Title: In death, that I may live…

For:

Pairing: William/Buffy
Maximum rating: NC-17
Genre/tone: humor/romance/mild angst
3 Things she wanted included: Buffy starting out appreciating William, but ending up missing Spike; Anya/William interaction; William in a big-box bookstore a la Borders or Barnes & Noble
3 Things she didn’t want in it: Anyone being mean to William (this means YOU Xander); any major character death; the Potentials (nobody needs that, least of all a transplanted Victorian poet).
Spoilers: Any and all episodes are fair game. Starts off during Seeing Red (hey, watch it! That rock hurt!) and proceeds wildly AU from there.

**********
Chapter 1

It seemed to be an average evening of profitable sales, right up until Anya felt the sudden unmistakable pull that signaled it was time to attend to her other job. This one didn't feel like it was as much of a summons to wreak vengeance, as it felt more like a possible window for justice. Then again, the call was usually born of the same causes and it wasn't generally too difficult to get a client to go the extra mile. Not to mention, work was work and she was still on a bit of a probationary period since D’hoffran had taken her back into the vengeance fold. Nothing formal, more of a, ‘I’ll-be-monitoring-you-until-I’m-certain-you’re-up-to-full-speed,’ kind of thing.

So she quickly locked the door to the Magic Box, changed the sign to “closed”, secured the cash in the safe, and tidied her dress up a bit. Satisfied that everything was in order, she focused her power to teleport, letting the feelings of the unfortunate woman guide her path straight to… Buffy’s bathroom?

“Buffy?!”

“Anya?!”

“Oh my gosh! Buffy, what happened?” Anya queried as she scurried around Buffy’s bathroom, pulling out the first aid supplies and a clean washcloth.

Buffy, however, failed to answer her question. She appeared to be lost in her own thoughts. So Anya set about tending to Buffy’s scrapes and fetched the ice pack for her. That was when she spotted the unmistakable black leather coat.

“So, tell me that at least Spike looks worse than you do,” Anya said as she gently applied the icepack to the worst of Buffy’s bruises. That earned her a sudden panicked look from Buffy. “I knew Spike could still be dangerous, but I must admit that I’m surprised he’d ever actually hurt *you*.”

A small sad smile crossed Buffy’s face. “Yeah, well, let’s just say that I’ve learned how to ring Pavlov’s bell. But this time he tried to ring mine.”

“I can only imagine the intensity with which you two would…” Anya trailed off as she stared into space for a few moments with a lopsided grin, only to be brought back by Buffy’s hiss of discomfort when Anya pressed a little too firmly with the icepack. “Oh, sorry! I was imagining the intensity with which the two of you would have had sex. But judging by the fact I'm here, I'm guessing this wasn't an average get together for some really great sex.”

Again, Buffy remained silent. Until she seemed to notice that Anya was looking at her with confusion.

“What?”

“Huh?” Anya replied, “Oh, I was just thinking how focused he was. Even drunk, I'm guessing he was drunk, yes?" Buffy glanced down again, so Anya continued, "It looks like he was trying at least a little to be…I mean, I know you have great healing, but usually if a vampire's involved…” Anya stopped as she noticed Buffy looking very pained. “This is one of those occasions when I shouldn’t say anything, isn’t it?”

“I… I usually didn’t let him… it wasn’t that kind of…” Buffy seemed to sheepishly be trying to explain the complexities of her relationship with Spike, so Anya decided that it was a good time for her to be the silent one now.

“But, sometimes,” Buffy began, “He was so. He would be so gentle. Trying to show me the man he… the man he used to be, before. The one that I could…” Silence followed that, and stretched into long moments.

“But, that could never happen. He’s *not* that man! He’s not! God, sometimes I wish Spike the Bloody Vampire just didn’t exist anymore. Then he couldn’t…”

“Buffy!” Anya exclaimed, and began frantically shaking her head. “No! No, no, no, no, I didn’t hear you!”

“What?” Buffy asked, confusedly.

“Lalalalalalala,” Anya loudly chanted with her fingers inserted in her ears.

“Anya, what are you…” Buffy tried to ask above Anya’s screeching. She was soon silenced, when they were joined in Buffy’s bathroom by another visitor. D’Hoffran.

Anya’s eyes went wide as saucers, but she continued her chanting.

“Really Anyanka, do you honestly expect me to fall for this charade?” Her boss asked, giving Anya a rather pointed look.

Anya’s chanting fell silent and she dropped her fingers, only to nervously begin winding them around each other.

“Please tell me you were not attempting to circumvent your duty to this woman.”

“This woman?” Buffy indignantly repeated. “Like you’re too good to remember who I am?”

“Your station is not important, Miss Summers,” He responded. “What is important here, is that Anyanka was attempting to thwart your wish for vengeance. It is not a matter to be taken lightly.”

“I made *no* wish! And she isn’t even a vengeance demon anymore!” Buffy adamantly insisted.

“So you did not speak to Anyanka the words, ‘*I wish*,’ followed by, ‘Spike the Bloody Vampire just didn’t exist anymore’?”

“I…well, yeah, but that’s not what I,” Buffy began, only to be cut off by a hand of dismissal from D’Hoffran.

“Then the wish is confirmed as valid. Anyanka, do you intend to fulfill this wish?” He asked.

“But, Buffy didn’t…”

“Very well then, I will complete the wish myself,” D’Hoffran interrupted, raising his hands in flourish.

“No!” Anya screamed as she desperately reached for one of his arms. “I’ll do it! I’ll…I’ll do it.”

D’Hoffran dropped his hands. After a seconds pause, he waved one hand toward Buffy and gave Anya an expectant look.

Anya’s features morphed into that of the vengeance demon. She closed her eyes for a moment, hoping that her very spur of the moment plan worked. “Wish granted,” She whispered.

After a second of silence, D’Hoffran gave a small sound of disapproval. “Not what I had in mind.”

“It was technically adherent to the request. Besides, a Victorian virgin momma’s boy in the 21st century? 'Never go for the kill, when you can go for the pain.' Isn’t that your motto?” Anya asked.

D’Hoffran conceded a small smile, before disappearing in a cloud of bright and excessive smoke.

"Anya, what did you do?" Buffy asked in a small trepid voice.

"Well…"

**********

The sudden scream rent the evening air, and brought Clem running out of the crypt, to find Spike prostrate on the ground. He quickly flipped him over, and gave him a few cautious slaps to the face to rouse him. It worked.

“Ahhhhhhh!!!”

“Ahhhhhhh!!!”

After several seconds of this, they both trailed off into a rather uncomfortable silence.
William stared at the very strange looking, well, person? Thing? Hallucination? He reached a tentative hand out and poked what he supposed was its arm, eliciting a loud giggle from it.

“Dude, you know I’m ticklish!” Clem blurted, before quickly glancing around him. “Not out here! If the guys ever found out I’m ticklish…”

“I beg your pardon?” William asked, clearly offended. “I assure you…sir…I am not some,” William dropped his voice to a barely audible whisper, “some, mary!” He finished before quickly scanning the area to ensure no one had heard his lowly slang, as he stood up and brushed himself off.

“A what?” Clem asked with evident confusion. Well, as evident as William supposed the creature could manage anyhow. He couldn’t be entirely certain. Maybe that expression was anger. Maybe he’d insulted the being. Then again, it had insulted him first. But that exact moment was when what he’d spied, in his brief perusal of his surroundings, finally registered.

“Why are we in a cemetery?” He wondered aloud.

“Um, because you live here,” Clem replied.

“I most certainly do not!” William indignantly responded. “My home is no where near any cemeteries,” He informed the thing in a matter-of-fact tone. “Mother! Oh my, she’ll be worried beyond measure if I don’t return home at once.”

That was when his last memory returned to him, causing him to wobble a little. The street, the stable, the beautiful woman, no…she wasn’t beautiful, she’d been horrendous. A,a… a monster. His left hand quickly covered his neck, but he felt no pain, no telling wetness of a bleeding wound.

“Your mother? Man, you must’ve had more to drink than I thought. Should’ve known, what with all that talk about taking some trip across the globe. Like you’d ever leave Buffy. Come on,” Clem said, reaching out to try and grab his arm. “Let’s get you back inside and we’ll get you all tucked in bed.”

“What? No!” William lurched away in his panic. “What, what are you? Are you one of them?” He squinted his eyes, bringing the creature into better focus. Which only increased his terror.

“Them?” Clem parroted.

“You are! You’re a, a…vampire!” William exclaimed.

“What? Me? Now I know you’ve had too much,” Clem chuckled as he reached once again in an attempt to seize William by the arm.

“You’ll not be getting a hold of *me* a second time!” William resolved as he stepped backward several steps, keeping his eye on the demon… and proceeded to trip over a low grave marker. His footsteps faltering, he fell. He tried to twist and catch himself, but ended up crashing sideways into another headstone, his head striking it none too gently. The last thing he remembered, was the disfigured demon leaning over him, its razor sharp teeth glistening as it uttered its terrible curse at him…

“Dude, that *had* to hurt like a bitch!”

Chapter 2

“Sorry, Buffy,” Clem apologized as he hauled an unconscious William into Buffy’s house and placed him on her couch. “Usually when Spike gets like this, I just leave him at the crypt. But, then again, I’ve never seen him like this before.”

“What do you mean you’ve never seen him like this. Spike gets roughed up all the time!” Buffy said, taking in the nasty gash across the right side of his forehead and the wicked looking bruise that already surrounded it.

“Yeah, sure, but he’s never had a heart beat before,” Clem pointed out.

Buffy shared a knowing look with Anya, before tentatively reaching for the pulse point on his wrist. She had to see for herself. Until then, she would happily continue to captain her little flagship on the river deNile. As soon as she felt the weak little thumping, she drew her hand back as if burned. So Anya had indeed brought him back to life, except this wasn’t Spike. It was William.

After a few hasty explanations about her vengeance demon status, Anya had painfully explained that Spike no longer existed. That the person that looked like Spike, was in fact William, and he would have no memory of ever being Spike. That the things that made Spike who he was, had never happened to William.

As she tried to reconcile the Spike she knew and the bits about William that Anya had been told by Halfrek, she wondered just who this person in front of her was. Spike painted his human self as dangerous and powerful, relishing his death and the new life that Drusilla bestowed upon him. Halfrek described him to Anya as a pathetic simpleton whose own mother couldn’t get rid of him. So which one was the true William? Her ponderings were interrupted by Anya’s narration of the evening’s excitement, which was often punctuated by an excited, “No Way!” or “Holy Cow!” from Clem.

“You can do that?!” Clem exclaimed.

“Of course! It’s actually been done before, but usually by the time people get around to summoning us, they’re pretty pissed off about all the murder and mayhem and just want the vampire dead. And then there’s the women who want the best of both worlds, and ask for children or even day-walkers. But, no one’s asked for one of those in a long…”

A long low groan brought Anya’s treatise on vampire related wishes to a sudden stop as everyone looked to the source of the noise. As William failed his week attempt to sit up, Buffy quickly turned back to see a semi-lucid William looking up at her in squinty-eyed awe.

“Is this Heaven?”

**********

The first thing he saw was the exquisite creature looking down on him. She was wreathed in gold and bright gleaming light, and she fairly put to shame every other creature he’d set eyes on. She had to be an angel.

“Is this Heaven?” He asked aloud, knowing already that it must be; for, in life, such a radiant beauty as she would never have looked upon him with such concern. She smiled, and it brought such joy to him that he should be so favored.

“No, and despite evidence to the contrary, it isn’t hell either,” She spoke.

“But, surely you are an angel,” He insisted.

A rather undignified snort from elsewhere in the room brought to him the awareness that there were others among them.

“Believe me, she’s no angel. Real angels are usually much more terrifying,” Came a response from an adjoining room.

“Which isn’t to say that Buffy can’t be scary,” Clem added. William tried squinting a bit more to identify the source of the comment. “And I think that’s my cue to leave so he doesn’t wig out again. Bye guys!”

William finally succeeded in sitting up, and noted through his squinted eyes another beautiful young woman was now in the room, though not quite as lovely as the first. His first thought was that she must be a servant, for she appeared to be clothed in servant’s dress, only much shorter, showing long and lean legs with gracefully curving calves…

William quickly averted his eyes, and found them settling on yet another set of legs. They were equally unencumbered, and appeared to be very well muscled yet incredibly feminine, much like those of a prima ballerina. He automatically followed their curve as it led upward, and quickly discovered that the angel he’d marveled was clothed only in her dressing gown, leaving just enough to the imagination as to what was concealed beneath it. That thought quickly led to other deliciously lascivious thoughts.

As the more proper side of him finally regained control of his mind, William visibly snapped out of his thoughts and brought one hand up to shield his eyes, as he felt a telling blush deepen across his face. He was beyond mortified that his kind benefactor had seen his brazen oogling of her form.

“Terribly sorry, I…I didn’t mean to…” He stuttered out.

“Huh? Didn’t mean to what?” Buffy asked.

William tried to find words to explain his reason for apology, but failed to find one acceptable for the present company. He finally settled on a very simple explanation. “Your dress, madam.”

“What? I’m not wearing a dress,” Buffy responded with confusion.

“He’s talking about your clothes. See, back in his time, our clothes would be considered obscene. In fact, your guardian and his parents could insist you two be married now. That, or they’d send you to a convent for being a seductive temptress, and privately demand that William compensate the family for damages,” Anya supplied.

“But, he’s seen you too!” Buffy observed, her voiced tinged with what sounded to be a good measure of desperation. “So, how do I explain all of this to him? ‘Hi, my name’s Buffy, and women now days run around wearing what you probably considered underwear. Oh and by the way, it isn’t 1880 anymore, it’s 2002, and you’re here because I accidentally made a wish to a vengeance demon?’” She hissed in an overly loud whisper.

“Well, you could try talking to him now that he’s conscious and sitting about a foot away from you,” Anya offered.

“Oh, right, yeah,” Buffy agreed. “William,” Buffy soothed as she gently placed her hand around the one William was shielding his eyes with, but he quickly jerked away and brought the other hand up to take its place. “Hi! My name’s Buffy, and women…”

“If it’s all the same madam…” Spike interrupted.

“No, it’s not. That’s what I’m going to tell you, if you’d stop interrupting!”

William spared a momentary look of incredulity, before once again shielding his view. He wasn’t quite used to ladies being quite so forward. It was, inappropriate, unladylike, infuriating, and…. Enticing?

“I’m sorry Miss Buffy, but I really must insist on speaking with your father,” William resolutely stated.

“Well, he’s about four thousand miles away at the moment,” Buffy replied with impatience, one hand propped on her hip.

“Your guardian then, perhaps?”

“Ugh!” Buffy stomped her foot, clearly frustrated. “Look, I don’t have a guardian either. It’s just me, Dawn, Willow, and I think maybe Tara again. No guardians, no chaperones, no corsets…well, actually Tara has one or two…but definitely no men in charge in this house!”

"All women you say?" William queried. "Saphists?" He shakily asked, with not just a little bit of awe and curiosity.

"Safest?" Buffy parroted? "Safest what?"

"Not safest, Buffy, Saphists," Anya replied. "He means followers of Sapho. That's what they called lesbiens."

"What?!" She screeched, turning back to William. "No," she started laughing, "Ok, maybe some of us, but the rest of us are definitely of the male loving variety."

A moment of clarity finally found it’s way to him. “Oh! Oh my, of course! Of course, please pardon my misunderstanding. I had no idea this was an Introduction House.”

“A what house?”

“A high-end brothel,” Anya clarified. “You should be quite flattered!”

“I’m supposed to be flattered he thinks I’m a prostitute?” Buffy incredulously asked Anya, then turned back around to face William. “I am *not* a prostitute, buster!” She said, waving an angry finger at him.

“No? Well then, I must say I’m quite relieved,” William confided, then seemed to consider the implications of his statement. “Not that I think…well, that is to say…you’re quite… I mean, I would certainly…” William floundered, as Buffy arched a well sculpted brow in amusement.

“Hmm, I must apologize, for I fear there is no way to amend my words without further offense.”

“Now I *know* you’re not Spike!” Buffy mumbled. “Anyway, back to what I was saying…what was I saying?”

“Something about your manner of dress,” William helpfully supplied.

“Oh yeah, thanks! So, women, *all* women, dress like this now,” Buffy finished.

William considered her statement, but it sounded rather dubious to him.

“You know what? Let’s save this conversation for the morning,” Buffy said, sounding very fatigued and frustrated. “Once we’ve all had some rest and your head isn’t actively bleeding, things will make a lot more sense. You can crash on the couch for tonight.”

“Most certainly not!” William protested. “It would be terribly inappropriate, and mother…”

“Look buster!” Buffy seethed. “I’ve had one bitch of a day. You are going to stay in this house, on that couch, and get some nice relaxing sleep!” Buffy finished, in a tone broaching no argument. After a moment during which she appeared to recompose herself, she added in the more formal tones of a practiced hostess, “Now, is there anything I can get you before I go to bed?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine, thank you,” William hastily replied.

“Ok, well then… goodnight,” Buffy hesitantly bid as she made her exit.

“Well, I think that went well,” Anya cheerfully opined.

Chapter 3

"Well, I think that went well," Xander heard Anya say as he burst through the front door of Buffy's home. He'd needed an ice pack for his face, and to let Buffy know he'd run into Warren and his chums, so he'd figured he could kill two birds with one stone by heading straight there. He hadn't counted on running into Anya, however.

"Buffy," He called as he shut the door, choosing to momentarily avoid the whole Anya issue, "I found Warren. Actually, my face kind of found him…" He trailed off as he noticed Spike's coat hanging over the banister. That was also right about the time he noticed that Buffy was standing on the stairs in apparently nothing but her bath robe. He so totally didn't want to deal with this right now.

"This what you call not seeing Spike anymore?" He asked with no small trace of anger, and noticed that his question had elicited a very noticeable twitch from Buffy; but, she didn't give him any response to his question, she just turned and started to walk up the stairs. Xander also noticed at that moment, that she was moving quite differently than her usual self, slower and obviously in quite a bit of pain. "What did he do? Did he hurt you?"

Buffy froze in her tracks for a moment, before turning her head to glance over her shoulder at him.

"It was a demon. Caught me off guard. I took care of it," she offered quietly.

"Took care of it? Like you took care of Spike?" Xander seethed out, pointing toward Spike's black coat.

"No, it's safe to say I killed it," Buffy replied in her quiet but firm voice.

That was when he noticed that Buffy was staring intently into the living room. He followed her line of gaze, right into the very confused face of…Spike? Spike, in this house? After everything that had happened recently, and with Buffy and Anya both there as well? Xander's stomach started to feel nauseated, and then his rage started to take over. He made a sharp turn toward the living room with the intention to close the few steps to the couch and stake the vampire that had become the bane of his existence. Right until Buffy suddenly had a vice like grip on his arm and was pulling him toward the dining room. He made a valliant but vain attempt to free his arm, as he was dragged away. Once in the room, he stopped struggling and turned the full face of his fury to Buffy.

"What is he doing here? And Anya? Is this some sort of sick three…" He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence before Buffy's other hand produced the second solid crack to his face for the evening.

"First, don't you dare come into my house and start insulting me and my guests…" Buffy bit out through clench teeth. "

"Guests?! Since when is Spike a guest?!" Xander retorted.

"Second, that person in there isn't Spike," She finished.

"What, so now Spike's both a person and a guest? This is insane, Buffy. When did you…"

"She made a wish, Xander," Anya spoke up, softly enough that it took a second for him to register what she had said. "Buffy made a wish that Spike the vampire no longer existed."

"Funny, that sure looked like Spike to me." Xander's retort was short and his anger practically dripped from his mouth.

"You didn't let me finish! You never let me finish!" Anya stamped one heel for emphasis. "Buffy made a wish that Spike the Bloody Vampire no longer existed. The person you saw in there is the man Spike was before he was turned into a vampire 122 years ago."

Now it was Xander's turn to stand in silence as he took in what everyone was saying. He finally turned back to Buffy with a look of incredulity and asked, "You wished Spike out of existence?"

"No," Buffy dropped the grip she had on Xander's arm and crossed her arms in front of herself, pulling the bathrobe a little tighter. "Yes. I don't… it's complicated."

"Yeah, I gathered that," he replied. "So the Spike shaped guy in there is…"

"William," Buffy softly clarified.

"William." Xander looked up at the ceiling, as if expecting to find something there. Ye gods, this was going to be a long night, and he hadn't even gotten to the part about telling Buffy about Warren, much less getting that ice pack.

******************

Hearing his name, William decided this might be the opportune time to address the man who had charged in, and then started quite the heated discussion about a spike, and also seemed to involve a patron perhaps. What an odd topic of discussion, and not one he'd been able to completely follow. Then again, it certainly wasn't his business whatever business these adventuress' had with their patrons. Ah, well, "once more unto the breach," he mumbled to himself, as he slowly walked toward the gathered group. He was beginning to understand why his friends held such women in high regard. They were unlike any woman he'd ever seen.

"Pardon me, good sir," William said after cleared his throat. The gentleman turned towards him, as he spoke. Only this looked like no gentleman; rather, he looked like a laborer of some sort, who had recently been in a bit of a row judging by his face. "My name is William Pratt. I take it you are the proprietor of this establishment?"

The man just stared at him, and apparently was floundering for words as he himself so often did.

"Establishment?" The man asked in what seemed to be a question.

