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August 27, 1938

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This story is No. 27 in the series "Thirty-One Days Hath Even More Torments For Spike". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: Serenading your lover, while sometimes being the most romantic thing ever, can also spectacularly backfire for this singer. Not that such a sentimental catastrophe can possibly happen to Spike late one summer in pre-war England...

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
BtVS/AtS Non-Crossover > General(Current Donor)ManchesterFR1511,9700039027 Aug 1327 Aug 13Yes
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters and all rights to the song “A Foggy Day” (as composed by George Gershwin and with lyrics by Ira Gershwin) are the property of their original owners.

Spike cautiously stayed out of harm’s way while twitching back the edge of the heavy curtain. It was fortunate he did so, since the line of bright sunlight momentarily shining on the floor rug showed the fine London weather outside was still as fair and warm as it’d been for the entire last week. This happened to be a discovery which didn’t improve at all the vampire’s grumpy mood.

Turning away from the window thoroughly covered by thick fabric, Spike ambled across the apartment living room with its lit electric lamps and disconsolately sat down in the nearest armchair. He sent an irritated glower around at the masculine, Victorian-style furnishings as if this decor could be blamed for everything which had gone wrong for him in the past couple of days. Mentally tallying up his troubles in no particular order, Spike morosely wondered how he’d come to have a dead bloke in the bedroom and why Dru was now treating him like he was lower than dirt.

Well, they were both connected by a sort of daft logic, really. After being tossed out on his ear by Dru from the crypt they shared in Highgate at the culmination of their ferocious row, Spike had sulkily roamed the neighborhood afterwards. As is common in these situations, he’d at first muttered out loud throughout his wanderings the perfect parting shot which Spike had failed to come up with at the time. To be fair, the vampire had been lying face down then at where he’d painfully landed upon some dearly departed’s tomb after sailing through the air, propelled by Dru’s forceful kick to his arse.

Around midnight, Spike had sensibly decided not to head back to the crypt right away. His lover was definitely going to hold a grudge over the cause of their recent argument for a while, and it’d be best to let her cool off for an equal while. Instead, Spike followed home a drunken chap celebrating a night out, and during amiably chatting him up, the vampire found out the sloshed man was a bachelor living alone at his nearby apartment. This soon led to an imprudent invitation inside for a nightcap, which Spike did indeed consume, though not what the now-lifeless other man had intended in the first place.

It’d been a comfortable enough bolt hole for Spike the rest of the night and most of the following day, but now he was both totally bored and eager to make up with Dru. That could be rather a problem, come to think of it. She wasn’t going to easily forgive him, not after what he’d done.

In his armchair, Spike resumed scowling at the covered window and the beautiful weather outside. Dammit, he hadn’t meant to drop her bloody doll on its head! It’d been a pure accident, honestly. Still, from the way she’d carried on, bursting into tears and cradling that eerie toy in her arms and then accusing him of being nothing but a horrible brute, could anyone really blame him for refusing to apologize for what he’d done? Particularly since this groveling admission of guilt ordered from him by the bonkers vampiress included a remorseful kiss by Spike onto Miss Edith’s forehead?

“Bugger that!” Spike huffily announced to the otherwise deserted room. After another few moments of straightening up to pose in an attitude of proud determination, Spike’s obstinate temper soon changed into sheepish surrender, physically matched by his slumping down in the armchair.

Oh, all right. Spike just had to admit it. He wanted Dru back, his adorable little dewy-eyed monster. So, was there any way to do this without having to lose every scrap of his remaining dignity? Hmmm... How about a decent present for her, say, as a distraction? Maybe a freshly-acquired necklace of virgin’s eyeballs? Or a nice box of chocolates dipped in the blood of aristocrats? Dru had a definite weakness for that. Best of all would be her favorite, though. It’d be something of a bother, having to get the materials so quickly, but Dru’s beautiful face would surely light up the way he loved when she had placed before her an oversize meal platter where a three-year-old girl orphan was trussed tight and all ready to be devoured, down to the fresh daisies entwined in the blonde hair of the sacrifice.

Spike’s happy smile at contemplating delivering those gifts of affection for his dear Dru swiftly faded at the uncomfortable reminder that he’d already bought his way out from their previous disputes with these exact bribes several times over. No, he needed something new, something different.

Leaning back in the armchair, Spike started thinking hard. In his blank stare ahead, the vampire’s attention was soon distracted by the curtained window. Sending another annoyed grimace into that direction, Spike growled to himself that it’d help him cogitate much better if all that damn sunshine and blue skies out there were replaced by a good, thick, London pea-souper. Just like the one a few months ago, when during better times he and Dru had rambled together through the town cloaked in its supremely dense mid-morning fog smelling of coal and damp.

They’d had a wonderful stroll, and the risk made it only sweeter. A rare opportunity to come out in the day, it’d been, when the murkiness was so impenetrable that even a pair of vampires could safely walk outside without being burned to ashes. Dru had gotten rather randy over the whole thing, so much that the twosome had promptly found the nearest wall for a bit of upright slap and tickle. It turned out even better halfway through, when a passerby blindly stumbling along the sidewalk through the fog had found himself right next to a couple most indecorously occupied with each other.

