protect. That’s all.” This time Spike left without another look back. He didn’t want to see what the other vampire would make of his words. He stalked through the corridors, but the brides had already scattered. He kept the sword, though it was now tarnished and covered in rust. When he passed the armor however, he paused to scoop up the axe as well.
Outside the house, he stopped. Everything was covered in thick fog, and it muffled smells and sounds even with his vampiric senses. He toyed with the idea of burning Dracula’s house down; the fire would clear everything in a hurry. As if someone was listening to his thoughts, the fog rolled back to reveal a path just in front of him. He smirked, making one last rude gesture before disappearing into the night.
Standing by the window, the Count stared pensively outside. Gone were his dark locks and pale unblemished skin. Instead he looked—and felt—all of his five hundred and seventy-three years.
If he had known what the other vampire would do, he would have prepared a weapon at least. Perhaps he really was spending too much time with his girls; his hunting instincts had been dulled by his complacence.
With his index finger, he wrote Alexander
on the fogged up window. And then with a sigh, he swept his hand across it, smearing the name. And he turned away to go back to his chambers where his coffin was surrounded by those of his brides. He needed some extra TLC tonight. Through the shivering leaves
You breathe a big wind
You sing of ice and snow
- “The Gift of a Black Heart” by Said the Whale
A/N: The slash undertones are there for us S/X fans. I’ve never been to Europe and I hate haunted houses. This is for those who wanted to know what happened between Spike and Dracula. It’s very different from what I initially envisioned, which is Angel and Spike confronting Dracula and all their history getting hashed out.
The ending was inspired by “Antique” which is the post-Chosen comic from Tales of the Vampires
about Xander as Dracula’s manservant. As for Dracula’s age, he was supposedly born in 1431, and the S2 of NCIS was aired in 2004 so he’s 573 by my calculation.
My beta wanted a fight scene, but I couldn’t fit it in. I know Dracula can be vicious, but on the Buffy episode, he comes off more as a lover than a fighter, and he relies more on his gypsy tricks and his arrogance than his skill as a warrior.