"Yes, I assume this is your introduction house? I'm afraid I seem to have been injured earlier this evening, and was brought here for assistance," William explained. "Though," he scratched his head, "I'm not entirely sure how I got from the Adams engagement to the rookery."

"Ok, this is officially starting to wig me out a little. I hear these words coming from his mouth, but they're making even less sense then usual." The man stated.

"Right there with you, Xander." The angel, no… Ms. Buffy, stated.

"Ah! Xander is your name? Nice to make your acquaintance Mr. Xander. Fascinating name, I take it your family is from the continent?" William asked, as he took one of Mr. Xander's out stretched hands and shook it. Getting no answer, he pressed on.

"As I told these lovely adventuresses, I really must be on my way. My mother is not well, you see, and she will be worried sick if I don't return immediately."

"Uh, huh," was the only reply he received.

"I don't suppose I could trouble you to locate a cab?" William asked.

"Cab! Ok, I know this one. Did they have cabs 122 years ago?" Xander asked, looking at Buffy.

"How they heck would I know?" Buffy asked in return.

"Oh, sure," Anya offered. "Only they were coaches and not cars. The drivers charged outrageously too, but if you could afford them you probably didn't care what they cost."

"You speak old guy?" Mr. Xander asked Ms. Anya.

"I beg your pardon?" William exclaimed at Mr. Xander's assertion. "I am no man of dizzy age, sir! I am not long out of Cambridge, I dare say."

"Anya, translation?" Ms. Buffy asked.

"Oh, he said he isn't old and that he hasn't been out of college long," Ms. Anya supplied.

"And, the rest of it?" Mr. Xander asked.

"Rest of… oh, um, let's see… he thinks your name is weird and asked if your family comes from somewhere else in Europe, and he wants to know if you're the pimp in charge here, and he thinks he is in a sort of red light district in London. Oh, and he wants you to get him a ride home because his mother's sick." Ms. Anya supplied, though some of the words seemed a bit odd, William felt it to be a close approximation, and these east enders were known to have an unusual vocabulary of their own.

"Did you say, 'pimp'?" Xander asked.

"God!" Buffy exclaimed. "What is it going to take to get it into your head that we aren't a bunch of prostitutes?"

"Technically, he called us adventuresses," Anya pointed out. "Again, you should be quite flattered. They were often very highly regarded. Um, did you ever read Sherlock Holmes?" On the blank expressions, she continued anyway, "Well, one of the characters, Irene Adler, she was based on an opera singer at the time, Lillie Langtry."

"And she was a…" Xander left the question hanging.

"Adventuress, yes," she supplied. "Although, married at the time."

"Can we get back to the whole Spike thing?" Xander asked. "Preferably before my head explodes?"

"William," Buffy corrected.

"Not helping," Xander replied.

"So, has anyone here bothered to translate into old British guy…" Xander started.

"See here!" William interrupted.

"Sorry, sorry, my bad," Xander held his hands up in surrender. "So, has anyone told William here that he's in Sunnydale, California in 2002, and his mother's long gone? Assuming Spike, here, didn't turn her into a vampire, that is?"

"Vampire?!" William gasped.

"You know about vampires?" Buffy asked.

"Why, yes. Well, I hope you don't think me feeble minded, but I think it was such a creature of the night that attacked me earlier. You say this creature, this 'Spike' would have gone after mother?" William asked with growing alarm. "I must leave at once."

With no further pause, William pulled the front door open and hurried from the house and down the sidewalk.

"So, does anyone think we should probably go after him?" Xander asked no one in particular. After a brief second to contemplate that idea, they all scrambled into the hall and out the door. They had practically fallen down the steps together, and charged down the sidewalk, only to find William staring up at the trees with a strange expression.

"William?" Buffy called, approaching him slowly. She wasn't sure why, but it seemed like the thing to do.

"Phoenix canariensis."

"No, Sunnydale. Phoenix is a few hours that way," Xander responded.

William gave him a withering look. It was such a purely Spike look, that she almost had to laugh. Which made her think. Maybe it hadn't been a purely Spike look. Maybe it had always been a purely William look. Boy, this existential stuff was going to be a big pain in the…

"These trees should be thousands of miles from here, how ever did you get them to grow?" He was looking at her with that look again. Like he'd just seen a miracle of some sort.

"What? The palm trees? I don't know; came with the house. They're all over the place here."

He was looking around again. Staring at things like he was studying a bug under a microscope. Kind of went along with the squinting. Which made her wonder…

"Spi, uh, William, out of curiosity, you don't happen to wear glasses, do you?"

He looked at her again, looking a little caught off guard for a moment, and then ducked his head. He was embarrassed!

"I do require them for certain activities. My eyes tend to become quite fatigued from time to time," He confessed. "Regrettably, it would appear they were lost during my incident earlier this evening. But I am quite certain these are Phoenix canariensis." He was looking back up at the palm trees again.

"Well, that would be because this is California and they grow all over the place here."

At that moment, an SUV came cruising down the quiet street, drawing William's rapt attention.

"I say… a horseless carriage?" He glanced back around to her, his face a question.

She thought about it a moment, then shrugged, "Yeah, we'll go with that."

"Fascinating!" That couldn't have sounded more like Giles if he'd tried. "Now, if you would be so kind as to hail one so that I may return to my home?" And there was that authoritative air that Giles was so good at.

"First, there will be no hailing," she pointedly glared at him, "and second, you can't go home."

"Yeah man, there *is* no home for you to go to."

Now he was looking frustrated, bordering on angry. After a few seconds of what looked like internal waffling to her, he finally spoke again.

"See here, sir. This jest has gone on long enough. I am Lord Pratt, and I will not be trifled with."

That got him a whole bunch of blank stares from everyone. Which for some reason caused him to sigh and roll his eyes at them all.

"Lord Pratt?" Xander repeated the name.

"Pratt?" Anya also repeated, and then kept mumbling it to herself. "Pratt, Pratt, Pratt, why do I know that name?"

"My young cousin is Lord Camden." She couldn't quite tell, but that almost sounded more like a question than a statement. Either way, she still wasn't sure what he was going on about.

"My uncle's only living child? The Marquise…"

"Oh my god!" Anya exclaimed, then quickly covered her mouth. "William, are you a presumptive?"

"A whative?" Xander asked.

"I am." He held his chin just a little higher.

Anya started to giggle, which turned into laughter, which lead to great big snorting guffaws. They were contagious, and soon had both her and Xander, though curiously not William, laughing as well. She couldn't help it. The events of the entire evening had just been so crazy and overwhelming, and she wasn't quite sure what she was laughing about, but she was glad that she was.

"You… you were… you were a member of the peerage?" Anya snorted out. "Oh god, of course you were! This is too funny, Spike was a presumptive!" She snorted some more. "Of course! Hallie was pretending to be an Underwood that season so she could run her little vengeance thing. Oh god, no wonder you were so set on her, you thought everyone else was beneath you!" Anya dissolved into laughter again. Completely missing William's not so insignificant flinch.

But Buffy didn't. Particularly when it suddenly started looking like he was going to explode, then spun on his heal and started blindly stalking off. He didn't even seem to see where he was going. His long strides took him straight into the street, right into the path of an oncoming car. Buffy had to put on an extra burst of speed to get to him and push him out of the way, putting herself right into the spot he had been.

It was over before you could blink. She had rolled right up onto the hood of the car and bounce back off into the street as the driver slammed on his breaks. She laid there a moment, considering that this wasn't the first time she'd been hit by a car, and it really did seem to be getting any easier. Although, it wasn't getting worse either.

"Buffy!" Xander and Anya's voices cut through her thoughts. She sat up, as the driver came running up. She glanced around to see if she had pushed William clear. He was sitting in the middle of the street, giving her that look. Huh, who knew? Turned out that the head tilt was a totally William thing, too. And suddenly, she really had to wonder just how much of Spike was really William? And if Spike was really William, then was Spike really gone?

Putting those thoughts away, she quickly reassured the driver and her friends that she was fine, and wouldn't be calling the police or the ambulance. She marched over to William and looked down. That was when Anya's words clicked in her brain, and she remembered shoving him to the ground, in roughly the same position he was now, and telling him that he was beneath her. He'd looked hurt then, and angry. But then, that was why she'd said it, to wound him. Judging by what had happened a moment ago, she'd simply ripped open an old wound instead of creating a new one. And it had been a pretty big one. Big enough to send him charging into the street and right into almost certain death. This was all sounding a little familiar, but not quite. Like some of the details were a little off. Wait a minute…

"Oh my god…" Now it was her turn to stand there stunned, and looking down at him while she did it.

After a moment of looking at her in such hope, William looked away dejectedly. He stood up and turned to continue walking wherever the heck he thought he was going. She caught his arm, and he momentarily froze.

"William?" He wouldn't turn and look at her, but she could tell she had his attention.

"Is that what happened that night? This… night? She said you were beneath her, didn't she? And you ran out into the street and right into Drusilla."

He was trembling a little, but still hadn't turned around.
"I will not be made sport of," He almost whispered.

Buffy decided that rather than making him turn around, she would meet him on his own terms. She walked around him until she was face to face with him, but he still wouldn't look at her.

"Is that what happened?" She asked.

He didn't look at her, but he did give her a brief nod.

Despite the serious warning bells going off in her head, she pulled him into a firm hug, and surprisingly he let her. But, this wasn't Spike, it was William. Who apparently had been in love with a woman whose words had unknowingly gotten him killed.

Funny how history repeats itself.

Chapter 5

For a moment he let himself get caught up in the feeling of the petite young lady as she help him closely, her arms encircling him so gently, and he rested his head on her shoulder. He’d never had a lady hold him so closely, other than his mother of course. She felt small, and yet so firm against him. He could feel the curves of her bosom pressing against his chest with every breath, and even the faint rhythm of her heart beating. Or maybe that was his heart beating, he wasn’t quite certain, but the pulse of it was strong and seemed to reverberate through them both. Pounding, throbbing, from is head to his…oh. Oh dear.

“Mmm, hmmm,” he cleared his throat. She didn’t seem to take the subtle hint.

“Miss…. Miss Buffy? Not that I don’t appreciate your gracious gesture, but…”

She still didn’t seem to take the hint.

“Miss Buffy, I hardly think it appropriate for us to be quite so publicly… intimate…” he finished with a whisper.

She leaned back and gave him quite an odd look. As if she were possibly… confused? After a few moments of looking at him so intently that he could feel the heat rising in his face, he desperately needed to be away from her to hide his shame and his blush. But then, her look changed. He wasn’t sure how to describe it. It seemed to him to be rather full of regret. Or was that sadness? Yes, that was it, sadness. And now he was blushing for a whole other reason, as his consternation had him mentally chiding himself for insulting the lady.

“Miss Buffy, I deeply apologize for offending you. It is not that I would not wish to enjoy your convivial society, quite the opposite; but, you see, as a presumptive I feel it is my duty to…”

“No, No, it’s ok,” she said, stepping away from him, and leaving him with a sudden strange sense of loss. “You didn’t offend me. I don’t think.” And now she looked confused again. And in all probability, so did he. This young lady was quite the enigma to him. Her countenance was so open and it left him feeling… curioius.

He’d never been very adept at engaging the gentleladies socially. Which was why he applied himself to his poetry. And yet, he found himself wanting to engage further with this angel before him. The fellows at the club often spoke quite well of these adventuress’, but his mother held them in quite low regard, and that was to say nothing of their status. He was, after all, the presumptive and he must hold himself out to be irreproachable in his standards.

“Yes, well,” He answered her, as he too stepped further away from her. “I do thank you for your assistance but I really must be getting back to mother.”

Just as she seemed to be about to speak, Mr. Xander interrupted them.

“Buffy? I know this is about a seven on the weird-o-meter, but I ran into Warren earlier,” The young man pointed towards his face. “And I think he’s pushing a nine and a half. He’s packing some major mojo, and when I called Willow to see where you were, she thought she had found something and was on the way here to show you.”

That put Miss Buffy into what appeared to be rather grave contemplation, and again he felt at a loss as to what his course of action should be. This was certainly not his concern, but he was also not one to abandon the fair ladies to the likes of ruffians.

“Perhaps you should call the police?” He offered helpfully. “This is, after all, their purpose, is it not?”

They all turned to look at him and suddenly he felt as if he had somehow said the wrong thing yet again.

“William,” Miss Buffy put a hand on his arm briefly before appearing to remember herself and removed it. “I, um, need to go take care of something,” she smiled, but it seemed a forced nicety. One he was quite used to. “I don’t think it will take long. I need you to stay here with Xander and Anya while I do.” She looked at the referenced persons and asked them watch him. Really? Watch him? As if he were a child?

“Miss Buffy, I assure you…”

“Look, Spike!” She tersely bit out, causing him to turn in circles, searching in alarm for the creature that had cornered him earlier in the evening. His mind started racing as he recalled the encounter with the beautiful, no horrible, no… well, both beautiful an horrifying at the same time, creature. Spike, what an odd name for a creature of the night. She’d somehow enchanted him into a trance with words of understanding. She had seemed to almost see straight into his inner being and appealed to his baser needs with promises of giving him something effulgent. He’d thought for a brief moment to escape his drudgery with the woman, and then all he could remember was pain and darkness. She’d apparently stolen his purse and his spectacles before leaving him to the fate of the dark alleys London.

Suddenly, someone seized his arm and he jerked away fearing the creature had caught him again, and suddenly a cacophony of voices were shouting. Shouting at the creature? No. No, they were shouting at him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, William! William! Stop! You’re ok!” He made out Miss Buffy’s voice. “You’re ok,” she repeated more softly. “No one here is going to hurt you.”

He looked around, lost in his thoughts and confusion. Every thought at the moment was so clouded. His fear, confusion, pain, arousal, concern, all warring inside him for dominance, and none of them seemed to be taking the lead. He looked straight at Miss Buffy, pleading with her to understand.

“I just want to go home!”

Miss Buffy looked at him with such sad resignation, he knew her answer before she gave it.

“I’m sorry, William, you can’t.”

“Why? What purpose have you with keeping me here?” His voice was beginning to sound on the verge of whinging, even to his own ears.

At that moment, two other oddly dressed ladies approached.

“Buffy! I think we’ve found something!” The small one with red hair said, seeming a bit out of breath. “We were able to decipher pretty much everything except these,” she said, holding out parchments of some sort.

“They had encoded blueprints and schematics to banks, armored car routes, corporate vaults,” The other lady added.

“They’re looking to score some serious dinero, and we think they’re planning to hit one of them tonight!”

“It’s time sensitive. This is big, Buffy.” The dark haired one again added.

“God, I so don’t have time for all of this!” Miss Buffy said to the others. “I have to go! I can’t stay here and try to explain to him that his mother’s been dead for a century, much less how he got here in the first place. You guys,” She pointed to them all, “Take him somewhere. Call someone. Do something. Heck, call Giles, maybe he’ll know something about his family. Or Willow, work your computer mojo and find a way to get it through to him. While you’re at it, maybe you guys can figure out a way to make him understand that we aren’t an induction house.”

“Introduction house,” Miss Anya corrected.

“I don’t care. Just do it. Figure out some way to explain all this to him while I go take care of Warren. And do something about his head while you’re at it. Nothing says welcome to the 21st century like a bleeding head wound.” She turned away and began marching back to the residence.

“Buffy?” Mr. Xander called after her. “Be careful. Warren’s gone all ‘Mighty Mouse’, emphasis on the might.”

“Good. Then I won’t have to hold back.” Miss Buffy turned back to the residence and solemnly walked inside.

“Ok, color me confused,” The one with the red hair, Miss Buffy referred to her as Willow, spoke, “What’s Buffy talking about?”

“Long story,” Mr. Xander replied.

“Buffy wished Spike out of existence, and D’Hoffran was about to do it, so I turned him into who he was before he was turned.” Miss Anya supplied.

“Apparently not that long.” Mr. Xander retorted.

“Everyone,” Miss Anya waved in his direction, “Meet Lord William Pratt, heir presumptive to the Marquis of Camden.”

William felt himself stretching upright at the use of his formal title, as all of the strange young people turned to stare at him. Yet his thoughts were filled with one very alarming terrible thought that sent a chill through his very soul and gripped his heart in its icy embrace and made him feel as if he were a frightened schoolboy all over again…

“Did she say mother is dead?”

Chapter 6

Tara looked intently at the man standing before her, his aura very bright and wide around him. That wasn’t anything new to her. Spike’s aura was always bright and extended around him. Usually full of reds and oranges, with spikes of gold, black, and muddy gray. But whomever this person was, his aura was very different, more muddled in spots. He was covered in varying shades of purple and blue, with a bit of bright lemony yellow mingling with a muddy green, and bits of silver here and there. This person may look like Spike, but he definitely not the Spike they knew.

“Yeah right. If he’s the Marquess of Camden…”

“Willow…” Tara tried to get Willow’s attention.

“Then do I get to be Countess Rosenberg?” Willow laughed at her own joke.

“Willow!” Tara put a hand on Willow’s shoulder, finally gaining her attention. “He’s human…,” She stared into Willows eyes to ensure she got the meaning of what she was saying.

“Once upon a time maybe…” Willow retorted.

“I’m serious, Will. I can see it. He is definitely not who you think he is,” She added, glancing at the shy and confused person standing in front of them. “His aura is human. And it’s nothing like Spike’s. I think Anya’s telling the truth.”

“But… that’s not even possible! You can’t just unmake a vampire… can you?” Willow turned to Anya. Tara noticed that the man’s aura shifted, he was afraid… and worried. Very worried. His thoughts and emotions were running wild and he was trying to control them, but not succeeding.

“Well…sure! Not much I can’t do,” Anya seemed to be beaming with pride. “Not that I really wanted to do this, but I didn’t have a lot of choice. I mean, Buffy made the wish, and I knew she didn’t mean it, but D’Hoffran was listening and he kind of forced my hand. It was either, *poof* Spike gets a very dusty ending, or *poof* I take him back to pre-Spike. Which is also, by the way, why no one should ever underestimate the power of the wish!”

“So, you mean this is…” Willow trailed off.

“Lord William Pratt…” Anya replied.

“Heir to the Marquess of Camden.” Tara finished.

“Presumptive,” Anya corrected. “He’s the presumptive heir.”

“And that means..?” Tara asked.

“That he’s only the heir if his Uncle doesn’t produce a viable one that lives long enough to inherit the title.”

“Oh. Ok. So, um, Spike…” Willow asked.

“William,” Tara corrected Willow, almost at the same time that Anya did.

“William… is part of the aristocracy of Britain?” Willow sounded like she was having a really hard time accepting this. “I mean, no one ever really knew his history, so we just assumed he was always like this,” She waved her hand in William’s direction, indicating his appearance.

Which made William look down at himself, sending even more confusion and fluster shooting dancing around his aura. They really were sort of traumatizing the poor guy.

“William?” Tara smiled at the very distressed William, hoping it would set him at ease. It seemed to marginally work.

“I’m Tara. I bet you’re pretty confused, aren’t you?”

He nodded his head, seeming at a loss for words.

“All of us talking around you, instead of to you? Saying some really strange things? Not really answering your questions?” She added, as she got closer to him.

He nodded again, and seemed to be fishing for the right words to say.

“You’re worried about someone?” She asked gently.

“Mother,” He answered brokenly. “She’s not well you see…” He trailed off, his voice cracking. “I just want to make sure she’s…”

“Ok?”

He nodded again.

“I can tell you really care about her a lot. It’s hard worrying about the ones we love.” She looked at Willow, sending her another look that she hoped conveyed just how much she loved her.

“I know you want to see her. We’ll do everything we can to help you find her.”

“You will?” He looked so hopeful and relieved at her statement. Then he seemed to realize he’d been a little too eager and schooled his actions. “I mean… thank you.” He gave the slightest bow of his head toward her.

Her conscience only gave her a tiny twinge as she acknowledged to herself that her idea of ‘finding’ his mother, and his idea of ‘finding’ his mother, were very different things. This was going to be hard. She recalled how she felt when her own mother had died, and felt more than a little sorry for what he was about to go through. It was never easy losing someone you loved.

“We will, I promise. Would you mind if we took care of that wound on your head first, though? It looks pretty bad, and you wouldn’t want it to get infected. Then we can talk about finding your family. If that’s ok?”

He seemed to waffle a bit. Torn between finding his family and being a gentleman.

“It’s really no bother. It would be our honor to help you if you’ll let us.” She hoped appealing to his own sense of honor would sway his decision.

He nodded.

“Good. If you’ll just, um, follow us inside?” She asked him

His hesitance was back, but after a brief second, he seemed to resign himself to the idea and nodded again.

As Willow stole up next to her, she placed her hand in Willow’s and they started walking up to the house.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” Willow leaned in and whispered in her ear.

“Not as much as I love you,” She smiled back at her as they walked hand and hand up the steps, and turned to see William, Xander, and Anya following. She noted William looking at her with curiosity as he stopped on the steps. Xander simply stepped around him, but Anya stopped and leaned towards him.

“Sapphists,” She heard Anya say.

William’s expression almost made her laugh, as he seemed to ponder that a moment and then blushed three shades of red. This was certainly going to take a lot of adjustment for all of them.

Anya threaded her arm around William’s and not so gently led him through the door, which she shut behind them.

A *lot* of adjustment.

After Miss Anya had ushered him inside, she had directed him to sit at their dining table, while she fetched what she termed a ‘First Aid Kit’, which Miss Tara explained was container of tinctures, plasters, and such to treat injuries on the spot. He’d assumed that they would of course fetch a doctor immediately, but they had assured him there was no need of such interventions. He, however, was not quite so certain.

