"Vampires. Your kind has always been selfish," the Old One said as he brought Drusilla to her feet, still clutching Spike's throat with her hands. "It's a miracle the Master of the Order was capable of looking beyond his singular, petty needs."

She threw him across the hold of the ship. His body landed against a stack of steel girders and he slid to the floor in a heap, the taste of his own blood in his mouth.

"I don't suppose you're willing to give me a chance to explain myself?" he asked as he hauled himself up.

"I have no time for your lies, vampire." Laibach said, striding toward him in Dru's body, violence in her gaze.

Spike spat blood from his mouth as he prepared for further thrashing. "Yeah, guess you're right, well, let's get on with it, then."

He straightened just as she struck him a blow hard enough to snap his head around and drive him back against the wall of the hold again. His skull struck metal with a clang. The pain was excruciating and Spike wanted to lash out, to rend his attacker limb from limb, but he couldn't. Not that it was beyond him to bruise his delicate flower now and again, but that was the slap-and-tickle they always played at, knocking each other about. If he got into this bout in earnest, one of them would be dead, and Spike could not abide either possible outcome.