Of course, instead of acting properly chastened, this man and woman had just grinned at the shocked passerby, and their faces then turned into monsters’ masks.

Ahhhh, Spike nostalgically thought, that’d been absolutely delightful, draining their victim from both sides of his neck at the same time. It’d also been a great deal of fun to continue with their lovemaking throughout it all. Contentedly smiling at his pleasant memories, Spike attempted to bring himself back to coming up with the right scheme to make Dru forgive him--

Wait a second, now. There was something which had almost occurred to him in his thoughts a moment ago, but then it’d disappeared like...fog? That was odd. Fog, or...foggy? Yes, that was it! But...what, exactly? Let’s see, foggy, foggy or sunny tomorrow, too foggy to see, a...foggy day?

“Oh-ho!” Spike chortled, with the entire romantic plan materializing in his mind as a single flash of inspiration. He sprang up from the armchair to bustle over to a writing desk placed across the room. Taking another seat there, Spike reached out for a single sheet of paper and a filled pen at hand. A quick five minutes of scribbling had him putting down the original composition he’d heard often enough on the radio since its first appearance in a Fred Astaire movie last year. Fortunately, he still had a good memory regarding poetry, so Spike was sure he’d gotten the lyrics entirely correct.

Not that he was going to deliver this in its unchanged form to Dru, no, indeed. Spike needed to make it clear he was referring to nobody but him and the lovely lady who would hopefully be soppily reconciled with her Spikey-Wikey after hearing...

After another few minutes of creativeness, a smug Spike viewed what he’d next put down on the paper. Clearing his throat, the vampire skimmed through the several lines of altered verse until he felt ready to begin. In a quite decent baritone, Spike warbled:

I was a vampire in the city
Out of town were the demons I knew
I had that feeling of self-pity
What to do? What to do? What to do?
The outlook was decidedly blue
But as I preyed through the empty streets alone
It turned out to be the luckiest night I’ve known

A sunny day in London Town
Had me low and had me down
I viewed the twilight with alarm
Madame Tussauds had lost all its charm
How long, I wondered, could this thing last?
But the age of wickedness hadn’t passed,
For, suddenly, I saw you there
And through sunny London Town
The dark was shading everywhere.

Giving an approving look at his handiwork laid out on the desk, Spike went over the rest of his amorous strategy. As soon as night fell, he’d be off to where Dru was sure to visit shortly after sunset, their usual private booth at the demon pub near Highgate. Once there, he’d march straight in, paying no attention to anyone or anything (which described virtually all of the other patrons), stop at the table, and sing that altered version of the Gershwin brothers’ tune right into Dru’s astonished face. There was no possible way she’d do anything else but greet him with open arms after that!

A couple of hours later, the choking death rattle of Ye Olde Nick’s bouncer drifted through the air of the corpse-strewn interior of this demolished tavern. That horrific sound was abruptly interrupted by the loud crunch! of a wrecked radio compacting into a solid suffocating mass while being further shoved down the massive demon’s throat. Daintily removing her hand from where it was thrust deeply inside the mouth of the slack, scaled face with its now-glazed eyes, Drusilla the Mad rose up from her kneeling position by this extinct fiend lying limply on the floor.

Skipping over the other demons’ bodies piled in her way, this vampiress demurely rejoined her companion at their booth in the front part of the room, which was the sole intact area in the whole destroyed pub. Catching the disapproving glance sent towards her by the little darling sharing their table, Drusilla sighed with real regret.

She then murmured a mild protest, “Now, now, Miss Edith. Mummy had no choice but to firmly reprove all those impolite gentlemen when they refused to turn down the radio during our rendezvous here tonight. Didn’t you heed them, how they used the most shocking language about wanting to listen to their favorite song? I’m afraid it put me in quite a fit of pique that I haven’t gotten over yet, dear. So, let’s hope we won’t be disturbed again at our tea for whatever reason. This most definitely includes being interrupted by anyone or hearing once more in any form that dreadful tune called ‘A Foggy Day--’”

In the very next second, the pub door was kicked open and Spike arrogantly swaggered inside in the tavern’s front without noticing its total ruination further in the back. When the oblivious vampire halted by the table occupied by his startled lover and that damn doll, Spike then started to loudly sing...

Author’s Note: If you’re interested, here’s the original version of the song, as introduced by Fred Astaire in the 1937 film A Damsel in Distress.

I was a stranger in the city
Out of town were the people I knew
I had that feeling of self-pity
What to do? What to do? What to do?
The outlook was decidedly blue
But as I walked through the foggy streets alone
It turned out to be the luckiest day I’ve known

A foggy day in London Town
Had me low and had me down
I viewed the morning with alarm
The British Museum had lost its charm
How long, I wondered, could this thing last?
But the age of miracles hadn’t passed,
For, suddenly, I saw you there
And through foggy London Town
The sun was shining everywhere.

The End

You have reached the end of "August 27, 1938". This story is complete.

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