In the interim, he’d been left to sit in the dining area whilst the remainder of the party observed him as if he were a scientific specimen placed under glass for closer scrutiny. Just when he’d been about to object to their rather rude behavior, Miss Anya returned with a small white container with various contents marked ‘sterile’, and various liniments.

“Is there a dearth of doctor’s in this area?”

“What?” Miss Willow asked, as she went about opening packages and apply some sort of liniment to his scalp. “No. No dearth. We just, have a lot of experience treating stuff like this.

That did not reassure him.

“You… have a lot of injuries in your establishment requiring treatment?”

“Establishment?”

“He thinks this is an Introduction House,” Miss Anya supplied.

“Oookkaaay….um, been a little while since I learned about Victorian society. An Introduction House would be….. ?” Miss Willow failed to finish her sentence.

“A high-end brothel. Very discreet and selective. Usually they only entertained aristocrats of their choosing. Some of them specialized in very specific tastes. For instance, The Nunnery specialized in…”

“Dawn!” Miss Tara suddenly shouted, as a young girl burst through the door to the residence.

“Virgins…” Miss Anya finished her statement. Drawing odd looks from the rest of the assemblage.

“Wow,” The young girl smiled rather sweetly. There seemed to be a carefree quality about her, as she hung some sort of sack or package in the foyer. “You guys really do have some strange conversations while I’m gone. Hey, Tara!” The girl’s smile fairly beamed at the lady in question, as she bounded up and gave Miss Tara a kiss on her cheek. “I’m so glad you’re back! I missed you *so* much!”

“Sapphist?” He inquired of Miss Anya.

“What? No!” Miss Anya started laughing. “No, Dawn is quite the little boy chaser aren’t you, Dawn? Just a few months ago she skipped out to go make out with a vampire football player.”

“Ugh! Am I ever going to live that down?” The young girl, Dawn, asked.

Vampire? Football? Surely they were all speaking in jest. The longer he listened, then more he was convinced. What club would even desire such a creature? And how would a creature of the night attend a match? It was absurd!

“Anyway, as I was saying…” Miss Anya once again resumed.

“Yeah, I think we get the gist of it, Anya,” Miss Willow interrupted her, thank goodness for small mercies. This turn of conversation was making him rather uncomfortable in more ways than he cared to admit. “What I don’t get is why he thinks this is a brothel?”

“Well, it kind of makes sense if you think about it. I mean, put yourself in his place. Remember reading all those classics for English Lit class and how their society was very regimented? Suddenly here he is in a house full of women with no guardians or supervision?” Miss Tara furnished that explanation.

“Classics?” He asked Miss Tara. “How delightful! Did you study at Bedford? Cheltenham? Girton?”

Everyone in the room turned to look at Miss Anya for some odd reason, completely ignoring his question.

“Why is everyone looking at me?” Miss Anya asked, appearing a bit perturbed.

“Well, you seem to know what he’s saying so far. We just sort of assumed you knew what he was talking about.” Mr. Xander explained. Though he wasn’t quite certain what needed interpretation.

“Sorry. I’m just so used to everyone ignoring me. It’s a little strange for you all to finally recognize that I can contribute a lot of useful information. You don’t get to be 1142 without picking up a few things along the way. You all always forget I know six earth languages, 4 demon languages, and have traveled between an infinite number of dimensions in my selfless service to scorned women for over a thousand years.”

“Okay…” Miss Dawn broke the uncomfortable silence that followed. “So, moving on…since Spike is here, does that mean we aren’t all mad at him anymore?”

He started searching for the vampire in question, unfortunately very nearly injuring Miss Willow as he stood to try and assume a position to defend himself from the demon.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”
“Hey!”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Take it easy!”

Multiple shouts assaulted him at the same time, and it took him a moment to recollect himself upon realizing that said vampire was not in fact present.

“Hey Dawn, can you help me in the kitchen a moment?” Miss Tara inquired of the girl. She appeared confused, but followed regardless. After a few tense, but silent moments, they returned to the dining room, with the girl looking exceedingly perturbed. She then proceeded to pronounce that everything was “messed up” and then stormed out of the room and up the stairs in the foyer in an apparent fit of pique.

“Geez, what’s her problems?” Mr. Xander asked.

“Dawn’s always sort of looked up to… him… as a, a, a big brother, sort of; so, she’s understandably a little upset with the, um, recent events.” Miss Tara seemed to be hedging around something, and he couldn’t help feeling as if that something was him.

“May I be so bold as to interject?” He asked the assemblage.

They all seemed to consider his request with all due seriousness before Miss Willow acquiesced.

“I don’t want to seem presumptuous, but I’ve been listening to all of your rather bizaar, discussion this evening, and it occurs to me that something of significance has occurred; and, for reasons that escape me at the moment, it is being kept from me. I assure you, I am of stout stock and can face whatever unpleasantness you may be holding back.”

He could feel his ire rising and knew he should fight it, but he’d had about as much mocking and jesting and social slights as he could stand this day and he was really rather done with all of the manners with which he’d been properly raised.

“So won’t someone please cease all of this prevarication and tell me what the bloody hell is going on here?”

Chapter 8

Everyone stared at him, seemingly taken aback by his forthright vulgarity. Truthfully, he was rather shocked and dismayed for allowing himself to use such base and blasphemous language, particularly in the presence of the ladies. Then again, his frustration was reaching rather high and these people with their exceedingly strange conversations were leaving him no other choice. He simply could not tolerate this entire jest any longer.

So why weren’t they speaking? What should he say next? Should he just leave? Why were they still staring at him?

Then someone snickered. He wasn’t entirely sure who. And then another snicker and he was certain, it was the gentleman, Mr. Xander. And it did nothing but drive his ire further.

“Sorry, sorry, you just… it’s like hearing Giles coming out of Sp…, er, William’s, mouth,” Mr. Xander provided an explanation for his behavior that explained exactly nothing.

That was it. He would find his own way to home, or at least find the nearest constabulary to assist him.

He turned and made for the door. Which apparently alarmed the gathered occupants, but he really could no longer care. Just as he reached the exit yet again, hopefully for the last time, the door burst open and someone came bounding through. Unfortunately, he was unable to clear the way quickly enough and said person’s momentum sent both they and he tumbling to the ground, his head striking the floor none too gently in the process.

His vision swam as his head briefly seemed on the verge of exploding for the second time in the last several hours. However, once the proverbial fog lifted, he was greeted with an entirely different type of interesting stimuli. For lying on top of him was the body of a young, petite, warm, lithe, nubile… He stopped that train of thought. Ms. Buffy was staring down at him, and the feel of her body against him was sending a variety of delicious… no, distressing… Oh, who was he kidding, it was glorious.

And then suddenly she was gone, and backing away from him as if frightened. But then, given his rather wonton behavior, she had every right to be repulsed. To her credit, she appeared to recover her composure with expedience. In the interim, he tried to stand despite the effort causing another round of unpleasant spinning and nausea, while apologizing for his unbecoming behavior. Which, again to her credit, she assured him the entire thing had been her own fault. He really needed to get away from these people… but not without thanking his kind, if unusual, benefactor, of course.

“Ms. Buffy, I am truly grateful for the hospitality you have provided in my time of need, but I must take my leave. While I could never, of course, repay your kindness, I must insist on making recompense for your efforts. If you would kindly provide me with information regarding whom I should direct my solicitor to contact to make arrangements?”

“You’re leaving?” She appeared confused.

“I do hope you won’t think me ungrateful, but I must,” He asserted.

“I… don’t understand, where are you going?” She asked. “Guys, where is he going?” She turned and asked the assemblage.

“I must return home with haste. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” He stepped around her, the door just inches away now and the nearness of his goal encouraged him on.

Right up until a rather strong hand gripped his arm. He turned slightly to see that, interestingly, the inexplicably firm grip belonged to Ms. Buffy. However, she was not looking at him, but rather the assembled occupants still.

“Why does he still think he’s going home?” She asked.

That question was odd and more than a little concerning. Were they planning to keep him here against his will? He tugged a bit on the captive arm, to see if he could loosen the grip, which unfortunately resulted in said grip tightening rather than setting him free. This was becoming even more alarming.

“You did explain to him, right?”

She seemed to be growing rather annoyed with each question she asked. What was it they were to explain to him? She had given that instruction prior to departing earlier, and despite her directive he could not elicit any explanation from any of them. Perhaps they were undecided in keeping him for whatever nefarious reasoning they had developed? He began earnestly trying to free himself from Ms. Buffy’s iron like grasp on his arm, but the more he struggled, the more firmly it tightened until he was beginning to regret struggling, as it was now becoming somewhat painful.

“You didn’t, did you?” Her voice held a tone of incredulity. “Unbelievable.”

He decided that ceasing his struggle would result in less damage to his limb, but unfortunately it did not result in her loosening her grasp.

“Ms. Buffy?” He tentatively tried to get her attention. “If I may…”

“No, you may not!” She turned to face him, still on the verge of crushing his arm.

He froze. They did intent to detain him! For what purpose? Would they demand money? Would he become the next unfortunate citizen to disappear? Were they in league with the vampires? Did they intend to murder him? He renewed his struggle with increased fervor.

“I demand you release me!” He insisted, his fear reaching new heights as the hand grew tighter and tighter. Surely this was no ordinary human. Was she one of them? A demon? His arm was now sending sharp stabs of bright pain to his body.

“Ow, ow, ow! Stop! Please! You're hurting me! What is it you want?!”

Curiously, she seemed to recoil her hand from him as if burned. He took his chance and lurched for the door, just clearing it as he heard her call out for him to wait. He couldn’t let them catch him. Not again. He ran as if his life depended on it. It probably did!

He could hear them calling after him, and he was certain they were making chase, but he was determined these hounds of hell would not claim their prize, and he pushed himself to increase his speed. If he was to make good on his escape from these villains, he had to further his lead.

Just as he rounded a corner he chanced to run into a group of men. He stopped and quickly begged their assistance, with promise of fortune for whomever could direct him to the police, or at least a cab. They looked at him oddly only a moment before laughing at him, as one of them called him a traitor and told him to get lost.

And then one of them did something rather odd and disconcerting… he sniffed him. His intuition was beginning to warn him that he should make a hasty retreat from this group as well, and more so when one of them declared to the others, "He’s human!"

“Get him!” Came an enthusiastic directive, as he turned and fled. However, they moved with such swiftness that he hadn’t taken more than a few steps before they had seized him, and begun pushing him amongst each other, taunting him. Their faces were ghoulish, with eyes shining in predatory glee, their evil laughs and taunts rand in his ears. “Spike,” they repeated over and over, seeming to connect the name to him somehow, until suddenly the pushing and taunting ceased as a searing jolt of pain seized upon his neck, wrenching a scream from his throat. Then another seized the other side of his throat, tearing into it as a wild dog would. Flesh and fabric were torn from his arm by another. Time expanded, as he felt his life sliding from him, preparing to shake off its mortal confines.

Then, just as quickly as it had begun, it ended. His tormentors were now gathered around another person, and engaging in fierce combat. His mind registered that Mr. Xander and Ms. Anya were there and trying to direct him away from the demons. He was unsure if he should let them, but the telling life’s blood slipping through his fingers at his throat told him that they were perhaps the smaller threat of the two.

And then his eyes glanced upon a vision of an angel.

She was amidst the group of demons, performing what could only be described as a exquisitely enthralling dance; her graceful limbs stretching out in delicate and precise movements: a pirouette, an arabesque, a saut de basque, a jete´entrelace´, an ecarte´, a rond de jambe, a soubresaut. As she danced, her golden crown of spun gold shimmered and circled about her, a halo for the angel. Each move of her resplendent form sent the demons into flight, or vanquished them in a wisp of smoke and dust. As if they were nothing more than the fitful dreams of a child, disbursed with the first fragile strands of light from Helios’s chariot as it breached the horizon.

And then there were none. Only the radiant angel was left... standing resolute, glistening in the light of the moon and stars, gleaming as if by an internal light inside her. Ms. Buffy, an angel of brilliant beauty, truly, unequivocally… effulgent.

Chapter 9

Fear and doubt ran through her over and over as she sat in the waiting room for news from the ER doctor about how William was doing. When she had come running around the corner and saw the vampires making a meal out of him, something inside her just flipped. Slaying vampires was what she did. It was her calling. She didn’t take it personally, too much, when they fought her or wanted her dead. It was just part of the job. But seeing Spike…. William, a very human William, being helplessly sucked dry… well, it made her angry. And she’d taken that anger out on every one of them.

When it was all over with, she looked around to make sure that one of the others had gotten to him. She spotted Xander and Anya, doing their best to keep him upright, and William was giving her that look, right before he passed out, almost taking Xander and Anya to the ground. She’d seen that look a hand full of times; when she came down the stairs the night that Willow resurrected her, that night in the abandoned house, and others. It was always the same look, like he’d just witnessed a miracle or a blessing, or heck found the holy grail or something. There was something about that look that made her feel weird. One part of her felt confident and warm and special, like she could make his entire world worth living ten lifetimes. The other part of her felt horrible that he would think of her that way when in reality, she was just a girl. A flawed and mixed up girl who had used him and his feelings against him just because they were there and she could, and she’d really needed to feel something other than hollow.

And now, because of Spike’s stupid, careless, soulless, actions… and her errant wish, she had this new person to take care of. This person who looked exactly like Spike, but was in so many ways very unlike him. But then there were times like when he had that look; it was so easy to forget that he wasn’t Spike at all. Angel had said that who they were in life informed who they were in death. So how did Spike get from William to, well, Spike? Was he really that far from him? Somehow she couldn’t see William jumping into a fight or relishing their creative and twisted sex life, with the joy de vive that Spike exuded in almost everything he did. William seemed a lot like the rest of Sunnydale, ready to pretend that the bad things didn’t exist and that if they did, then it was someone else’s job to do something to take care of it. Her job, in fact. And so they all went about their normal little lives with their normal little spouses and normal little 2.5 children until they died a normal death and were planted in a normal little cemetery for all their future generations to ignore. William definitely seemed like he would fit right in with that lifestyle.

So now they had normal old William, whom they couldn’t even figure out how to explain in a way he’d understand that he’d been transported a hundred plus years into the future, and who was now in an ER bay because he’d nearly been drained by a gang of vamps. How was she supposed to protect him? Should she even try? Maybe she should send him to Giles; he’d at least be able to help him locate any family he might have left. Maybe they could come up with a story about him being a long-lost nephew, or a great-great-great grandson by some secret lover, or something. He’d be home at least, back in England. Then again, hadn’t Giles cleaned up enough of her messes? No, this one was definitely her mess to clean up.

The doctor finally emerged and gave everyone the good news that William seemed to be doing ok, and they had stitched up all his wounds and given him a transfusion, and something to help him relax since he’d “understandably” been a little hysterical when he woke up in the hospital. Boy, if they only knew! She could only imagine his terror. The doctor said he was resting comfortably now though, and they were going to watch him a few more hours and then let him go home. He’s been so pale, even for Spike, when they’d brought him in. She’d been worried that he might have lost too much blood. She didn’t know anything about his health or family history before he’d been turned. Heck, at this point the only thing they really knew was his name and that somehow he’d been a nobleman. And wasn’t that a kick in the head?

When she was younger, she’d dressed as a noblewoman in an attempt to catch Angel’s eye, not knowing at the time that he didn’t even like noblewomen in life. And here Spike was, an actual nobleman in his former life who apparently wouldn’t even look at anyone who hadn’t been a noblewoman. That was definitely not the way she would have pegged either of those two. Then again, that was all in the past, and the hear and now was, well, hear and now. They could only move forward. It was time to start cleaning up, and there was no time like the present.

She made her way down the hallway following the doctor, and then through the door indicated. There, she was greeted with a sight she really had never in her life she thought she would ever see in a million years. A pale and battered looking young man, a stranger really, who looked exactly like a pale and battered looking Spike, laying in a hospital bed, with IV’s in his arms, breathing slowly, as monitors all around beeped out his steady heart rate and other things that left no doubt that this man was very much alive and not undead. She pulled the chair up closer to the bed and waited for him to wake.

She knew the moment he started to wake up because almost before he was really awake to know what he was doing, his left hand started to scratch and worry with the IV in his right arm.

“Hey there,” She tried to be soothing, as she placed her hand over his to try and still his movements. “I know those are super annoying, but you need to leave them alone. Trust me on this one.”

A set of sky blue eyes blinked open to stare at her, a little blankly at first as if he wasn’t sure of what he was seeing, and then he seemed to really focus on her.

“Ms. Buffy?”

“The one and only,” She was trying to be cheery.

He looked around the room, probably trying to figure out where he was and why. Unfortunately, that seemed to make him more and more worried, if the frantic beeping of the monitors were any indication.

“William? Hey, it’s ok!” She tried to get him to calm down, but he didn’t seem to be hearing her. He was on the verge of hyperventilating and looked like he was going to bolt for the door until he realized the only clothing he had on was one of those delightful hospital gowns. She could almost see the thoughts in his mind as they flew across his face, and she had to stifle a giggle as he looked rather indignant and worried about his lack of clothing.

“William, please, take it easy! I know you’re confused and scared. It’s ok.”

The look he sent her told her what he thought about that statement, but at least he started to settle down.

“You’re safe, ok?” She looked at him, and sat down again, hoping it would get him to relax more. “You lost a lot of blood and passed out, so we brought you to the hospital. The doctors took care of all your injuries and gave you some blood.”

“Hospital?” His voice held a slight edge of hysteria, and she briefly wondered what hospitals were like in his time.

“Hey, right there with you. I hate ‘em too, but you needed a doctor, and this place is pretty skilled at handling injuries like yours.”

He relaxed a little, and let his head rest back again the bed.

“What were those… things? Were they…” He left the question unfinished.

“Vampires?” She asked in return. “Yes. They almost killed you.”

“I remember,” He was staring at nothing for a moment, then he looked back at her, his brow creased in confusion. “They seemed to think that I was this vampire, Spike, you spoke of earlier,” He paused. “But then you, you killed them… all of them.” He was looking at her like he expected her to tell him that he was wrong.

“Yes,” she smiled softly.

He seemed to consider that for a long time.

“I, I don’t understand… how? How could you?”

She thought about that question for a long time. How did she answer that? How much did she tell him? Finally, she decided just to tell him everything. She could at least give him the truth. He deserved to know.

“William, I’m going to tell you something, and I want you to hear me out and let me finish before you interrupt, ok?”

He looked like he was a little worried, but nodded a yes.

“All of those stories your parents told you as a kid about the things that go bump in the night? They’re true. And I’m the thing that kills them. Every generation, one girl is given the power to defeat the vampires and demons. A vampire slayer. And right now, that’s me. You with me so far?”

He looked like the wheels in his brain were running a million miles a minute, but he nodded again.

“Since you were born… When were you born?” She asked.

It took him a second to switch gears with her, but he finally answered.

“What? Oh, uh, July twenty-fifth, eighteen hundred fifty-three, why do you ask?”

So William was almost a hundred and forty-nine. Or, well, Spike was almost a hundred and forty-nine. William was really just twenty-six, sort of. Ugh, this getting rather hard to keep track of.

“OK! So now we know your birthday. That’s good! You’re a Leo. Well, if you believe in that sort of thing.” Judging by his expression, he had no clue what she was talking about.

“Anyway, as I was saying, since you were born in 1853, there have been at around thirty different vampire slayers. Some of us make it several years, some of us only months… days even. I’ve been the slayer for six years now. I was called in 1997 when I was fifteen.”

His eyebrows shut up about 3 feet at that. She almost laughed. She could only imagine how hard this must be for him to believe. Heck, it was hard enough for her to believe it some days. Now to get to the hard part.

“Yes, that means that it is currently 2002. May 7th, to be exact. Confused yet?” His expression answered the question for her.

“It gets even more complicated. See, not only are all the stories you were told real, but so is magic.” He rolled his eyes at that.

“I know, hard to believe. But without magic, I wouldn’t be here.” That earned her a curious look.

“When a slayer dies, her powers are given to the next girl to be called. How do you think that happens without magic?”

He seemed to concede her point.

“And then there is the fact that Willow and Tara are both pretty powerful witches.”

A tiny bit of fear flashed in his eyes. Crap! Did they still believe witches were all evil in 1880? Didn’t a lot of people still believe it now?

“Good witches! Helping people, healing, finding lost stuff, all good! No evil at all!”

He still didn’t look convinced.

“In fact, when I died almost a year ago, Willow used her magic to bring me back.” A shiver ran up her spine at that thought, and when she looked up again, she could swear William looked curiously concerned. “It was a little… traumatic… for me.” She smiled, hoping it would put an end to that point of the conversation. It seemed to work.

“So, you see, magic is all around us. It is a living part of our world. And it is what lets a demon animate the undead, vampires, zombies, all of that.”

He again seemed to consider everything. At least he was still listening and didn’t seem to be wigging out yet.

“That’s all quite fascinating Ms. Buffy, but I’m not certain as to how any of this pertains…”

“To you?” Buffy interrupted. He nodded.

“I’m getting there. See, in 1880 you left a meeting at a club, upset over something that was said,” She saw him flinch at the mention of the painful, and to him still fresh, memory. “After you left, you ran into a vampire named Drusilla. She…” She took a breath and prepared to say the rest of it. “She killed and turned you.”

He frowned a moment, then seemed to be trying to think of something. Then the monitors started beeping faster and faster.

