Genre: Darla/Angel/Spike/Lindsey
Rating: Pg 14
*Characters belong to Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, etc.

Soulmates
by Tara Ann Stridh

"Where is she?!"
Angel slammed the bleach-blonde vampire into the concrete side of the building, scraping Spike's chin.
"Ow! Watch it, mate! I don't know where she is!"
Without warning Spike felt his slim arm being brutally twisted, Angel's other hand pressing his head against the wall.
"Don't lie to me, Spike. I know she would go to you!" "
I bloody swear it! She did come to me. Actually, she almost threw herself in front of a bleeding car, but lucky for you I came along. Ow! Okay, she asked me for help, then she broke down, and ran away." More pressure was added against Spike's slimly muscled arm.
"Where?"
"How would I know?" As soon as Angel let him go Spike took a few steps away, rubbing his aching arm.
"You're always hurting me like Buffy. Both high and mighty." Then he smiled. "But I like it when she hurts me."

Angel stood there, solemn and noble as ever, and more pained than usual. For several seconds Spike kept quiet, thinking about the blonde-haired slayer and the tears he had seen her weep. He had been determined to blow her head off and stick it on his bedpost, but her tears had stopped him. He had never seen Buffy Anne Summers cry before, and the fact that she did meant that she wasn't as icy as she appeared to be, or as tough. Her sitting and crying had made him remember that even though she was the Slayer, she was just a girl, and even though he was a vampire, um, he was still a vampire. No, he was a poet, a not so good one maybe, but she had made him remember he used to be; she had also made him cry. He hadn't cried since the break-up with Drusilla. One day, if she lived as long, Buffy wouldn't be a slayer anymore and she'd be a regular girl. There was no need for Spike to tell Angel about the recent happenings in Sunnydale, though. As far as he was concerned Angel had walked away, and now Buffy needed another vampire's shoulder to sleep on. Spike thought that maybe it could be his, and he wanted to know what had made her cry.

The British vampire took a violet cigarette from his black leather jacket and lit it. After a puff he smiled at Angel.


"Ungrateful sod. You haven't been very nice to mummy. You really buggered up, Angel. She's a sobbing mess." Angel remained silent, dark eyes glaring, his black leather coat his armor.
"Why can't you just pick your flavor, Angel? Blonde, brunette, blonde. Everyone you touch falls apart." Another inhale, smooth. His sweetly tender, glowing face became soft.
"You always have to save somebody's soul. Then why won't you turn her?" No answer, just the dark glare.
"If you don't, someone else will."
"Threatening me, Spike? Threatening her?" Spike held up his hands in defense.
"Just saying the truth." The vampire with the soul took a step forward, his face softening into deep sorrow.
"If she comes to you again promise you'll tell me." After a brief hesitation, Spike studying the sincere pain in Angel's kind eyes he thought of something to say.
"You told her you felt nothing for her. You lied to her." The glare returned, but concern tinted through it. Spike's eyes glistened, and he nodded. Then Angel took the cigarette from Spike's mouth, tossed it on to the ground and walked away searching for the one soul he desperately needed to save more than his own.


She had knocked on his door late last night, the keys to his apartment lost. Her blonde hair had been dead and stringy, shielding her eyes away from him. All he had said was, "Darla." Then he had reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, but she had exploded in a tremble, eyes sickly glaring at him.
"Don't touch me! No touching!"
"You can have the bed. I'll sleep on the couch." When she felt she could trust him she had stepped into his apartment, brushing past him, and he watched as she had crawled into his bed, under the blanket without changing her clothes. She had just wanted to rest her head on something soft and close her eyes. He had left her alone, but he had not slept.

