It’s cold in London. He hadn’t remembered it as being so cold, or at least not that the cold felt quite like this. Sunnydale had softened him, made him less resilient, in more ways than just this. He shivers.
His fingers find the stake in his coat as his Watcher’s senses tell him there’s a vampire about, but he’s taken aback when he sees who it is.
Her eyes meet his, brown and human and devoid of magick and he’s not sure if he’s glad of that or not.
“I know you.” Her head cocks to one side, childlike...curious.
“None of your tricks now.” He says the words more from force of habit and a sense that he should say that than anything else.
The light dawns in her eyes and her gaze becomes knowing, coquettish as he watches.
“I don’t need them, do I?” Her smile looks heartbreakingly human.
The cold is seeping into his bones through his coat and he wonders if this is how it feels to be a vampire, to be dead but not, just as she is.
Drusilla steps closer and he matches her approach with a step of his own, closing the distance to almost intimacy. His instincts tell him to ram the stake he carries into her heart but he can’t find the will to even grasp it; his fingers lightly rest upon its length, tentative and disobedient. She’s a demon and a dangerous one, unimaginable evil wrapped in innocence and insanity, but she’s also the last kiss he shared with Jenny, blasphemous simulacrum though it was, and he just can’t destroy that one precious link to the love he never really knew, the love that still blooms all the more vibrantly in his heart for that very reason. He takes the next step. She doesn’t retreat.
It’s no surprise to him when their lips meet, though it should be, and it’s his tongue that coaxes her lips to open to him. Kissing her now is nothing like kissing Jenny.
“You taste like the end of the world,” she tells him, her eyes wide with wonder as they part. He knows she is truth.