“But you’re not a vampire now!” She rushed out, to try and get him to calm down.

That got her an even more confused look.

“So, someone cured me?”

How did she answer that one? How much about Spike did she tell him? How did she tell him he got from 1880 to now without telling him, unless she planned on lying to him.

“No,” She answered, carefully avoiding eye contact. “There isn’t a cure for being a vampire. A few spells that can give them more human-like characteristics, a soul, stuff like that, but those are pretty rare and don’t usually work out very well.”

“But, you said…”

“You’re alive? Yes, very much so.” She was avoiding looking at him again. She was afraid he would see through her. She didn’t know how much of Spike was really William, but better safe than sorry.

“Then, I’m afraid I’m not understanding…”

“I made a wish.” It just kind of flew out of her mouth. Stupid mouth. Now he looked more confused than ever.

“Sorry. Let me back up. After you were turned, you changed your name to Spike, and you spent the next hundred plus years taking care of Drusilla. She’s kind of a little bit insane.Anyway, you traveled with Drusilla, and two other vampires, Angelus and Darla all over the world for the next twenty or thirty years killing and destroying everyting in your path. Collectively you were known as The Scourge of Europe.”

He seemed to be taken aback.

“At some point, Drusilla was injured by a mob and you brought her here to Sunnydale, California to find her sire, Angelus, so you could do a spell to heal her with his blood. That’s how you met me. Angelus had been cursed with a soul and he was here in Sunnydale helping me here on the Hellmouth. You and I, we fought. A lot. Neither one of us ever did manage to kill the other.”

She decided she’d skip over the whole Angel losing his soul part. And the wheelchair, too.

“I stopped you from killing Angel, but Dru has healed anyway, and you took her to South America for a while. Then, she cheated on you, so you came back to Sunnydale three years ago. Soon after that, you were captured by a government agency, and they put a behavior modification chip in your head that made it so you couldn’t hurt anyone. After that, you start helping us. Helping me.”

She took another deep breath. She could tell he was still waiting for her to get to the part about how he was alive.

“Last year you helped me defeat a hell god.” She decided she needed to give him something good in there. He looked a little shocked. Maybe a tiny bit proud, even. “But she had already opened a portal. And the only way to close it was to sacrifice myself.”

“You really died? You were serious?”

She nodded.

“And while I was… gone… you took care of Dawn for me,” She smiled. “You promised me that night that you would protect her, until the end of the world. You also helped Xander, Willow, and the others, keep the vampires and demons under control until Willow brought me back.” Again with the shiver.

“After that, you… helped me… adjust. You listened to me, let me be just…me. We… we, um… we became… involved… physically.” She chanced a glance at him. His look went from confused to shocked to open wonder in the space of just a few seconds.

“Were we …?” He blushed just a tiny bit and cleared his throat. “That is to say, were we…” He stuttered out.

“In love?” She finished.

His face was so hopeful; it was almost painful for her to see.

“You told me at least a thousand times,” She smiled at the memory of how annoyed she’d felt every time he’d said it. “But, we had… stopped… seeing each other, recently. And then earlier today, you came by to talk, and uh… we, um… we… had a… a, fight... about us.” Moments flashed through her mind. Fight wasn’t exactly the word for it, but William didn’t need to know that. “After you left, Anya appeared. She’s a vengeance demon. She grants wishes to women who have been hurt. I wasn’t paying much attention, and I said that I wished…” She didn’t finish the sentence, finding it rather hard to say the words out loud suddenly.

“You wished…?” He asked.

“I wished that Spike didn’t exist.” She looked at him, silently begging forgiveness from him, even though he wasn’t the person whose forgiveness she wanted to beg. That would be Spike. And he was gone. She felt the telling sting of tears forming in her eyes.

For someone who wasn’t Spike, he sure looked like Spike after she’d just kicked him in the head again and told him how beneath her he was.

“Anya knew I didn’t mean it.” Words just started spilling out. “She didn’t want to do it, but her boss was going to if she didn’t, and she knew… she knew I didn’t mean it! I didn’t!” Tears were falling hard now as she shook her head. “I didn’t want you dust. I didn’t. So she, she unmade you. She took you from the moment you died and turned you back into William, and Spike just stopped existing. Oh god, I’m so sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry, please, please, forgive me. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry,” She was now just repeating herself as the tears burned dozens of searing tracks down her face.

He took it all in, staring at her forever it seemed. And then she saw it in his eyes. That look. Whenever Spike was hurt, he turned it into anger. Apparently, so did William. The muscles of his neck and jaw were tensing as he clenched his teeth, and venom filled his eyes.

“William, I’m so sorry…”

“I wish you would leave,”

She didn’t need to be told twice.

Chapter 10 –

His vision was locked on the reflection staring back at him, wondering exactly who and what he had become as a vampire after his death. What had possessed him to make his hair this garish color? Why had he clipped it so short? It rather reminded him of his father, what little he could remember of him, save the color of course. And what of this scar trisecting his brow? How does an immortal creature develop such a mark? Or was it something that happened when he was attacked by the woman in the alley, Drusilla?

And what of his name, Spike? What an odd moniker. Why had he chosen it? Miss Buffy said he’d traveled with three other vampires, Drusilla, the one who’d turned him into a vampire, Darla, and Angelus, who’d “sired” Drusilla. Did that mean Angelus was her father? Were they now family? He’d apparently been devoted to her for more than a century. Spike, such an odd name. Did all vampires choose a single name, or did they have family names and titles? Where were these others now? Would they try to murder him as the others had earlier, or merely turn him into a vampire once more?

And what had he been like as a vampire? “The scourge of Europe,” she’d called them. That certainly didn’t have any good implications. “Killing and destroying everything in your path,” she’d told him. Had he really become such a monster? No thought or feeling for others, discarding lives so carelessly?

But apparently, he’d also retained a bit of noble character. Or had he? She’d said the government had put something called a “behavior modification chip” in his head. Was it still there? How did such a thing work? How did it modify his behavior? He didn’t feel like something was currently altering his behavior. Still, he could not fathom how something put in his head could so drastically alter his behavior to take him from being an instrument of wanton destruction to dispatching a Hell God. As an agent of evil, wouldn’t he have been trying to assist the Hell God?

And what of the young girl, Dawn? Miss Buffy had said that he’d promised to care for her until the end of the world, and he evidently had, while helping her associates maintain order against the vampires and demons in her absence. Thinking back, he recalled Miss Tara saying that the girl had seen him as a brother. He’d always wanted siblings, and could certainly imagine himself doting on her. And what of her associates? Where these his friends as well? They seemed to be quite familiar with him, to say the least.

And what of Miss Buffy? He’d apparently abandoned the lady he’d devoted his love to for a century due to a tryst, and he’d come here to apparently fall madly in love with Miss Buffy. He could certainly imagine doing so. Her unadorned beauty was unparalleled. Her being seemed as if it were born of fire and grace and power like he’d never beheld. His mind recalled the words of the creature who’d made him a vampire, “You walk in worlds the others can’t begin to imagine.” The words were more aptly applied to Miss Buffy. Loving her would come as easily as breathing. He’d become her companion, declared his love to her a thousand times, and they’d been physically intimate. Yet, according to her recounting, they had recently ceased such relations. Just that day they’d had a quarrel that led to her wishing him dead. Or, rather, that he no longer even existed. Why? What could have led to such a seething hatred as to warrant such a wish?

Was he an evil creature who took the innocence and life of others at will? Had he committed some evil against her? He shuddered to think such a thing. Love was not something that was so easily dispatched with life. His associates were certainly known to partake in the pleasures of the flesh, but he’d never been one to fall victim to his baser desires, until tonight when Drusilla seemed to truly see him for who he was inside. Had becoming a vampire changed him so completely? If so, why had he devoted a hundred years to Drusilla? Why had he gone so far as to seek out this Angelus fellow to cure her sickness? And why declare his love so effusively to Miss Buffy? And why, at her death, would he then swear an oath to care for the young girl in her charge?

And yet, he’d spent that same time murdering innocents. He’d become an instrument of destruction. He’d become a creature of darkness. How many had he slaughtered while embracing his demonic nature? How many virtues had he taken? Had he made them into other vampires, stealing their soul’s from them as they begged for life one last moment? Did he have a soul now? Had he unwittingly made a Faustian bargain in exchange for the physical pleasure and comfort Drusilla had offered earlier in the stables? Was he now doomed to suffer an eternity of torment upon death, for crimes he did not even recall?

Had he completely abandoned his current life and duties, or carried on with them for a time? What of mother? Had he abandoned her, or killed her, as Mr. Xander had suggested? He couldn’t imagine even his evil self cause any harm to come to her. What of Cecily? Had she wondered what became of him? What of his nephew? Had he grown into a young man and inherited the title, or had he perished as a youth, and with no surviving male heir, the title perishing with him? Did he have any family remaining at this time, or had his own death sealed the fate of the family for eternity?

Who was this person looking back at him? A scoundrel? A penitent? A villain? A man of nobility? A sinner? A paramour? An unfortunate fool who gave his heart to those who would not take it? Someone who took what they wanted from others for a hundred and twenty-two years?

He wasn’t the presumptive heir of Lord Camden anymore, that was certain. That fellow had apparently died long ago. He wasn’t this Spike fellow anymore either as he wasn’t an immortal creature, a vampire, any longer. He wasn’t the man he’d been just a few hours prior either. How could he be, knowing all he did now? He still felt like himself. Or did he? Had such a small amount of knowledge changed him? Had a hundred twenty-two years that he didn’t recall still molded him into someone else? He’d done things, some he was glad he couldn’t recall, and others he desperately wished he could remember. And if he was neither William nor Spike, then who was he?

And what did this person staring back at him do now that he’d been transported through time and space to this strange new place in America? Did he abandon all pretense of who he was, or rather who he used to be? The thought seemed rather frightening, but also rather intriguing, perhaps even exhilarating. The idea of becoming someone new, without the encumbrance of title or duty, did sound appealing. To simply seize the moment and freely live his life? All the things he could see and do, or immerse himself in the study of anything he desired. Then again, how could he so easily consider abandoning everything he’d ever known? With neither past nor present, how and where and with whom did he even begin to forge a future? He needed answers. A lot of them. But not from her. Not yet, at least.

“William?” The young woman’s voice called to him from beyond the door, interrupting his thoughts. “It’s Dawn. I know you’ve had a really bad day and all; but, I was wondering if you were planning to come out anytime soon? Not that I’m trying to rush you or anything, but some of us kind of have to use the bathroom, like…soon.”

It was time to find out exactly who he was, and he thought he might know just who could help him find the answers.

Chapter 11 –

Who knew that asking the young girl if he’d been good or evil would be a question that led to such a complex and detailed answer?

“And I would hang out and listen to your stories. Like this one time you told me about a family where the little girl was hiding in a coal bin, but right before you got to the good part, Buffy interrupted us.”

What could he have been thinking to tell a young girl such fiendish stories?

“Anyway, you would always let me hang out there after school. For some reason, you just seemed to have a way of making me feel safe.”

Dear Lord! Surely she was speaking in jest?

“You didn’t treat me like a kid. You always listened and didn’t talk to me like I couldn’t possibly understand anything that was going on. I liked that about you. Things were just easier when I was around you, you know?”

He surely didn’t.

“Which isn’t to say you were the best babysitter ever. I mean, you did help me break into the Magic Box and read through Giles’ watcher diaries. That’s how you discovered I was The Key, which is what Glory, the Hell God, was looking for.”

“The key?” This made no sense at all. The key to what?

“Oh right! You don’t remember any of that. Well, apparently before I was human, I was a mystical ball of energy that opens the barriers between all the dimensions. But then these monks turned me into Buffy’s sister so that she would protect me from Glory and couldn’t use my blood to turn Earth and every other dimension into one ginormous Hell dimension.”

“Good Lord!” He couldn’t help the outburst. This was all quite fantastic.

“But she ended up capturing me anyway, and she tied me up on this big tower built by crazy people, and then this creepy old dude came out of nowhere to start the ritual. That’s when you showed up to save me.”

“I did?”

“Well, you tried to save me. He was some sort of really fast little demon, and he ended up stabbing you and then throwing you off the tower. But then Buffy showed up and threw him off the tower. Except, he had already started making these cuts on my stomach, and all the blood started to open up the hell dimension and it started to combine with this one. And the prophecy said the only way to stop it was for the blood to stop flowing. I was just about to jump when Buffy realized that we had the same blood, and sacrificed herself by jumping instead.”

“She really died?” It was still a bit difficult to conceive that she could have actually died and been resurrected.

“Yeah. It was kind of hard to accept at first. I think we all thought she’d win like always. I mean, I guess she really did, ‘cause Glory’s dead, and this isn’t part of some big Hell dimension, but still…” She paused and dabbed a sleeve at her eyes. “I think that was when the rest of the gang finally believed that you really cared about her.”

“They didn’t believe before?” That seemed an odd thing for her to reveal.

“No. See, they all have this weird idea that vampires can’t love because they don’t have a soul. But all anyone had to do was look at you to see you were totally in love with Buffy.”

“I was?” Was he?

“Yeah. It was kind of hard for any of them to deny it that morning. You were so… I’ve never seen a person so… distraught? You didn’t talk about it after that, no one did, but I think you kind of blamed yourself. You were pretty overprotective around me after that. Anyway, I think that before that Buffy just didn’t want to believe it because that would make the whole Angel versus Angelus thing complete and utter bullsh…. Uh, baloney.”

Ah, yes, the vampire who had “sired” Drusilla. What did he have to do with this?

“Anyway, the way you let Glory torture you in order to keep her from finding out I was the key? Helping me try to bring our mom back after she died? Keeping me safe all those times I snuck out without telling Buffy? Helping Buffy patrol all the time? Offering to stake Drusilla to prove you love Buffy? Helping me figure out what I was? Getting yourself thrown off a tower trying to save me? I mean, yeah, you used to be evil once upon a time, but you’ve always been really nice to our mom and to me, and you do love Buffy, even if you did hurt her.”

“I hurt her?” Was this what had led to the fateful wish?

“Well, you kind of slept with Anya the other day. It really hurt Buffy a lot.”

That was certainly a revelation. He could understand now why she’d made the wish. But if he truly had loved Miss Buffy, then how could he have engaged in a tryst with Miss Anya? Perhaps he did deserve her spite.

“If it helps, when I came to see you earlier today you said that the thing with Anya was just something that sort of happened after you both had a few drinks.”

“You’re too kind, Miss Dawn. I begin to comprehend why Miss Buffy would make such a wish as she did.”

“I don’t think that was it,” She interjected.

“No?”

“I mean, sure, it hurt her a lot to see you and Anya, but it was a sad kind of hurt and not an ‘I wish you didn’t exist’ kind of hurt.”

He thought about all she’d said. He certainly was a rather strange and confusing vampire. Taking care of a young girl? Telling her stories of murdering families? Philandering? Offering to murder Drusilla to somehow prove his love to Miss Buffy?
________________________________

“Well, when you first came to Sunnydale you were certainly all with the big and mysterious evil. You crashed back to school night in your all black clothes and cool leather coat. Killed a bunch of people all over town.” Mr. Xander seemed rather unfazed during his telling as if this was a rather common occurrence. “You almost killed Buffy a couple of times.”

“I did?”

“Oh sure. But then she’d give you the slayer smackdown, and you’d run back to your crazy girlfriend. But then Angel lost his soul and turned into Angelus after he and Buffy got all…” He trailed off.

“Yes?”

“You know what? Not important. What is important, is that after Buffy kicked his ass, he got his soul back and you left town. For one glorious year, we didn’t have to put up with your bleached brain schemes. I kind of miss it.”

“Schemes?”

“Oh yeah. You tend to be pretty big on ideas. Execution? Not so much. If a vampire could have ADHD, you’d be patient zero.”

He certainly had an odd manner of speaking. He’d have to ask one of the others what ADHD was, and how one obtained it. Perhaps Miss Anya could shed some light on this subject?

“But after The Initiative put that chip in your head, you weren’t so much with the grand schemes as the pathetic, self-absorbed whining about how bad your life was. I was never so glad as I was when you finally moved out the basement.”

“The basement?”

“Well, we couldn’t figure out where else to keep you. We couldn’t exactly leave you chained up in Giles’s bathtub forever, so we tied you up in my parent’s basement instead. By the way, Hawaiian shirts are not your friend.”

He wasn’t sure what he meant by that.

“Miss Dawn also mentioned someone by the name of Giles. Is he Miss Buffy’s guardian?”

“Well, I guess you could call him that. He’s Buffy’s Watcher. See, Buffy’s a vampire slayer, and every vampire slayer gets a watcher to help and train her. They also keep a diary of all the battles and demons that she fights. They have endless amounts of books on every slayer and every demon. I hear they’ve even got a few on you. Or, well, Spike that is. Giles is Buffy’s Watcher. He’s from England, too. In fact, there’s a whole Watcher’s Council is in England. All a bunch of holier than though stuffed shirts if you ask me.”

“So, this ‘chip’ you speak of? It somehow reversed my evil nature?”

“Of course not! You’re still evil. Or, well, Spike was. Being as how you’re William and not Spike, you aren’t evil. Spike was always evil. The chip just made him unable to hurt people. If it hadn’t been for the chip, Spike probably would have bagged his third slayer by now, and killed the rest of us while he was at it.”

“Pardon me for asking, but, what do you mean, ‘bagged his third slayer’?”

“Well, Spike was the slayer of slayers. He killed two slayers, and was obsessed with making Buffy his third.”

“I killed other Slayers?”

“Well, not you. But yeah, Spike did.”

“And I wanted to kill Miss Buffy?”

“Well, yeah, at first. Then once you got the chip, you just kind of became crazy stalker guy. You thought you were in love with her and everything.”
___________________________________________

“Well, they don’t understand the complexities of demon souls. You can’t blame them really. Then again, I think they really don’t want to understand because it would interfere with their little black and white worldviews.” Miss Anya explained.

“So I had a demon soul?”

“Yes. It moves in and takes the place of your human soul. You keep all your memories and everything, but depending on how strong the demon is and how well it merges with your own consciousness, you may or may not keep certain aspects of your character. I mean, you’re still you to an extent.”

“I’m still myself?”

“Oh yes! Granted, none of us would have guessed that Spike was a member of the Peerage, but then again, it certainly explains a few things.”

“It does?”

“Oh yes! The way you choose your partner and then set your sights and then never give up? Looking back, that’s very classical of someone of your station from that era. The social and cultural expectations of what and who you should choose to partner yourself with were very ingrained and difficult for people like you to overcome. It’s only natural you would want to choose a partner with the highest standing, which in this case would be Buffy. She would definitely be the top of the ladder outside your own species. Come to think of it, that’s probably why there aren’t many vampires from the late Victorian era still around. That, and I would imagine most vampires would have preferred to just eat the aristocrats since they would probably be even more insufferable if they were turned.”

“Insufferable?”

“Boy, you could be insufferable at times! Not your fault really, you are simply a product of your status and time. You were raised with certain expectations and that would obviously carry over into your vampire self. I remember the men back then quite well. I did, after all, spend a bit of time in your neck of the woods before popping over to Russia for a while. You aristocrats from that era held quite the double standard when it came to women. The brothels back then were my bread and butter, but the wives certainly weren’t short on vengeance wishes either.”

“I… I’ve, never…”

“Oh, I know you’ve never. Hallie spilled the beans a couple of months ago after Buffy’s birthday party. When she called you William, and I saw you recognize her, I summoned her a couple of days later and made her dish the dirt on you.”

“Hallie?”

“Oh, sorry! You knew her as Cecily.”
“Cecily? You… you spoke with Cecily? She’s still alive?”

“Oh, sure! She’s a vengeance demon like me. When you met her, she was currently pretending to be an Underwood so she could get close enough to corner a certain family. She said you were quite the thorn in her side during that time. Every time she had them right where she wanted them, you’d be there with the poetry and the moon eyes, and the stuttering. You know what, she can probably tell this way better than I can… Halfrek!”

“Halfrek?”

“Hallie! I know you’re still hanging around. You can’t tell me word hasn’t gotten out yet that I unmade a vampire! Hallie!”

Suddenly Cecily was standing among them.

“Anya dear, you do know I have a whole summoning ritual, right?”

“Cecily?” She’d adopted the same style of dress as the other ladies here in the residence, though she appeared more polished than the others, as was her custom. Otherwise, she looked exactly as she had when he’d seen her earlier. No, that was over a hundred years ago, he reminded himself.

“William!” She smiled and preened her hair a bit as it hung loose about her shoulders. He’d never seen it down before.

“Hallie! William was asking about you, and I figured you could tell him about your little recurrent gig better than I can.”

“Gig? I have no ‘gigs,’ Anya. I have serious vengeance that I take the utmost pride in carrying out to the best of my ability.”

“Whatever,” Miss Anya made a show of rolling her eyes. “Why don’t you tell him about your serious vengeance and why you drove him out the night he disappeared. In the meantime, I’m starving. Think I’ll go make me a sandwich.”

And with that, Miss Anya made a rather swift exit, leaving him alone with Cecily.

“Do you mind if I sit?” She asked him tentatively.

“No, no, but all means!” He stood and invited her to sit on the settee, then sat back down.

“William… I want you to know that I had absolutely no idea that when you left you would run right into The Whirlwind and be turned into a vampire. Truly, I didn’t.”

“Thank you.” He didn’t really know what else to say.

“Really, I felt awful when I recognized you a few months ago and realized that instead of going missing all those years ago, you’d been turned. How have you been?”