Now it was 5:30 in the morning. Lindsey McDonald had just went across the street for less than a moment to buy a newspaper and a warm, salt bagel for her. When he returned she was no longer asleep. All the picture frames he had displayed, and there weren't too many, had been broken. His television screen sparked with burnt out electrical wires. The glass stereo doors cracked and broken. The windows were saved because they had blinds. He tossed the bagel and newspaper on to the leather couch, quickly walking into the bedroom. The large mirror had been shattered. He turned his head at the sounds of her sniffle.
The door to the bathroom was ajar, and he could see her sitting on the gray-tiled floor, her shoulders hunched. The bruised green hooded sweatshirt she wore fell off her shoulders, and her blonde, untamed strands shadowed the beauty of her face. The beauty and elegance of Darla was barely present; it seemed to sink with her increasing pain. Her skin was extremely pale, almost tinted with lavender. Her lips were dry and worn.
He stood in the doorway, observing the broken mirror of the medicine cabinet. First the place the firm had given her, now his own haven he tried to protect her in.
She looked up at him, barely possessing the strength or the desire to hold her head up. Her eyes were tired, and he knew that was where her vitality was hiding, locked behind her eyes.
"It hurts."
Her voice was low and soft, but for the second time that night the fairytale was missing from it. Next to her was a shattered Chopin CD, tiny droplets of her blood upon the reflective surface.
Her wrists and shoulders sparkled with fresh crimson, and he rushed to her, kneeling beside her.
"The mirrors wouldn't beak so easy. I tried and I tried until they were gone."
Darla's fingertips gently touched the bruising bite mark upon his neck. "I hurt you, Lindsey?"
His voice was just as soft as hers.
"No, you didn't."
"He wouldn't do it, Lindsey. He wouldn't turn me. He said I damned him. He still doesn't understand. His soul. I can't keep mine, Lindsey. I'm not as strong as he is. One hundred and fifty years of torment he caused. I've caused four hundred. It's going to kill me."
As he helped her stand Darla continued to ramble.
"He said I would feel it. I didn't believe him. Why didn't I believe him, Lindsey?" She turned her questioning face away from his and looked at her bloodied wrists.
"There was a piece of the mirror stuck in my flesh so I pushed it in deeper. And I didn't scream or cry. Just bled. Then I tried to make the pain in my chest go away. There's too much feeling. Please."
With her last word, Lindsey pulled the sweatshirt away from her chest. Then he saw the blood. Buried between her breasts was another chunk of the mirror, her camisole stained lightly.
"Please. Doesn't that sound strange? A very strange word." Her eyes lowered to her wounded chest. "It hasn't stopped yet. When do you think it will stop?"
Lindsey's eyes seemed to comfort her. He put on the faucet, feeling the warm water with his fingertips. Then he brushed the blonde strands of her hair away from her eyes and helped her to take off her sweatshirt.

She sat up in his bed, her wrists bandaged carefully and the cuts upon her shoulders taken care of. Beside her Lindsey sat in a chair, holding his head in his hands.
"You told me I didn't have it in me, Darla." The weakened woman turned to him, her head resting on pillows upon pillows. Her lips were slightly open as she looked at him.
"That's not true. I wasn't always like this."
"What were you like?" He looked up at her, shaking his head. "I don't even know anymore. Sometimes I hate where I am, and I wonder why I am where I am. I had a chance to leave, but I stayed. The Devil."
"Your boss?"
"Maybe." His handsome face was solemn and serious. "I've seen many terrible things while working at the firm. I think I stayed because of them. I was young, and to actually find out demons, vampires, and anything else lurking wherever really existed terrified the shit out of me.
"So I thought by staying with them, becoming part of their inside network I would be safe from all the evil in the world, but I was wrong. The more evil I see the more inhuman I feel."
His eyes glanced at her. "I had Angel's number installed into my phone in case I ever have to call him. Betray the firm.
"So Darla, I think I can help you. I want to help you." I need to help me. Her violet eyes were turned away from him.
"The only person who ever helped me was The Master."
"The Master."
"He made me strong, unafraid, and beautiful. Even when I hurt him he still loved me, and forgave me, embracing me back into his court. In the end he was the only one." She looked at him, slow and strange.
"Do you know what I was before I was made?"
"You remember your human name?"
A slight smile. "No. Gone and faded. I was a whore. "Having all those men kiss me, fuck me, beat me, humiliate me, began to kill me inside. I was a whore, and The Master never cared because in his eyes I was Queen and as innocent as any vampire could ever be. Then I became Angelus' Queen, playing whore to him only when I wanted to.
"The beating of my living heart sickened me then, and it sickens me now. And just as I knew I was never destined for motherhood he knew I was destined for a much grander life where there were two kinds of lust. Physical and blood, which really amount to the two in the same. And I loved who he had allowed me to become."
"And now?"
Her eyes twinkled lightly at him.
"People who love themselves belong to the Devil, and now I don't belong anywhere."

Still awake, snuggled in her bed, Buffy could taste her tears. Images of the past evening drifted through her mind, making it difficult for her to close her eyes. With her eyes open she saw less of them.
She thought of what Spike had said, about her not dying because she had ties to the world. Her mother, Willow, Xander, and Giles, even Faith. Then she thought about how Faith had none, and how the dark-haired slayer had wanted to dance with Angel. Except, if Faith had really wanted to die why had she begged the one vampire who could have never done it?
Buffy closed her eyes and wondered if anything happened would she want to dance, too?