“Uh, evil apparently, and you?”

“Oh, I’ve been quite busy with the vengeance. Anya did explain to you that I’m a vengeance demon, yes?”

“A bit, yes.”

“Oh good. I am so sorry I pushed you away at the party, but I was trying to focus on my work you see, and you were such a distraction. It wasn’t that you were anything less than a perfect gentleman, but I was getting close to my objective and didn’t want you to be caught up in the end result. I had to find a way to make you leave.”

“I… I see.”

“Oh, William, I don’t think you do. You were so far above those other imbeciles you wanted to be friends with, but they wanted to do nothing more than laugh at you. I felt certain that one day you would make some young lady a fine husband, but not if you stayed at that club while I carried out vengeance. If it’s any consolation, most of them met with a rather unpleasant ending shortly after you left.”

“I… I’m not sure what to say.”

“Well, thank you wouldn’t be a bad start.” She gave a light pat on his hand. “I suppose I did you a bit of favor, sending you out like that. You became part of The Whirlwind and got to see the world. You didn’t die gasping from some awful disease. You get to see all the marvels of the modern world and have taken quite a fancy to the Slayer I hear. I bet that’s led to some rather interesting evenings, yes?”

He couldn’t quite find the words to respond to that question.

“Oh for Pete sake, Hallie, I unmade him, remember? He doesn’t remember a thing about being Spike. For all he knows, Spike never existed.”

“Except, he did, didn’t he? Or else William wouldn’t be here and now, instead of back in 1880. I see what you did there, Anya.”

“So, I took a little creative license. What was I supposed to do, just dust him and then hope Buffy didn’t try to take my head off when she realized she still had feelings for him?”

“I wasn’t criticizing, Anya.” Cecily stood up. “I was just remarking that you unmaking him wasn’t purely unmaking him.”

“Still, he doesn’t remember anything Spike did. He doesn’t know he’s been all around the world or ate children for snacks,”

“Children?”

“Or committed a century of rape, pillage, and murder for fun.”

“Did you say…?”

“Or apparently spent many, many, hours of wild sex and mutual orgasms with who knows how many women, not to mention Buffy.”

“Wh….wh…”

“And that’s another thing, it would have been a crime really to do that to someone so talented in that area.”

“Talented?”

“I mean, he did comfort me when I was still so upset about Xander. He was my solace in my dark moment of need. It was the least I could do to save his life. Preventing Buffy from going off the deep end because of guilt over killing her lover was just a bonus.”

“Anya! I get it! He’s William. You don’t have to convince me. Just don’t let D’Hoffran in on your little secret.”

“Thank you. It means a lot to me that you understand. You always did.”

They embraced each other tightly for several moments before separating.

“Did you explain your whole vengeance thing to him?”

“I think so,” Cecily replied to Miss Anya. “William? Have I answered your questions?”

He wasn’t entirely sure. Did he even have questions to begin with? He thought he might have, but he certainly had more questions now. But, none of them were questions he dare ask. So he nodded.

“Lovely. It was so nice catching up with you, William. Do stay in touch!” She smiled warmly at him. “And you too, Anya! I’ll probably be around another week or so. Always plenty of orphans and such here in Sunnydale to help.”

“I’ll call you next week! We can have coffee.” Miss Anya embraced Cecily again, and then Cecily just seemed to vanish.

“So, William. Any other questions?” Miss Anya asked.
“No. I… you’ve been quite… helpful… with your explanations. Thank you.”

“Glad I could help!” She reached out and pat him on the shoulder, smiling radiantly, and then simply left the room.

He contemplated what he had learned in his brief interviews with the others. It all seemed so conflicting that it was rather difficult to form any kind of idea or impression on who or what he had been as a vampire. Perhaps he was going about this in the wrong manner. He’d always rather enjoyed devoting time to studying the literature, perhaps there were literary sources he could consult. There was also the previously mentioned fellow, Mr. Giles, who apparently kept a journal of the goings on pertaining to Miss Buffy. Yes, literature and study were the pillars of an educated mind. Perhaps Miss Tara and Miss Willow could assist him in locating a suitable library nearby in the morning. Miss Tara did say she’s studied classics and seemed to imply Miss Willow had as well. Yes, he’d ask their assistance tonight and get their opinions on what he’d been like before today, and then dive into researching first thing tomorrow.

The contemplation of all he’d learned today and anticipation of locating a library tomorrow should make for a refreshingly quiet night for introspection as he found that despite the exceedingly late hour, he was rather awake and not feeling the call of Morpheus just yet.

Now, where to find the young ladies?

“I get that you’ve gotta be feeling a bit out-of-the-loopy right now, but I’m not sure that learning about Spike’s past is necessarily the best way to move forward.” Miss Willow argued.

He’d found her and Miss Tara in the house’s kitchen enjoying what he assumed to be a spot of tea while engaging in idle conversation. He had posed the same question to them as he had the others, but the pair seemed to be rather reluctant to disclose much of his previous history.

“I mean, I’m happy to tell you what I know but….”

“I think what Willow means is, the past may be who you were, but it isn’t who you have to be.” Miss Tara had a rather calm and soothing manner about her that did seem to make things less complex and distressing, much like his own mother. She seemed to exude a quality of caring and compassion that surpassed that of her companions. He would very much like to cultivate a friendship with her if possible. Miss Willow was a bit more guarded in her discussion.

“It’s just, I think you’ve had a lot happen since you, um, arrived, here and I think maybe it would be best if you get some rest and recuperate a bit before we really start digging into existentialist discussions, you know?”

“It is pretty late.” Miss Tara replied.

“Way late. It’s so late it’s early. Not even all that early, to be honest. I really think we should just all get some rest and then we can start with the research in the morning if you decide that’s still what you want to do. Maybe even see if we can find out more about what happened to your mother after your… disappearance.”

He conceded that she may have a valid point. Mother did occasionally chide him, saying that he tended to get rather obsessed when in pursuit of a subject.

“Perhaps you are right. I should not be keeping you from your chambers. Though, I don’t suppose you have any of those ‘Watcher’s Diaries’ here that the others mentioned?” He asked. A spot of reading would help him to relax his mind before retiring.

“No, not here. Though, I do have some scanned…”

“Scanned?” What could that possibly mean?

“Oh, we’ll have to introduce you to computers and the internet tomorrow! It’s like having a whole library at your fingertips!” Miss Willow seemed rather exuberant suddenly.

“Will, I think it best if we took things one step at a time. It’s a lot to take in.” Miss Tara once again seemed the voice of order and reason.

“You’re right. Of course. One step at a time. That’s why she’s boss.” Miss Willow pointed to Miss Willow with a rather, entertaining, smile. “We’ll see you in the morning, William?”

“But not too early,” Miss Tara added with a rather conspiratorial looking grin.

“Definitely not too early,” Miss Willow replied, returning a look that he could only describe as lascivious.

Feeling rather intrusive given their exchange, he decided perhaps he should retire for the night and turned to remove himself to the adjacent rooms. All of them had given him quite a lot to contemplate. Each person seemed to have a rather unique view of him, and he was having quite the difficulty trying to form some sort of cohesive portrait of himself. On one hand, he seemed a caring and protective guardian, a devoted companion, and lover, enduring torture and risking his own life for her and Miss Dawn, devastated by the loss of his true love and dedicated to his charge as guardian of her sister, elated by her return to life, and fighting by her side against even his own kind. On the other hand, he seemed to be the very personification of evil, eating children, pillaging, destroying, and philandering, murdering countless people everywhere he went, dispossessed of his human soul and trying every day to find a new way to kill the very woman to whom he’d given his heart.

As he proceeded through the dining room, its table covered in a variety of papers, plasters, and forgotten drinks, the lid of a curious object on the table suddenly lifted, a bright light emanating from the object in question. He glanced around, curious if anyone else had noted the strange occurrence, but he found no one else in the room. Although he knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t help but be drawn to the strange thing, which on closer inspection appeared to be a machine of some sort. Part of it appeared similar to the images he’d seen of the recently invented typewriter. The other part was quite unlike anything he’d ever seen. It appeared to be some sort of journal detailing characteristics of demons, although how one would go about reading the journal was a mystery.

As if reading his mind, the demon treatise disappeared, and writing began appearing on the screen, instructing him to use the arrows, with a drawing of where they were located, to turn the pages of an “entry.” Then, the writing disappeared, and in its place, a myriad of images and words passed swiftly in front of him. Again, glancing around to see who or what could be causing this machine to act in such a way, he found no one.

He turned back to the machine once again, trying to see if the arrows would perhaps stop or slow the progress of images and words. As quickly as it had started the images stopped. It seemed fortune was beginning to smile on him, and he finally might be able to find out exactly who or what he had become.

Without further preamble, he poised a finger once again over an arrow and dove into reading what he hoped would be a most revealing compendium of information, “Lydia Chalmer’s Thesis on William the Bloody.”

A lot of things go through your mind when you are dying. You’d think that having died twice already, I wouldn’t have a lot left to think about. However, since I just returned from Heaven less than a year ago, a hell of a lot has happened. Not to mention, the last time I died I couldn’t think about anything other than the pain that was tearing through my body. Now, the first time I died was a lot different. I had pretty much already resigned myself to my inevitable death at the hands of the Master and said my goodbyes in my own way. Still, there were a lot of thinky thoughts as the Anointed One led me to the Master’s lair. But that was over 5 years ago, and a lot of things have changed since then including me.

So here I am, laying here with a bullet hole in my chest, my blood slowly seeping into my yard as Xander tries to slow it down by holding pressure on it, and me thinking about everything that’s happened since I came back while wondering if this is the way it will all finally end for me. Am I ready for it to be over, again?

I was ready last year. I was so tired. Tired of everything. I knew it was my time. I just… knew. And I knew my friends and family would be safe. Now, of course, I realize that I didn’t… don’t… know a lot of things. Sure, I’ve been a mess since being resurrected, but I think I was finally beginning to work things out, just like my friends were doing. Willow and Tara seem to have worked things out, which is good because I think they are really good for each other. Tara really had been the one sort of keeping our group together. No matter how bleak things are going, she somehow finds a way to keep us all going and connected together. I hope they stay together now. Even Xander and I were working things out, and I think he finally understood the thing between me and Spike. Which was funny because I don’t think even I really understand the thing between me and Spike.

Except, now I don’t really have a chance to resolve whatever that was because Spike’s gone. In his place is this person I’ve never met, and yet he still feels intimately familiar. I could blame that on the fact that he looks exactly like Spike, but it’s more than that. It’s sort of like he’s been here all along, but not. I don’t know how else to describe it really. I’m dying, so my brain probably isn’t functioning at top condition right now. William is different on so many levels and yet I keep seeing little bits of Spike every time I look at him. Huh… that’s an interesting thought. Am I… looking at William and hoping to see Spike? I don’t think I am. I’m trying to see William and accept him for who he is. After all, it’s my fault he’s suddenly in 2002 and missing his mother, rather than dead back in 1880. I wonder what happened to Spike’s mom? He’s never mentioned her at all, which seems weird considering how worried William seems to be about her. Did he kill her? Angel killed his family and Drusilla’s family. Did he teach Spike to do the same, or did he do it? I wonder if he had any brothers or sisters? Does he have relatives alive today? He said something about a cousin, and he’s apparently some sort of aristocrat or something, so maybe?

There he is now, holding pressure on my chest while Xander calls 911. Xander tried to get him to call 911 but gave up trying to explain how to use a cell phone. He’s very politely asking me to please not die. Spike would be saying every weird British cuss word he knew and telling me I better not die, or he’ll bring me back just to kill me himself. Then again, Spike wouldn’t be here right now because I’m in the yard on a sunny day. He’d turn to dust before he got 10 feet from the door. Though, now that I think about it, I don’t think that would stop him from trying. He’d figure out a way, grab a blanket or something. Then he’d probably leave Xander here while he chased down Warren and ate him. No, Spike wouldn’t eat him, he’d just kill him.

Xander’s saying the ambulance is on its way. He’s telling me to hold on. He’s telling William to push harder. I think he doesn’t want to hurt me. Or maybe he’s afraid of me. He seems a little skittish around me. Spike wouldn’t care if it hurt, as long as it stopped the bleeding. William’s gone silent now, and they are both pushing on my chest, with Xander pushing down on William’s hands. They used to be Spike’s hands. I wish I could make him understand I didn’t mean to hurt him. I wish I could tell Spike I didn’t mean to kill him.

Why am I even thinking about that? It’s done. He’s gone. Spike is gone. Shouldn’t I be happy about that? Shouldn’t I be celebrating that I finally managed to kill the Slayer of Slayers? Giles would be proud of me if I did, wouldn’t he? Who am I kidding? He may be Spike, but was he really still that person? He was still dangerous, that’s for sure. He’d proved that just a few hours ago. I’d had to stop him, forcefully, because he just wasn’t getting the message. Why am I even thinking about him right now? He’s gone. He’s not dangerous to anyone anymore. Not ever again. I’ve taken care of that whether I intended to or not.

Now, instead, there is William. Xander said the ambulance is here and he’d go get them and be right back. William is talking again. He says he’s not mad at me anymore. He says he understands. He deserved to die. He’s a monster. Oh, William, I’m so sorry. You aren’t a monster. I want to tell him that he understands nothing, but I can’t make words form. He says he doesn’t know what he did to make me wish him dead, but he’s sure he deserved it. He wants to make it right, though. He says there are a lot of things he needs to make right. I need to tell him that he isn’t Spike, he isn’t responsible for the things Spike did. I need to show him that he’s different, that Spike isn’t him. How can I? Where do I even start? I need to try somehow. Why can’t I make words come out? He says I have to live so he can atone for whatever deeds he’s committed against me. He can’t do that if I die.

I’m not sure I have a choice this time. I had a choice the last two times. I didn’t have to face the Master. I didn’t have to jump. But I really did have to in both cases. I understood that. This time, I didn’t get a choice. I feel myself slipping away now. I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. I can sort of hear Xander talking to the paramedics but can’t make out the words. Where did William go? The paramedics have stuck needles in me, but I don’t really feel them. All I can feel is darkness covering me like a blanket as jarring motions barely register. There’s another bang, and someone says something. I don’t know who or what or where. Sirens seem distant. I’m not getting a choice this time. And suddenly… I really want one. I need one. So many things I want to say to everyone. So many things I want to do. So many things I need, really need, to do. And yet, I feel it now. The one time I really do want a real choice to live or die… I don’t get to choose. I hope they can forgive… I hope he can... forgive... I really want to stay… This time… I really… do.

He’d never really considered before now that he led a boring life. He’d attended the proper schools. He’d completed his studies at University. He’d toured the continent twice. He’d been regularly attending meetings at the club. He’d written journals full of poetry. He’d tried, in his own way, to court Cecily. And yet, compared to the last two days, he’d hardly lived at all. Not that he hadn’t wanted to, of course. He’d hoped one day to take his wife and family to every continent on the globe. He was fascinated with Africa and, if he were honest, the Americas. He wished now, again, that he could remember the century’s worth of things he’d done as an evil creature. Which, as always, also made him glad he could not recall his past deeds. Many of the things he’d read had turned his stomach. And yet while it had answered many questions, it had also raised many more. It would seem that he wasn’t the only person confused about the creature he’d become. It appeared that even in the realm of evil creatures he’d been somewhat of an enigma. Yet, even considering the murderous wanderings of his evil self, the last two days would certainly be classified as unprecedented.

He’d been transported from his home to this future world. Found out that he’d loved and lost the darkly beautiful, but evil, creature who turn him into one of her kind, loved again and done something apparently so unspeakable that his love had wished death upon him. Which was certainly fitting given that he’d been an evil monster for over a century. He’d suffered significant injury thrice in two days. He’d found the lady of his dreams, a warrior of great beauty and skill. He’d learned they’d been in love, been intimate, and that he had hurt her deeply. Despite his knowledge of his evil doings as an evil being, he still didn’t understand how he could have done such a thing. Even the things he’d read suggested it was not in his nature even as an evil being. He’d learned that evil beings truly existed and that not all demonic beings were evil, though he wasn’t quite sure how that worked. He’d met vampires and been mortally wounded. He’d experienced modern medicine with machines he couldn’t understand. He’d tried to help Miss Buffy when a villainous coward had shot her with a pistol and then made his escape. He’d been certain she would die, only to see her mortal wound healed through magic. He’d seen Miss Willow’s appearance transformed and discovered Miss Tara had been murdered by the same cowardly villain who’d shot Miss Buffy. He’d spared grief for the young lady who was kind to him. He’d been a passenger in a horseless carriage. He’d seen a quaint but peculiar shop that dealt in items of magical nature, and apparently, Miss Anya was the proprietor of the said shop. He’d met a demon with unfortunate large amounts of grotesque skin and learned his evil self had befriended the beast. He’d eaten some rather odd things these American’s and demons considered food, though he was rather dubious it contained actual food. He’d traveled to the lair of a warlock with Miss Dawn and the demon, Clem, in search of Miss Willow after she’d vanished into the night air and they’d found her. Unfortunately, that didn’t appear to be a fortuitous event.

“No, please,” Miss Willow seemed indignant at something Miss Dawn had said. “You’re telling me you don’t remember? You used to be some mystic ball of energy. Maybe that’s why you’re crying all the time, Dawny. ‘Cuz you don’t belong here. Neither of you belongs.” She was looking pointedly at him now.

“Wanna go back? End the pain? You’ll both be happier. I’ll be happier,” She scoffed. “We’ll all be a lot happier without listening to you two constantly whining.”

“Willow, stop,” Miss Dawn replied to her.

“Mom! Buffy! Tara! Waaa!” Miss Willow teased Miss Dawn viciously.

“And you!” She directed her venomous words toward him. “Buffy’s used up chew toy. Always moping and trying to get someone, anyone, to pay attention to you. Trying to get Buffy to love you,” Miss Willow’s words cut sharply. “Buffy did the world a favor getting rid of you. Too bad Anya couldn’t go through with it. That must have been some really great sex you two had. Too bad now you’re just useless little Willy. Can’t cope. Can’t adapt. Can’t take a hint. Ready to cry without your mommy…”

“Willow…” Miss Dawn interrupted Miss Willow’s vile tongue.



“Time for you to go back to being a little energy ball,” Miss Willow focused on Miss Dawn. “And time for you,” she looked at him, “to go back to being dead. No more tears for you two!”

“I think you need to get away from them,” Miss Buffy was suddenly amongst them.

“I wasn’t going to hurt them… buzzkill.”

Miss Buffy and Miss Willow held a tersely worded conversation regarding the nature of magic, good versus evil, and Miss Willow’s true nature. Miss Willow seemed to hold her previous self in some contempt, a feeling he could well understand at the moment. Yet, she seemed to waver as she spoke of Miss Tara and her obvious love for her, and of the anger in her grief-stricken heart.

“I know this hurts bad, Willow. You aren’t the only one who’s lost someone you…” Miss Buffy paused and shook her head a moment as if to clear her thoughts. “You aren’t the only one who’s lost someone. But, Willow, if you let loose with the Magicks now, it’ll never end!”

“Promise?” Miss Willow seemed to relish the thought.

“You don’t want that,” Miss Buffy replied, seeming quite certain.

“Why not?” Miss Willow rejected her assertion.

“Because you’ll lose everything! Your friends, your self, Willow, if you let this control you then the world goes away and all of us with it! There’s so much to live for, Will, there’s too much…”

“Oh Please, this is your pitch?” Miss Willow interrupted Miss Buffy’s plea. “Buffy, you hate it here as much as I do! I’m just more honest about it.”

“That’s not true!” Miss Buffy’s retort seemed less than fully convicted.

“You’re trying to sell me on the world? The one where you lie to your friends when you’re not trying to kill them, and you screw a vampire just to feel,” Miss Willow pointed to him, “And insane asylums are the comfy alternative? This world? Buffy, it’s me! I know you were happier when you were in the ground. The only time you were ever at peace in your whole life is when you were dead.” Miss Willow asserted. “Until Willow brought you back.”

At some point, he noted that the room seemed to start spinning around them as Miss Willow continued talking. The air around them seemed muddled and thin, and then everything came to an abrupt halt. He felt his legs buckle beneath him as he fought to remain conscious, and then to regain his bearings.

“Sorry, it can be kind of a rough trip if you’re not, you know… me,” Miss Willow gloated, as she stood over Miss Buffy, Miss Dawn, and himself.

The shop. They were somehow back in the shop named simply enough, “The Magic Box”. And based on the reactions of everyone present, he gathered the next few moments may make the last two days seem rather dull.

“Man, they’ve really tightened security up here lately!” Mr. Xander said, glancing over his shoulder at him, as the fellow attempted to kick in what appeared to be a rather securely boarded family crypt. “One too many squatters from the Hellmouth,” The young man quipped. At least, he hoped it was a quip. Surely the very gates of Hell were not located in California?

The young blond fellow seemed to think the idea of seeking shelter in a cemetery was less than ideal and was not loathe to share his opinion regarding the matter, though he also hadn’t offered any acceptable alternatives either. Mr. Xander, to his credit, seemed disinclined to suffer the foolish young man. Neither did the fellow’s compatriot, who had expressed his own displeasure with the fellow’s behavior in both a physical and verbal manner a number of times already since they’d fled the quaint little shop at Mr. Xander’s behest. He’d wanted to remain behind to help defend Ms. Anya should she be discovered, but Mr. Xander had reasoned that his continued presence could only increase the danger to Ms. Buffy by way of distraction. It was sound reasoning, and yet he still felt like a cad for leaving. Between the two young fellows squabbling, and the occasionally animated, although hushed, discussion between Mr.Xander and Ms. Dawn, he’d felt quite out of place and unwelcome. Which is to say, quite the typical outing for him.

He spotted the strange light in the sky at about the same time Ms. Dawn, given her rather uncivilized tapping on his arm.

“Xander?”

The fellow ignored Ms. Dawn and continued his tete-a-tete with the young fellow.

“Xander?” The young lady called more urgently.

“What?” Mr. Xander rather abruptly answered.

“What is that?” She asked.

Indeed, that was an excellent question. It alarmingly appeared as if the sun itself had altered its nightly course and was hurtling directly toward them.

Just then, he heard a voice calling to them. It was her voice, though he couldn’t see her, telling them to flee. They’d had precious little time to act upon her directive before the ball of fire impacted the ground at their feet, sending all of them flying through the air as if they were bits of paper scattered on the wind. He’d scarcely begun to recover his faculties when the ground beneath him suddenly gave and sent him tumbling yet again into what he could only assume would be his final tomb.

He counted himself quite lucky as he roused from the fall and attempted to slowly right himself yet again. He began to wonder how these people managed to survive, their lives being a continuous series of calamity and injury, when he realized Ms. Dawn and Ms. Buffy had also suffered the same fate as himself. Ms. Buffy appeared to recover much faster than either he or Ms. Dawn, which he supposed was quite fortuitous given the large sword now occupying the space she had immediately vacated, followed closely by two other swords. He recognized them as the swords they had retrieved from the display at the shop before their attempted escape.

The morning sun began to flood into the cavern as Ms. Buffy repeatedly attempted to scale the steep walls to escape what could very well. He offered her his assistance, but unfortunately, they had both only suffered further insult and injury, and they were no closer to escaping the cavernous tomb. The more they tried, the more desperate Ms. Buffy appeared. And she seemed to be on the verge of hysteria at the moment, as she furtively pulled on the coffins ensconced about the cavern walls.

Ms. Dawn attempted to convince Ms. Buffy that the cavern might somehow be connected to his, or rather Spike’s, place. That perhaps he, or Spike rather, might have supplies or weapons there. He supposed she was speaking about the crypt where the Clem demon had supposedly been residing with him, though he dare not think too close on that subject. The ladies seemed to disregard each other initially, and he was quite content to remain distanced from what appeared to be a developing family squabble.

“There’s nothing there, Dawn!” Ms. Buffy’s temper flared brightly about her. “Spike isn’t there! He’s gone, and he isn’t coming back!”

“Do you want him to come back? After what he did to you?” Ms. Dawn’s retort was no less vitriolic.

“What he…” Ms. Buffy trailed off, her countenance one of shock and confusion.

“Tried to do, whatever.” Ms. Dawn corrected.

What he’d tried to do? He had a distinctively nauseating feeling that the conversation was alluding to what had warranted Ms. Buffy’s grim wish against him, and he was beginning to form an idea as to the execrable nature of his crime.

The remainder of their exchange came only in bits and pieces as his mind tried to argue with him. Surely, even evil, he could never commit such a depraved act against the woman he professed to love? And yet, how could anything less than such a deed provoke a wish of death upon him?

And then suddenly Ms. Anya was among them, with portents of Ms. Willow’s determination to end the world. But then she vanished as if she’d been an ethereal spirit of Dicken’s creation come to warn them of their dire future.

And then the earth was trembling in violent shudders, as demons of clay crawled from their earthly mother and clawed at them with apparent deadly intent. He fairly felt he deserved such a fate. However, Ms. Buffy appeared determined to delay his rightful demise as fiercely as the life of her own sister. As the demons continued to emerge, Ms. Buffy called upon her sister in what he was sure was an event that held more than superficial meaning, to assist in her efforts to fight them.

He watched as together they fought side by side, dispatching the creatures one by one. One of the creatures skirted the pair and charged at him. Ms. Buffy, fully engaged with multiple opponents, called out to Dawn, with a simple commandment, “William!” Ms. Dawn turned and seized the creature by a limb and spun it toward her. The creature drew one of its massive, razor-sharp claws across her right arm. Though the young lady attempted to dodge the move, she was not quick enough to avoid injury.

He may deserve such a fate as to be consumed by the dust-borne children of hell itself, but Ms. Buffy and Ms. Dawn certainly did not. He may have committed an irredeemable sin, but perhaps he could pay penance in some small measure. He could not allow either Ms. Buffy or Ms. Dawn further injury in his defense. His life may no longer be relevant to anyone, but he could put it to use in service of defending the two ladies against these monsters. They had suffered enough offenses for a lifetime in just the last few days, and for some reason that made him rather…angry.

He quickly charged forth into the midst of the fray, dodging a swing from a demon as Ms. Buffy called to him to stay back. He seized upon the remaining sword and called upon every one of his previous fencing lessons. He’d been quite skilled at the sport. The only sport he’d excelled at in fact. He quickly deduced however that these golem’s had no regard for the rules of the sport, and adapted his tactics. It wasn’t terribly difficult, the general methods of defense and attack were the same, just with much less decorum and restraint.

As he invested himself further into the fray, he noted with a small amount of awe that Ms. Dawn was certainly quite capable with a sword herself. Her technique lacked the finesse and clarity borne of hours of repetition, but she’d obviously studied the art to some degree.

Ms. Buffy, on the other hand, was the very embodiment of the warrior goddess Durga. Her movements were so swift and decisive, her sword’s trajectory as fluid as the ocean, that it was not hard to imagine her charging into battle astride a lion, with multiple arms each carrying a death-dealing weapon. Her purposes to defend against the demonic and evil forces then, as now, clearly written upon her face.

And then it was over. The golems fell to dust. After a moment of wary confusion, it appeared they had won. Ms. Dawn expelled a well-earned sigh of relief, but it was Ms. Buffy’s response that defied all expectations as she sat upon a coffin and simply wept. It left both Ms. Dawn and himself at odds as to how to respond. But then her tears were revealed to be those of joy. This ethereal creature before him, one moment a mighty warrior goddess and the next as delicate as an orchid, was crying tears of joy for her victory.

And then the two were embracing as Ms. Buffy and Ms. Dawn shared what appeared to be a nascent moment between them. The moment might have even served to mark what these ladies felt to be a right of passage, and he suddenly felt quite odd that he should be observing such a private moment between them, and sought to make himself as unobtrusive as possible.

“William?” Her close yet soft voice startled him out of his observation of the cavern’s geology.

“Thank you.” Her gratitude also caught him off guard. “For helping.”

“It was the very least I could do,” He answered, unable to meet her gaze.

She gave him a rather odd look, as if his answer troubled her, but said nothing. Instead, she returned to her younger sister and pronounced that together, they would all get out of this grave. Their cooperative efforts stacked the dislodged coffins together and enabled them, enough elevation to be able to climb their way out.

He watched as the two walked hand in hand to the hedges to greet the day anew, and he wondered what more this new day would bring.

Chapter 16

The doorbell rang a third time. Which was weird. She was expecting everyone to arrive soon, but usually, they all just walked in the door. She had shouted to Dawn to get the door while she continued the finishing touches to her mascara; but, either Dawn hadn't heard her or was ignoring her, or apparently, she was nowhere to be found Buffy discovered as she raced down the stairs, her hair still encased in a towel.

She swung open the door, not sure what or who she expected to find, but a delivery guy holding a flower arrangement had definitely not been on the list of possibilities.

"Buffy Summers?" The delivery guy asked.

"So says my driver's license," She answered.

The guy didn't even blink at her response, just handed her a small clipboard with a big "x" next to a line and said, "Sign please." Boy, he really loved his job. Not that she could exactly throw stones, glass houses and all. That's probably exactly how she looked every day at the Doublemeat. She quickly signed the slip and handed it back to him, at which point he shoved the flower arrangement at her. She barely grabbed the vase it was in before the guy was already halfway down the walk.

She walked around the open door, giving it a little shove with one foot to send it closing, and carried the flowers into the dining room. She set it in the middle of the table, giving it a little twist to position it just right, and then stood back to look at it. It was certainly an odd mix of flowers and greenery. She recognized the irises and the little pink roses, but the bigger red flowers looked like a cross between a rose and a chrysanthemum, all of which her mother had grown in the garden. There was also several long stems of something kind of a desert green with tiny little flowers that had five blue petals and a yellow center. And there was some thorny greenery with little white and pink flowers, and… were those berries? Little green raspberries, maybe? She wasn't sure she'd ever seen any quite like it before. But it did make a very nice centerpiece for the table. She stepped back in, turned it just an inch more to the right, and then gently poked around it looking for the card that generally came with these things.

"Huh, guess it fell off," She mumbled to herself, then looking at the clock on the wall she gave a tiny panicked squeal and took off to go finish her hair and makeup.

Plenty of thoughts rumbled around in her head as she dried her hair. How they were going to reshuffle things in the house now that Willow was gone, how she was going to make up the extra money for the bills, what she was going to do with Dawn for the summer once school was out, how to ease Dawn into patrolling. Did she salt the potatoes? What were they going to do with William?

She flipped her hair back and stared at herself in the mirror. At least the last few days had been calm. That beat the heck out of fighting Warren, chasing Willow, getting shot and dying, seeing Warren's skinless corpse, fighting crabby earth demons, trying to explain to William that an errant wish had killed Spike and brought him more than 120 years forward in time in the blink of an eye. She accidentally jerked her lipliner all wonky on that thought. That, and the reminder of why she'd made the errant wish in the first place.

"What am I going to do with a 148-year-old Victorian Englishman?" She asked the woman in the mirror.

"Well, for one," Dawn answered walking up behind her and scaring the bejeesus out of her. "Stop thinking of him as a 148-year-old Victorian Englishman."

"Crap, Dawn, don't do that!" Buffy chided her sister. "I already have to fix my lip liner. You could have made me poke my eye out or something!"

"Whatever," Dawn rolled her eyes at her as she put some freshly folded towels into the cabinet.

"Besides, Dawn, Victorian Englishman is pretty much his entire definition right now. Our culture, our customs, our speech, our clothes, everything is hugely different for him. He's completely out of his time."

"Yeah, Giles was almost giddy when he met him and figured out you were serious that this was pre-Spike William," Dawn smiled at her in the mirror. "I don't think I've ever heard him say 'fascinating" that many times. Also, I think it wigged William out a little bit."

"Yes, but once Giles came down from his watcher high, they seemed to get along ok."

"Mmm, I guess. I mean, he did seem sort of…is relieved the right word… to be talking to another English guy, but he still seemed kind of…I don't know, sad, maybe?"

She had to admit, he'd been pretty somber. At first, she'd attributed it to his shyness, but now she was thinking there was more at to it. Who knew that at one time in his life Spike had been seriously shy? He was almost like Willow when she'd first met her. Which, now that she thought about it, made a lot of sense. Vampire Willow and Spike had a lot of similarities. It was both scary and amazing what can happen when the shy, quiet, smart ones lose all their inhibitions, being without a soul and all. And damn if that thought didn't frighten her more than it probably should have. If normal Willow could go off the rails in such scary, world-ending-darkness, fashion was William capable of the same?

"Well, we'll just have to help him adjust," Buffy answered. "Find out what he likes, and then help him embrace the Sunnydale lifestyle." She sounded just a little too chipper even to her own ears.

"Can you say, 'Trying too hard'?" Dawn smirked at her.

Dinner was going splendidly well, considering. Dawn and Xander were laughing at some joke he'd made. Anya kept staring at the flowers with a weird look on her face. Everyone was avoiding the subject of Willow entirely. William was studiously pushing his food around his plate and staring at her when he thought she wasn't looking. Giles seemed to be taking it all in like some grand patriarch. They didn't get to have many moments like this. She wanted to remember this one.

"A toast!" Xander held up his glass, suddenly. She must have missed something. "To friends and yellow crayons, and yet another averted apocalypse," He finished.

She picked up her glass and held it aloft, like everyone else. It was as close to an acknowledgment of their friend trying to end the world as they were going to get. Everyone resumed their conversations, even Giles was offering his opinion intermittently. She wondered when they would get to be like this again. Giles was leaving in the morning to go back to England. He'd planned on leaving with Willow immediately after the whole thing had ended, but when he'd met William, he'd decided to stay an extra couple of days. Two of the coven people had teleported over and taken Willow with them. And Giles had taken to William research like the studious watcher he was. Giles had promised William he would search for records on his family, and his mother in particular, in exchange for additional information on William himself.

She hadn't intended to eavesdrop on their conversations, but they were in her house, and it was kind of hard not to pick up bits and pieces. He'd studied science and "classics" at Cambridge, whatever that meant. Apparently, his family had a long history at Cambridge. He spoke five languages, though she didn't catch which ones. His father died not long after coming back from Abyssinia, wherever that was. He didn't have any brothers or sisters. He was a presumptive heir, which she had learned meant that he was basically a backup heir because his cousin was only eight and surviving childhood back then was an iffy proposition. The cousin's two older brothers that had already died. She was beginning to understand the whole "heir and a spare" thing.

"Really, William, you should return with me to London," Giles was currently trying to convince him yet again. She'd put the kibosh on that twice already in as many days. "I dare say at least one of my colleagues would be practically euphoric regarding the prospect of meeting you."

"Giles?" Buffy's voice held a warning in it.

"Really, Buffy, this is an immense opportunity! The council could put their considerable resources toward helping William reconnect with his family, and we might be able to learn…"

"Beg pardon…"

"A world of no!" She put an abrupt end to his explanation. "Give it a rest already, Giles. He's had enough trauma to last a lifetime, he doesn't need the Council turning him into some sort of lab rat. Besides, that Linda woman…"

"Lydia," He corrected her with only a tiny hint of a grin.

"Lydia," She sent him a glare that said she didn't care what the lady's name was, "Gives me the creeps."

"M-might I…"

"She's perfectly harmless, Buffy." Giles insisted. "She's just a bit, enthusiastic, in her studies."

"If I m-may…"

"Studies of Spike!" She countered. "William isn't Spike!"

"I'm right here!" William practically shouted as his fists, a utensil clutched in each hand, slammed onto the table for emphasis. Which caused a lot of commotion because it also knocked over his glass and he made an impressive juggling effort of trying to catch it and set it upright, only it ended up shattered on the floor instead.

Silence seemed to reign for a while after that, with everyone very carefully focusing on their plate and Buffy silently set about cleaning up the glass and then replacing it.

"Sorry," She mumbled contritely as she sat back down. "You're right. It's your decision."

Everyone continued eating quietly for several long minutes. It was Dawn who finally broke the silence.

"So, Anya, I notice you keep staring at the flowers?"

"Mmm, yes," Giles dabbed at his mouth. "It's quite an interesting centerpiece. Are they from your mother's garden?"

"No," Buffy drew the word out. "I thought maybe you sent them?"

"Me?" Giles seemed confused she'd suggested him.

"Peace offering?" Buffy hesitantly added.

"No. Though it would have been a lovely gesture, had I thought about it. I suppose I should be flattered."

"Was there not a card that came with them?" Anya asked. "Traditionally there's a card indicating who they're from."

"Nope. No card. They were delivered earlier this afternoon."

"Maybe they're from a secret admirer!" Dawn was beginning to perk up.

As the others began engaging in speculation, except William, who was suddenly very interested in eating everything on his plate, and Anya, who was eyeballing William with half a grin on her face. Was she crushing on him? They did have that fling at the Magic Box, and Spike was certainly skilled in…

She mentally shook herself. Hadn't she just yelled at Giles that William wasn't Spike? And here she was revisiting her mental catalog of carnal knowledge. William, Buffy, this is William.

"You know, speaking of tradition, Buffy," Anya's prompting jolted her out of her thoughts. "If it is a 'secret' admirer," Anya made air quotes around the word secret, "there was a tradition a while back of using flowers to send secret, or not so secret, messages."

"That's no secret, Anya," Xander chimed in. "I mean, you give different colored roses for different things, right?"

"As usual, Xander," Anya replied, "Your ability to oversimplify something so incredibly complex is mind-boggling." Anya sighed, rolling her eyes. "Every piece in the arrangement has a meaning. Not just the color of the flowers, but each flower itself has a different meaning. Even the greenery has a meaning. You could tell someone to meet you tomorrow morning so you can elope together, or you could essentially curse their family and declare war."

"So, what does this one say?" Dawn asked in a strangely conspiratorial manner.

"Well… it's been a while, so I'm a little rusty…" Anya hesitated.

"Oh, come on Anya!" Dawn begged.

"Okay, okay. The irises clued me in first. It means that whoever it is, they are sending you a message."

"Yeah, got that part," Buffy rolled her eyes. "Kind of the whole purpose of sending flowers, right? So what's the message?"

"Well, you've got a lot of raspberry brambles, that's sort of like an apology. They're sorry about something. The pink roses can mean friendship or admiration, or maybe they admire your friendship. The live flax, I think that's flax, means they appreciate your kindness."

"What about the red ones?" She couldn't help asking. "They aren't roses," She observed.

"Camellias if I'm not mistaken?" Giles offered.

"Why don't we ask our botany expert?" Anya smiled brightly. "William?"

The poor guy was drinking from his replacement glass, and Anya's question must have startled him because he choked and for a moment she wondered if they were all going to get an impromptu shower. But, he managed to recover.

"Camellia, yes," He rasped out between coughs. "Camellia Japonica, I believe." He took another drink from his glass.

"Now, Camellia's were like Xander's roses, and not just because they look kind of like them," Anya announced. "The flower itself had a couple of meanings, but each color had meaning, too. They stood for destiny and longevity and perfection. A white one could mean they think your beauty is perfect, or that you were pure perfection or just pure sometimes. But a red one…"

Anya paused, glancing around the table like she was about to reveal a big secret. In response, Buffy noticed that everyone had stopped whatever they were doing, and they were all waiting to see what she said.

"Well, that meant you were the flame inside their heart. You're their heart's destiny."

"So…" Buffy tried to put it all together.

"So…" Anya parroted, "They have a message for you: They feel really bad, and they're sorry. Like, really sorry. They appreciate your kindness and admire you, or at least your friendship, and they are putting their heart's destiny in your hands."

Xander's whistle cut the silence that followed, as they all contemplated the arrangement.

"Or they just liked the flowers and thought you'd appreciate them," Xander light-heartedly added. Which seemed to cut the strange tension in the room.

The rest of the dinner went by without any further incidents. They'd moved to the living room for a while and discussed previous apocalypses. Giles was still quietly studying William, who was quietly studying her.

Finally, Giles announced that his departure, reasoning that his plane left quite early in the morning. He offered handshakes and hugs all around. He offered his hand to William and asked him one last time to consider going with him. She tried to act like she wasn't listening for his answer as she began gathering cups and dessert plates.

"I regret that I must decline your generous invitation at this time, but there are matters here I must attend to. Perhaps another time?" William replied while still holding Giles' hand, then gave a smile and slight nod.

"Fascinating," Giles whispered, again, before shaking himself out of observation mode. "Yes, yes, of course. Buffy has my number should you change your mind. I-I'll call Buffy once I find something." They ended the handshake and William stood aside.

"Buffy," He pulled her in and hugged her tight. "Be careful?"

"Always!" She answered with more cheer than she really felt, watching him leave again. As they broke the hug, he smiled and asked her to help him with something in his car. She told everyone she'd be right back.

"So what's the what?" She asked once they reached his rental car.

"Do you think it's wise, having him stay here?" He asked.

"Giles, I'm not letting you turn him into some sort of specimen for the Watcher's Council." This was getting old.

"I'm not talking about that," He answered. "I'm talking about you being involved with Spike. Buffy, what happened here?

"What do you mean?" She hedged.

"The Buffy I know would never have made a wish such as that unless something quite significant happened. Something significant enough to unconsciously summon Anya to you, and I don't buy that it was merely an argument."

She turned and leaned against the car, crossing her arms, as she looked up at the stars.

"I think I broke him, Giles," She answered.

"Go on," He quietly urged.

"I treated him like dirt. Lower than dirt. And he just kept coming back. He wanted a relationship, something real, but I couldn't...wouldn't...let it be like that. Every time he tried to do something nice, or sweet, or tender, I'd beat him up, down, and sideways until he gave up. I didn't want him to be nice. It was like some sort of weird war, where I wanted him, but it was killing me that I did. He just wanted to be there for me, with me, and I just wanted to hate him. And he let me. He let me pour all of my hate and anger and pain into him, and came back for more. He never stopped trying, and I hated him for it. Every single time I would push him, right up to the edge, so I could justify it and say that he was a monster. That it wasn't really me doing any of this, it was him."

"I see."

"You really don't." She let out a short bitter laugh. "Giles, I spent months driving him insane. Consent was even part of the equation, mine or his. He came to the house that night to apologize, to me! He apologized to me for hurting my feelings! Told me how much he was hurting, that I should have let Xander kill him, he was hurting that much. And I blew him off. Told him to leave. He fell into the same tug of war we'd played a hundred times, trying to reach me the only way I had ever let him reach me. God, Giles, he was so desperate… trying to get me to admit that I… He didn't realize I wasn't playing that game... not until it was almost too late."

"Buffy…"

"I kicked him across the room. That was when he realized that he'd almost… And his face…" She squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears threatening to spill, as images of his expression at that moment flooded her mind. She took a deep breath and continued. "He left… ran out without looking back. Didn't even take his coat."

"I-I don't know what to say," He sounded as confused as she felt.

"When Anya showed up, all I could think about was how angry I was that of all the times he knew what I wanted, could read me better than anyone else, this one time, why didn't he know? How could he not know?"

"You don't need to continue, Buffy."

"Really do," She insisted. "I sat there thinking about all the times I'd used him. All the times he'd let me. Everything I'd done to him, let him do to me, and the whole time I was wondering… who's the real monster in this situation? And I hated him. For making things so complicated. For loving me. For making me feel things that I didn't want to... not then. And I just wished, for one second, that I could go back to that black and white world before Spike made everything so damn gray."

"And now?"

"And now there's an innocent man, ripped from everything he knew, paying for my mistakes. How is what I did any different than when Willow pulled me out of Heaven, Giles? I owe it to him to try and make this right as best I can."

"Buffy?" He paused. "May I make a suggestion?"

"I'm not sending him to London, Giles."

"Be very careful, here. In your quest to make amends, make sure you are atoning to William and not Spike."

"Now you're stealing my lines." She smiled. "That's like telling me not to confuse Willow with Xander."

"Well, one thing has certainly remained constant," He offered.

"Oh? What's that?"

"It would seem William is quite infatuated with you."

"What? Don't be silly."

"My dear girl," Giles glanced toward the sky, probably begging for patients, before giving her that very pointed look that said she was missing something very obvious. "Who do you think sent the flowers?"

She stood there, trying to comprehend the words he'd said, but they just weren't registering.

"Be careful, Buffy." He bent down and placed a kiss on the top of her head, then climbed in his car and left.

She continued thinking about what he'd said. Could he be right? Was William falling in love with her? Was it even possible?

Nah. "Silly Giles," She laughed to herself as she walked back inside.

Chapter 17

“We need to talk.”

He was pretty sure that never the course of time had anything good ever started with that phrase? He’d barely been back at the hotel for more than thirty minutes before she’d called and uttered those fateful words. He’d offered a simple acquiescence to her request and told her to go on.

“No, it’s - it’s kind of one of those things that need to be face-to-face.”

That had definitely confirmed it. Whatever she had to say wasn’t good. Problem was, he had no clue what it could be. Then again, he’d only been out of that box at the bottom of the ocean for a few hours now, so he was pretty much out of the loop about a lot of things.

“Buffy, is something wrong?” He’d asked.

“It’s kind of hard to explain. Hence the whole face-to-face thing.” She’d answered. “We’ll be there in a couple of hours if that’s ok?”

“Yeah, sure. Will you, uh, be staying a while?”

Several seconds of silence made him wonder if she’d hung up on him.

“Honestly? I don’t know. We’ll, uh, be there soon though.”

We? So it was more than just her coming. That somehow gave him even more of a foreboding feeling. If this was something simple, she’d just come alone like she had before. Whatever it was, it was big. And dire. He just wished he’d had a bit more time to recover from his starvation and exile before he had to deal with the next end of the world scenario.

He glanced at the clock when he heard a car pull up out front. Either he had an unsolicited client dropping in, or Buffy and whomever else was with her were right on time.

He watched the doors with anticipation. The moment he saw her again after so long was always one of both turmoil and elation. Turmoil that all they had anymore were brief moments divided by vast expanses of time that even to an aging vampire seemed to last forever. Elation that he got to see her again and see the beauty of her being, her smile, her heart, he fierceness. And then turmoil again that those things would never be his to hold again. But this time was different. He was conflicted. He was worried about Cordelia. He’d been on his way to meet her that night, to confess that he’d fallen in love with her. And now, she was gone, and no one knew where or how or why. Maybe he just wasn’t meant to have love. It wasn’t the curse the gypsies had put on him, but it might as well have been.

“Hello?” Her voice called into the expanse of the lobby. Just her, then.

“Buffy?” He walked slowly around the desk. He was still weak as hell, but no need for her to know that.

“Angel!” She smiled brightly at him. It was a smile he’d never grow tired of seeing. He stopped, midway across the lobby, wondering how this was going to go. He need not have worried though, as he found himself wrapped in her arms. Then she stepped back and looked at him, hard.

“Angel, what’s wrong, you look like death!”

“I am dead, Buffy,” He laughed at her.

“You know what I mean,” She swatted him across the chest.

“Long story,” He hedged. “So, you said we needed to talk.”

She suddenly looked really nervous. He looked her over surreptitiously, reaching out with his senses as well. She seemed to be healthy. No signs of illness or injury. She reeked of Spike though. Had she come here to tell him she’d fought him in some epic battle and finally staked him? One could hope.

“Buffy?” He prompted, noticing she was wringing her hands together.

That was the moment the front doors opened again, with two more people strolling into his lobby. Dawn and…

“Spike.” The name dripped from his fangs like venom, and he summoned the strength to carry him toward the intruder. He didn’t know what he was doing with Buffy and Dawn, but he sure as hell wasn’t welcoming this idiot into his home. Particularly after Spike had tortured him for hours the last time he’d seen him.

“Angel!” Buffy was suddenly between him and Spike right before he’d gotten to arm's length of grabbing the younger vampire. He had more than a little pent-up anger and frustration that he couldn't very well direct toward the son he’d kicked out just a few hours ago, but he couldn’t definitely take it out on Spike.

“Angel, stop!” She yelled at him, as he tried to push around her. He spared a glance down at her. “Shake it off! You’re scaring them,” She emphasized, pushing him back a little.

He spared a glance at Dawn and Spike, in confusion. Dawn had never really been scared of him. And looking at her now, she still wasn’t. In fact, she was standing slightly in front of Spike, almost like she was trying to protect him. And then he saw Spike put a hand on Dawn’s arm and slowly push her to the side, as he took what seemed to be a shaky step forward.

“Buffy?” Usually, by now, Spike would have jumped at the chance to come at him. So why was he looking like a penitent coming to confession? “What going on here? Why is Spike…”

“Angel,” She interrupted him, “That’s not Spike,” She finished softly. Then she took a deep breath and let it out as if trying to find the words or the courage to say something more. In the meantime, he took a second to extend his senses once again. “I’d like you to meet…”

“William?” He breathed out the name. As soon as he’d extended his senses, the heartbeat had slammed into him like a ton of bricks. Spike was human. He looked down at Buffy again, who had stepped back and crossed her arms, looking towards the floor. Her trademark defensive pose when there were things she didn’t want to face.

“Yeah,” She quietly confirmed.

He watched with rapt attention as Spike very slowly took a few deep breaths in and out and then took the few tentative steps needed to bring him into his proximity.

“W-William Pratt,” He hesitantly introduced himself, and offered him a handshake.

He glanced again at Buffy, so many questions swirling around his head, he couldn’t even put one of them to words.

“Bumpies!” Buffy stage whispered and twirled her fingers around in front of her face.

He looked back at Spike, shifting back into his human face, and staring at him.

“Angel, don’t be rude,” Buffy chided him.

He never took his eyes off of Spike, but he did shake his hand briefly. As soon as he registered the heat of his hand though, he jerked it back as if he’d been burned. Noting that Spike flinched markedly, but didn’t step back.

Suddenly, he felt really damn angry. How the hell did this happen? Why did Spike get to be human? Why had Buffy brought him here of all places?

“Is this what you wanted to tell me?” He turned his fury on Buffy. For her part, she seemed to be appropriately contrite. He closed his eyes, trying to figure out how this was going to go down.

“I need a drink,” He said, as he turned and started walking toward his office.

He’d just finished pouring himself a glass of bourbon and fallen into his desk chair, when Buffy walked into his office, shutting the door behind her.

“How’d it happen?” He asked, staring down into his glass.

“Accidental wish to a vengeance demon,” Buffy answered. Was that regret in her voice? Maybe he imagined it. But it was enough to give him pause. Vengeance demon? There was more going on than she was saying, but he didn’t feel like pushing her. Yet.

“Why are you here, Buffy?” He asked without further preamble.

To her credit, she didn’t seem to notice the petulant edge in his voice as she pulled a chair up on the other side of his desk and sat down.

“He needs answers.” She finally blurted out.

That got his attention.

“Answers for what?” He asked.

“When I said that was William, I wasn’t being all existential.” Her eyes bored into his, conveying the seriousness of what she was saying. “When I made the wish…Spike ceased to exist,” Her breath caught. Interesting. “And became William Pratt.”

Now he really had her attention.

“No time passed for him from when William died, to the moment Spike…” She trailed off. He really didn’t have the patience or mood to deal with the implications of everything she was saying, much less how she was saying it.

“Still not seeing where I come into play here.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice for her sake but mostly failed.

She was quiet for a long time, wringing her hands more, and probably trying to figure out how to say whatever it was she was trying to say. He sipped his bourbon. He could wait. He wasn’t getting any older.

“Angel, I know you said you killed your family when you were turned. And you told me you killed Drusilla’s family before you turned her,” She paused.

“And?” He prompted.

“William… he… we’ve tried to research what happened to his mother. He really wants to know. I-I don’t think he can move on with his life until he does. Giles even checked with the council resources and no one knows what happened. She just… disappeared.”

Now he knew what she was here for. The reason she’d wanted to talk face-to-face.

“You want to know if I killed his family?” He asked without looking up.

“Or Drusilla, or…”

“Spike?” He asked, suddenly looking pointedly at her. She held his gaze for a moment and then nodded her head.

He leaned his head back on the chair, letting it rest on the edge of the seat. How did he proceed here? And now that he thought about it, this was all seeming pretty absurd. She’d dragged a human Spike to LA so they could ask him if he’d killed Spike’s family. Hell, she could have asked that over the phone. He glanced over at Buffy again and noted she was studiously not looking at him, but at her hands in her lap as she waited for his answer.

“No.” He answered her.

“No?” Her head popped up to look at him now. “No, you didn’t or no…”

“No. I’m not going to answer your question,” He clarified.

“Angel…” She sounded dangerously close to begging him for an answer.

“Not to you,” He cut her off. “Only him.”

She looked like the proverbial deer in the headlights. Clearly, she hadn’t expected him to insist he’d only tell Spike the answer to his question. Finally, she nodded and stood up to go.

“Angel?”She asked with her hand on the doorknob.

He turned and looked at her then. Her face was resolute. All of the fear and hesitation was suddenly gone. Which was a little disconcerting to him.

“William isn’t Spike. Spike’s gone, forever. Don’t make William pay for what Spike did. He doesn’t deserve that. He’s innocent, and confused, and hurting,” She paused for a shaky breath. He noted the haunted look that crossed her face. “He isn’t Spike.”

As he watched her turn to go, he took in everything she’d said, and everything she hadn’t said. He stood and walked over to the door and watched Fred and Gunn talking to Dawn and Spike. William, Buffy’d insisted. Buffy entered their circle and asked about rooms, and Fred graciously offered to fix a few rooms for them.

Dawn had grown. Taller, leaner, surer of herself. He wondered if she knew that she unconsciously stood between William and the others. Gunn and Buffy seemed to be hitting it off right away, talking shop and asking if she planned to go patrolling while she was here. For his part, William seemed contented to hang back and watch the others. The glasses should have tipped him off. Had he been wearing them when he walked in? His hair was longer than Spike’s preferred cut for at least the last 80 years or so, though not as long as when he’d first met him. It wasn’t gelled within an inch of its life either, giving body to several loose curls all over. He also hadn’t touched his roots in some time, giving him a not altogether unflattering look, but not one that really fit with the Spike he knew. The clothes were more in line with the first couple of decades they’d been together. The all-black look was gone, replaced with what looked like fitted slacks and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up a couple of times. The man standing in his lobby really looked more like Wesley than Spike. And he was nervous. His heartbeat was fluttering, though he did a decent job of trying to hide it. Except for the fact he was standing away from everyone, just a step. Everything screamed that he was an outsider. He smiled when he saw the moment Fred recognized the same thing and deliberately grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the group without pause. William seemed momentarily flustered, but Fred wasn’t about to let him out of her grip. No one else seemed to notice what she’d done.

Buffy was right. This wasn’t Spike. But it also wasn’t the William that Drusilla had presented to him more than a century ago.

Then something very interesting happened. Gunn broke off to go fetch some weapons while Dawn and Fred started walking together towards the staircase to go pick out rooms, leaving Buffy and William alone in the lobby. Buffy put a hand on Williams upper arm and asked if he wanted to patrol with her. William’s heart rate kicked into overdrive, and he could just make out a blush beginning to color his cheeks. He saw William’s head snap up as Buffy mentioned that he’d told her he would only tell William what he knew about his mother. He watched as a visible tremor ran through William, prompting Buffy to bring her other hand up and rub his arms as if trying to warm him. He wondered if she even knew she was doing it or the effect it was having on William. He watched William take a step back from her and avoided looking at her, his breathing faster than it should be. Buffy followed him, turning his face to her as she told him to remember that he wasn’t responsible for anything Spike did. He watched William’s fleeting pained expression before he nodded his agreement and then mumbled an excuse about finding his room, before striding away on quick steps, leaving Buffy alone in the lobby.

She hugged her arms around herself and then looked around to see if anyone had seen the interaction. He leaned back into the shadows and out of sight before her eyes got around to him. Not seeing anyone, she walked over to the lobby couch and sank into it with a heavy sigh, resting her head against the back and closing her eyes. The salty scent reached his nose seconds later. He didn’t know what the heck happened or what was going on, but he was definitely going to find out.

A few minutes later, Gunn came bounding down the stairs, ax in hand, causing Buffy to jump into a standing position, quickly swiping at her face. Gunn either didn’t notice or had the grace to pretend he didn’t and passed Buffy a crossbow. She admired the weapon, as well as Gunn’s ax. Moments later they were out the door. If he was going to find out just who this William was, it was now or never.

****************************

“So what’s it like to suddenly find yourself thrown 120 years into the future?” Angel asked him as they strolled down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace. It hadn’t taken much convincing to get William to agree to come with him to one of the local bars. He’d assumed correctly William might be enticed by the idea of a drink or two. He’d seemed to jump at the opportunity to spend some time in the company of another guy. Then again, if Giles was in England, the only other guy in the Sunnydale crew would be Xander, so he probably was pretty desperate for another guy to relate to.

“I-I have to say, it has been quite an adjustment,” William smiled.

He nodded sagely. He’d lived, well-been undead, through the time William came from, he could only imagine what an adjustment it had been if he was anything like the other men of the time. He noted William’s accent was much closer to what it had been when he first met him. More refined like the upper class at the time. Nothing like Spike’s adopted accent.

“Though, I do quite enjoy the trips with Miss Dawn to the Borders book sellers,” He smiled again. “It’s been quite the resource for my research into modern living,” He was almost gushing now. “And the history of everything I’ve missed! The progress of civilization in the last century is simply astounding!” Now he was gushing.

“Still writing poetry?” He asked him, enjoying the slight trip in William’s step when he did.

“You...you know of my compositions?” William asked.

“I’ve heard quite a few of them,” He answered, practically feeling the heat of embarrassment rolling off of William. “I actually liked them.”

“Y-you did?” William asked.

“You used to recite them to Dru all the time,” He told him. “She danced around like a kid at Christmas while you read them, her asking you to recite them over and over again before she’d…” Probably best not to finish that thought.

“Yes?” William certainly seemed eager to hear the rest of it.

“Nothing. Suffice it to say, you definitely had an outlet for your creative pursuits.” That was one way to put it.

“Drusilla?” William asked with more than a hint of curiosity. “She’s the demoness who turned me into a v-vampire, yes?”

He nodded. He’d known William would be curious about his turning. He’d always been curious about everything, relishing the new and unusual. As a newly turned vampire, everything had been new and unusual to him.

“Miss Buffy tells me that she and I were together for over a hundred years?” His curiosity was certainly still predictable.

“More or less,” Angel hedged.

“More or… what do you mean, good sir?” William asked.

“Angel. It’s just Angel,” He let his annoyance get the better of him.

“My apologies,” Angel noted William duck his head, and let out a frustrated sigh. “I forget the formalities are decidedly less formal here.”

“No, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to be short with you. Spike and I weren’t always on the best terms.”

“Ah, I see,” William’s politeness was still automatic.

“I doubt it,” Angel mumbled. they walked in silence briefly before Angel decided to just throw William a bone. “Drusilla wasn’t exactly mentally stable. She was gifted, or cursed depending on your view, with the sight and was driven insane before she was turned. She saw something in you and decided to turn you. You considered her your destiny and took care of her for over a hundred years, yes. But she was never really yours. That’s the thing about being a vampire. You can take what you want, but nothing’s ever really yours. Dru didn’t have the capacity to love you the way you wanted her to,” He finished.

“Oh.” Was the only reply he got. He could practically hear the wheels turning in William’s head.

“We’re here,” Angel pointed at the stairs leading down to the bar, dragging William from his thoughts. He headed down the stairs, reminding William that much of the clientele would be demons, but that it was a mostly peaceful bar so no one would hurt them.

They settled into one of the booths along the back wall as he ordered his usual, Absinthe, drawing a speculative look from William, who only ordered a brandy. When the waitress gave them a look of amusement, Angel told her to just bring a shot of whiskey on ice.

“What was I like? As this Spike fellow?” William asked, with more curiosity than Angel cared to acknowledge.

Angel watched William intently, trying to gauge what it was that William really wanted to know. Did he want a play by play rundown of what he did as a vampire? Was he curious about his exploits? What was driving this request? He had a feeling he knew but didn’t want to come out and say it.

“Why?” Angel asked him.

“Beg pardon?”

“Why do you want to know about Spike?”

William sat back and breathed out a heavy sigh. He had the feeling William had needed to talk for a while but hadn’t decided how or to whom.

“She, that is to say, Miss Buffy, likes to say that I am not him, that I am not to blame for any of his deeds,” William confided. “I fear that she does not see that he and I are one and the same. It’s as if, she believes that we are two separate individuals, rather than a simple evolution of one into the other. I fear, perhaps, that the distinction between this Spike and I is far less certain that she realizes.” He was silent for several seconds. “Sorry, I do tend to ramble a bit.”

“And how long have you been in love with her?” He asked. He couldn’t help it.

He laughed at William’s shocked expression, watching him turn a deep shade of crimson. If the guy got any redder, they might mistake him for one of the demons in the bar.

“You’re right about one thing. Who you were has a hell of a lot to do with who you become. And if there’s one thing that’s consistent between you and Spike, it’s that you are truly, how’d you put it, love’s bitch.”

William sputtered indignantly, protesting his vulgarity, drawing a perpetual smirk from him. In the end, William sank back into his seat in a defeated huff.

“Is it that obvious?” William asked dejectedly.

“Only to anyone with eyes,” He laughed. “To be fair, you’re doing a decent job of trying to hide it. Which begs the question,” He leaned forward. “Why?”

“A gentleman must…” William began to recite something automatically.

“Cut the crap,” That got William’s attention. “You’ve adjusted to malls, cars, and Border’s bookstores in what I'm guessing is just a few weeks or months. You’ve learned demons are real and probably even patrolled with Buffy a few times. Not to mention, adjusted to a complete change in the customs and clothing that’s happened in the last hundred years. So let’s try this again. Why?”

For a long time, he didn’t think William was going to answer. He watched as he swished the whiskey around in his glass, almost mesmerized by the movement of the liquor and ice around it.

“She wished me dead, you know?” William finally broke the silence. “Or rather, him. They’d had an argument, you see, and he’d done something so gravely offensive that in her perilous state of mind she wished me, him, into oblivion.”

That elicited a low rumble from him. Which he quashed at William’s alarmed look. He made a mental note to talk to Buffy more tomorrow.

“The bother of it is,” William continued on after a few more seconds. “I think it is him that she still cares for, and I fear that I simply can’t compete with the specter for which she still grieves.” William’s smile was both knowing and sad. He’d always been an intuitive little bastard.

“The moment I gazed upon her, I knew within my very soul that she was the one I was meant to find, and I can’t imagine spending my life without her.” William sighed deeply. “But I do not deserve such a resplendent being. I truly am beneath her. I just wish to know what it was that made her heart so completely his that she would forgive the unforgivable and then grieve his loss.” Angel watched as William finished off his drink.

William had it bad. And for some strange reason, it made Angel a little sympathetic for the guy. But only a little.

“Drusilla told me you wanted to turn your mother, to cure whatever illness she had.” Angel watched as William tried to wrap his mind around his statement. “Said the pixies told her that while she’d been out feeding, you’d cured the woman and killed the demon. My guess is that when she rose you set loose a demon you hadn’t expected, and she left you no choice but to stake her.”

“But, mother could never…”

“We all could, William, that’s the problem. That’s why, as a general rule, we don’t turn family. Best to just kill them and move on. Dru should have taught you that, or done it herself. It’s a good thing I didn’t know she was planning to turn you or it would have been the first lesson I made sure you learned.”

William stared at him, dumbstruck, a look of pure horror frozen on his face.

“They’ll be back from patrol soon.” He stood up, and fished several dollars out of his wallet and threw them on the table. “We should head back.”

He didn’t wait to see if William would follow him. He knew he would. They walked in silence the rest of the way back.

When they arrived back at the hotel, they were greeted by the whole crew assembled in the lobby catching each other up on all the recent events of both LA and Sunnydale. He greeted them all and integrated himself into the conversation as William barely moved more than a few feet into the lobby, seeming to be at a loss what to do or where to go. It only took a few minutes for Buffy to notice William wasn’t joining them. She sent him a questioning glance, silently inquiring about what had happened.

“I answered his question,” He supplied quietly, watching her closely to see her reaction. She didn’t disappoint.

He stood there listening to the others talking, watching as Buffy walked over to William. She’d barely touched his arm before he shook her off and beat a quick path toward the rooms. He could tell she wanted to follow, but she was conflicted. After a few seconds of short pacing and what looked like some internal debating, she stopped and looked towards the stairs. She glanced back at them briefly, then back to the stairs. After another few seconds, he saw the moment she finally made her decision.

She turned and ran for the stairs.

Chapter 18

It wasn’t too difficult to figure out which room was his. Fred had shown her the block of rooms, and she knew her’s and Dawn’s which meant the other one obviously belonged to William. She knocked gently, waiting for him to open the door or to at least tell her to go away.

He’d brushed her off in the lobby as soon as she reached out to him, she didn’t even get a chance to ask what Angel had said to him before he’d made a dash for his room, his distress more than obvious. She knocked again.

After several seconds of still no answer, she tried the door and found it was unlocked. She opened the door gingerly and peeked around it, seeing William standing in the dark, looking out the window out at the endless Los Angeles night. Shutting the door behind her with equally delicate motion, she flipped the lock. Probably wouldn’t be good to have Dawn come plowing through in the middle of a delicate conversation. He and Dawn had been thick as thieves ever since the battle for their lives in the graveyard, but she had a feeling this conversation was well above Dawn’s pay grade. She began approaching him when she heard his distinct sigh.

“If you please, I wish to be alone.”

Now what? Should she leave? She didn’t think he really needed to be alone right now. She’d known that no matter what answer he got, it was going to be traumatic for him. No one deserved to go through it alone.

“Well, if wishes were horses…” She trailed off.

“Beggars would ride.” His quiet response reached her ears.

“Huh,” She frowned, continuing to close the distance to stand by his side and stare out the window herself. “Didn’t know there was a second part to that. Makes a lot more sense now!”

He made a noise that might have been a short laugh; it was hard to tell.

“Besides,” She said, looking over at him. “I think the words, ‘be careful what you wish for,’ are a little redundant at this point.”

She both saw and heard his sharp intake of breath as he turned his head slightly away from her, still staring out the window. Way to go Buffy! Try to take his mind off things by reminding him yet again how you ripped him away from everything he knew.

“Sorry, William.” She placed her hand very cautiously on his shoulder, expecting him to once again brush her off. “Sometimes words just fall out of my mouth before checking with my brain. It’s a thing. I really should work on making my mouth behave better.” She tried to make light of her flub, hoping he’d forgive her slip of the tongue.

He turned and gave her a look that she’d learned was the William equivalent of, “You’re dumb but adorable!” That was another one of those things that she’d previously ascribed to Spike, but she had now decided was probably more of a William thing. More importantly, he didn’t shrug out from under her touch. So she slid her hand down to his hand and intertwined her fingers with his. He only let her do this when they were alone.

“Angel told me he answered your question,” She broached the subject she figured was weighing heavily on his mind. Honestly, it weighed on hers too, but not because she really wanted to know. She knew that no matter what the answer, he was going to be hurt, and not just a little. It was easy to hold out hope that Anne Pratt had lived out the rest of her natural life before succumbing to consumption, as William had called it, as long as there wasn’t any evidence to the contrary. But once he knew, then it would be real, and she knew first hand how horrible that feeling was.

“It still hurts to think about when my mother died,” She began hesitantly. “But it’s…”

“Did you also murder your own mother? Twice?” He asked, his eyes focused intently on her own, the pain and anger practically burning into her retinas.

Hoo boy, she’d actually kind of been hoping that Angel or Drusilla had done it. Angel had accepted his past and was trying to atone, Dru really wouldn’t give a damn, but William would take it personally as if he’d done the deed himself instead of Spike.

“No,” She conceded. “But, neither did you.” She returned his fervent gaze. “That was Spike’s actions, not yours.”

He gave her a look that was hard to read. She’d not always been good at that, reading others. She was more an actiony kind of person. She was all about the “show me,” instead of “guess what I’m thinking.” This one, was it a look of disappointment? But that didn’t seem right. How could he be disappointed she’d told him it was Spike’s fault and not his?

He sighed deeply, releasing her hand and then sitting on the edge of the bed facing her.

“You’re wrong,” He proclaimed as if it was established fact.

“I’m not wrong!” She argued back. “William, you are not to blame for the things Spike!”

“I am!” He raised his voice at her. Something he rarely ever did, much less directed at her. “I am.” He repeated more softly.

“You are not a soulless demon, William.” She reiterated the same thing she’d had to tell him over and over all these weeks.

He laughed. That was… unexpected.

“I almost wish I were.” His declaration unnerved her. “At least then my sins could be explained as the actions of such a creature.”

“You don’t mean that!” He was beginning to freak her out a little bit.

“No.” He finally answered. “I don’t. But that doesn’t make me any less of a monster.”

“William!” She knelt down in front of him, placing her hands on his knees to steady herself, looking up into his face in earnest, hoping to finally get through to him. “You are not a monster. Your mother was killed by a demon that inhabited your body, not you. You need to understand that. You are a good man, William.”

“No,” He smiled sadly at her. “ I’m not. Was it the demon that sought to restore mother to health by turning her into an evil creature of the night, or was it the man, Miss Buffy?” He paused briefly. “You need not answer that… it was the man. The same man who dispatched the evil creature she’d become.” She could see the tears beginning to fall. “I am most assuredly not a good man.”

She used her hands on his knees to push herself to a stand and then took his chin in her right hand, lifting it until he was looking up at her. His expression was so confused and conflicted. He was so full of pain. He’d just had the last vestiges of everything he knew and loved stripped away. He previous life, his family, his place in this world, all gone now; dashed in the blink of an eye because of a wish she’d made against the only person who had understood and accepted her own pain and had tried to give her the fire to keep going. She understood his pain. She felt his need for solace.

She smiled slightly, trying to reassure him, and then leaned in to give him a gentle kiss. But just before she could make contact, he jerked back slightly, looking even more confused and conflicted, if that was even possible.

“Miss Buffy?”

She smiled a little more and then closed the gap between their lips, giving him a slightly less gentle than previously planned kiss, hoping to reassure him she’d intended to do it.

He made a tiny little sound somewhere in the back of his throat, and it only made her smile more as she broke the kiss. She pulled back slightly, amused that he seemed to have not quite yet realized she wasn’t still kissing him. His eyes fluttered open, a glazed and dazed look in his eyes. And then it was gone. Replaced by one of… regret? Apology?

“Miss Buffy,” He took her hands in his, pulling the one away from his face and holding it with her other in front of his chest. “I... t-that is...w-we…”

She pulled her right hand up to his mouth, taking his with it, and placed her index finger across his soft, warm, lips. Her eyes met his, silently telling him to trust her. She leaned down again, capturing his mouth once more, noting this time his lips were tighter, hesitant. As she continued to try and coax his lips to relax, she let her hands fall back to his chest, placing the flat against the firm muscles hidden under his shirt. She noted with no small amount of satisfaction that his hands then found their way to her waist and they were gently, slightly, hesitantly, pulling her towards him.

He was starting to return her kisses, less hesitant as they explored different pressure, different pace, different angle. She began to undo the buttons of his shirt as he became more invested in the kissing. As he explored a longer kiss, she let her tongue slowly trace the contour of his full lower lip, eliciting another one of those tiny little sounds from the back of his throat. She wondered how many times she could get him to make that sound as she continued to unfasten the buttons of his shirt and finally pulled the shirt tails free from his slacks. She slid her hands underneath the shirt placing them on the warm flesh of his chest, causing him to suck in a hard breath and pull back from her once more. He glanced down at himself, his breaths coming in quick shallow pants, and she could almost hear him wondering how his shirt got undone. As he continued to stare at his chest and shirt, she moved her hands up to his shoulders, slipping them under the collar of his shirt and then across his shoulders, pushing the shirt off as she went. He looked up at her again, this time something close to panic swimming in his eyes.

“I-I-I d-don’t think i-it would b-be…” He stuttered out.

“Shhhh…” She smiled at him again. He really was adorable when he was flustered. “Don’t think, William, just feel,” She said leaning in to kiss him more deeply and pressed against him.

“Love isn’t brains, children, it’s blood!”

The intrusive thought blindsided her briefly, right as she’d intended to give William’s lip an itty bitty nibble, resulting in more of an unpleasant nip, and sending her reeling back for a second. As she glanced down at William, she noted the area she’d just bitten was already a little swollen. And then she noticed he was staring at her. No, studying, he was studying her.

She forcefully pushed the thought aside and once again set about resuming her task of kissing him and trying to get his shirt off. She’d just managed to do exactly that, when he suddenly grabbed her by the arms and pushed her back, holding her at arm’s distance, and giving her the critical eye.

“Buffy,” His voice suddenly steady and firm. And he didn’t even use the ‘Miss’ this time! “I want to be certain it is truly me that you…” He paused, as if afraid to finish his sentence. Instead, choosing to finish the question with his eyes, his earnest look begging her to tell him that she was not pretending this was a stolen moment with the demon who previously wore this face.

She ran her fingers through his hair, marveling at the texture and feel of it. A mess of soft and short curls, two-tone now as he had yet to even consider bleaching his hair. She cupped his cheek, marveling at the softness that had always been there, but now held the warmth brought about by a heartbeat and the flush of desire. She looked down at him once more, opening her expression and hoping she said this right.

“It’s you, William. Only you.”

He let out a breath she doubted he knew he’d been holding, and gave her that look again. That one that always made her feel so strange. To be so worshipped, and have such control over another person that it bordered on discomfort to behold that power.

She stepped back a couple of steps, his hands following along her arms until they clasped hands and she pulled him to stand. She locked eyes with him once more, seeing the doubt and fear creep into him. She dropped his hands and grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it slowly over her head, discarding it on the floor next to her. She felt a small wave of feminine pride as she saw his breathing quicken and his eyes immediately drop to her bra with a look of wonder and curiosity. She reached behind her, and with a quick twist she unhooked the clasp and pulled the straps over her arms, discarding it in the same manner as her shirt.

She stood silent and still, waiting to see what he would do. She watched as his left hand came up to hover over her breast, fingers slightly flexing, but not quite touching. She cupped his hand in hers and brought it to her breast, pressing it there and guiding him to gently roll and massage it. She brought her other hand up to her left breast, mimicking his movements, and then beginning to roll and squeeze the nipple, adding a few light pinches. He picked up the cues and began experimenting with his own movements. Soon his other hand was replacing hers in his ministrations. She slid her hands around his waist and pulled his body against her own, leaning her head up to try and capture his lips in another kiss. He seemed more than willing to oblige. When he gave one of her nipples a sharper pinch, she couldn’t help the little gasp of a moan that escaped. After a second’s pause, he renewed his actions with more vigor.

She eased her hands down his sides until they were resting just under the waistband of his slacks. She traced the skin around to the front of his slacks, popping the button open and unzipping the fly, before tracing the skin back around to his hips and pushing the slacks and his boxers down over his hips and off those firm and toned cheeks of his. She broke the kiss and grinned when his lips seemed to want to chase her own for a moment as she knelt down, taking his slacks all the way to his ankles. She made short work of ridding him of his shoes and socks and encouraged him to step out of the slacks, pushing the pants off to the side with her shirt and bra.

She sat back and marveled at him. Well, most of him. He was currently cupping his hands over himself and looking rather bashful as he glanced off to the side. His cheeks were flaming red, and she didn’t think he could get any more adorable than he was right at that second.

She ran her hands lightly up his legs and over his own hands, gently folding her fingers over his hands and pulling them to his side before letting them go, revealing his rather considerable tumescence jutting proudly upward.

“You don’t have to hide, William. You are a very beautiful man.”

He seemed to frown at her comment.

“In a very manly way!” She added. Which seemed to alleviate his frown, mostly.

She placed her right hand on his hip, causing him to jump slightly at the contact. She traced a finger across his abdomen, resulting in more little movements and perhaps even a very stifled giggle. William was very ticklish! She filed that bit of knowledge away for later. Her finger traced down along the inside of his leg, and she tried not to laugh as he squirmed and pointedly tried not giggle. She continued torturing him with light fingertips tracing over is skin, in areas she suspected were also ticklish. When she thought he was just about to let a laugh loose, her right hand seized the base of his cock. He yelped in surprise, and his eyes went wide in shock as he looked down at her. She locked her eyes with his, giving him a wicked little grin as she slowly leaned in toward him.

“You-you-you- don’t n-need to…” She slowly took him into her mouth about half way, before applying a little suction and pulling back to the head.

“Oh God,” His trembling voice whispered out as his knees began to buckle. She put her other hand on his abdomen and pushed him gently back, allowing the bed to catch his fall. It more or less worked. She followed him back, continuing her slow up and down motions on his cock. She could already feel his muscles tightening, and realized it wasn’t going to take much work this round. She began to bob in earnest, as a string of guttural sounds began flowing from William’s mouth, and his hands automatically weaved themselves into her hair. She released the tight squeeze she had with her hand at the base of his cock and sunk down on him all the way to the base, drawing a few higher pitched guttural noises from him. She started to swallow around him, and he suddenly came, quick jerking spasms shooting his cum down her throat in time with a string of repetitive “oh’s” bearing witness to his orgasm.

Once he relaxed again, she pulled back and release his now much less turgid member with a deliberate plop. As he continued to bask in the glory of his release, she stepped back and quickly removed her own boots, socks, pants, and thong before climbing back on the bed and straddling him just below his hips. For several seconds, he didn’t even seem to notice she was there. And then she reached down and started stroking him.

His head popped up again, and she smiled at the dazed and confused look he was giving her.

Once again, she sent him a reassuring smile, though she wasn’t sure how much he was comprehending right that moment. So she bent over and began kissing him once again. Sucking in his bottom lip, and teasing it with strokes of her tongue along the edges.

At last his cock seemed to begin to spring back to life. After another few minutes, it was once again proudly standing a full mast, and she had even coaxed him to allow her tongue to gently plunder his mouth.

She replaced her hand with her apex, grinding her hips against his, causing him to gasp at the contact and his eyes rolled back. She continued to rock and grind against him, using his hard erection to stroke her clit in a delicious way, until she felt she was ready. She stopped all motion, sat upright atop him, and waited. He lifted his head, looking at her questioningly, clearly confused as to why she had stopped. She rose up slightly, reached down between them, and guided the head of his cock to her opening and hovered over him. She watched as his face was taken over by a wave of desire and ecstasy as she slowly sank down on him, seating him firmly within her walls. His eyes had rolled shut again, and his mouth was fixed in a permanent “o,” though no sound seemed to escape, only shuddering irregular breaths, as his fingertips dug into her thighs almost painfully.

She gave them both time to adjust to each other and to gain some semblance of control over the onslaught of sensations. She figured it was probably best to take this slowly for both their sakes, focusing on the slow and deliberate motions of drawing everything out. At least that sounded like a good plan. It even worked for a few minutes, as she rocked against him gently. Unfortunately, it just didn’t quite seem to be getting the job done. She tried speeding up her actions, rising and falling faster, less gently, his hips coming up to meet her own, reaching further and further inside her. She started swirling her hip on the down stroke, and he was trying to do the same with his. It gave them an odd, syncopated, rhythm. She leaned forwards hovering over him, her hands on either side of his head, hoping the change in angle would work.

He instinctively took one of her breasts in his mouth, licking and sucking, his tongue teasing the nipple, while his fingers curled harder into the flesh of her upper thighs. Still, it wasn’t enough. Hard as she tried, they just couldn’t quite seem to get the rhythm together, and she was becoming exceedingly frustrated as she felt herself getting higher, and her muscles tighter, but never really cresting toward release.

And then suddenly, he sat them both upright, catching her off guard, changing the angle even more as he brought his arms around her back and pulled her sharply in and down as he thrust his hips up, hitting that sweet spot inside her, causing her to drop her head back and cry out at the overwhelming sensation. He did it twice again in rapid succession, drawing a deep growl of need and pleasure from her the third time. She looked back at him, and the look on his face was pure smoldering Spike.

She reeled back at the intrusive thought as if she’d just been slapped and briefly pushing her upper body away from his. The action brought William’s movements to an abrupt halt, with a look of concern. She tried to get her breathing under control and closed her eyes to focus as she pushed that thought away as hard as she possibly could.

She felt William trying to gently but quickly move her off of him. She popped her eyes open and grabbed his hands, once again stopping all of his motions, and she studied him. He was looking away from her. Was he angry? Ashamed? Sometimes it was so hard to tell with him. The two seemed to be all mixed up together so much with him.

“It’s ok,” She rasped out. He still wouldn’t look at her.

“William?” She was getting a little worried by his reaction.

“I’m sorry,” He choked out what sounded like a watery apology, though she hadn’t a clue what he was apologizing for and he still wouldn’t look at her.

“William, please look at me.” She asked him. After what felt like agonizing minutes of waiting, she added, “Please, William?”

He gradually turned his face toward her, his body trembling as if he were afraid.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just had a thought sneak up on me.”

If possible, he looked even more hurt.

“It’s gone, now. I don’t even remember what it was.” She placed her hands on either side of his face ensuring she kept his attention and focus, “And I really don’t want it to ruin what we have right now.”

He looked uncertain, confused, still hurt.

“Can you forgive me?” She asked, adding a little more hope in her voice.

After a second, a look of relief seemed to wash over him, and he grabbed her head and pulled her in for a kiss that was filled with more urgency than she’d anticipated.

She started to push him back again, and then thought better of it, pulling him to the side and stretching out along the length of the bed, pulling his body over her own. His passion seemed to reignite as she deepened the kiss. She began thrusting her tongue at his with each lift of her pelvis to meet his thrust. It didn’t take long for him to catch on to the rhythm she set and she wanted to cry out in joy as they finally seemed to get in sync. It didn’t take much longer for them to keep the rhythm going without her having to guide him. Which was a good thing, because somehow he’d figured out that if he lifted her leg left knee up further, it gave him just the right angle and depth to hit the spot that made her produce all sorts of primal sounds.

She was getting very close now. She just needed a little push. She reached between them, seeking out her clitoris with her fingers and she began rubbing and tapping it furiously. Getting closer. So close. William seemed to take note of the motion, and lifted up to see what she was doing, his pace faltering.

“Oh, God! William, don’t stop! Please don’t stop!” She begged, still rubbing furiously at herself. He seemed transfixed by her movements, as he continued to languidly pump in and out of her. She cried out in frustration, “William!”

He resumed his more vigorous pace, dropping down to kiss her intermittently. Her cries and moans were becoming more urgent now, and she kept breaking his kisses. Suddenly she felt his hot mouth on her breast again, laving and licking at the puckered nipple. And then he gave it an overly enthusiastic nibble, and the combined sensations sent her tumbling over the edge with a shuddering gasp as waves of ecstasy finally washed over her. The tight undulations of her quim pulled William over the edge shortly after, an odd sound falling from his lips as his hips and cock spasmed their release, until they both collapsed against each other with William repeating a litany of adorations interspersed with three little words that for some reason caught her completely off guard.

“I love you.”

Chapter 19

She’d been holed up in the training room for hours now. Which meant she was either seriously pissed off, or really avoiding something. Knowing Buffy, it could go either way or possibly both. Maybe she was seriously avoiding something she was really pissed off about. Clearly, something was off. He’d been leaning against the doorframe for the last 15 minutes, and as best as he could tell, she still wasn’t aware he was watching her. Which was really strange, because he’d swear that over the years she had practically developed a sixth sense for when he was near.

Deciding it was time to break her out of whatever dimension her head was currently in, he slowly crept up behind her as she worked over his heavy bag. He’d gotten within arm’s reach of her before he saw the moment she detected him. Acting on instinct, she planted her left foot, pivoted, and sent a wicked side kick flying straight towards his head… which he effortlessly caught. Again…strange.

He saw the moment that it also registered in her mind and the split second of confusion, followed by anger as she jerked her foot out of his hand. Pissed off it is.

“Wanna try that again?” He asked her with a smirk.

“What are you doing here, Angel?” She asked, rolling her eyes as she turned back to the heavy bag.

“Well, this is kind of my house, and you’re in my training room, so….” He left the statement hanging.

“Didn’t think you’d mind.” She answered, pounding the bag even harder than she had before he’d interrupted.

“I don’t. But you’ve been at it for a few hours, and I thought you might want to talk about whatever it is you’re trying to beat into a pulp. Or maybe it’s more of a whoever.”

She briefly flinched, sending her current punch just slightly askance of her target, and carrying her body forward of her center of balance.

Well, that was interesting.

“Nope. Not trying to beat anything or anyone. Just keeping up with my training routine.”

Ok then. Avoiding it is. So what exactly was she so pissed off about that she’s avoiding? Which reminded him, he still had some questions from their discussion yesterday.

“You’ve never been very good at lying,” He replied as he grabbed the upper arm closest to him. Her reaction, once again, was instinctive. She grabbed his hand, applied pressure, and tried to twist his hand and arm to put him on his knees. But she still didn’t have her head clear, and he easily switched the move, ducking under and around as he wrenched her arm around and behind her, and pressed her up against the beg. “And you're definitely distracted by whatever it is you’re trying really hard to avoid.”

To her credit, she recovered quickly. She threw her free elbow back, cracking him soundly in the jaw, and followed it with a back fist that caused him to drop her arm and back up a few steps.

“I’m not avoiding anything!” She protested a little too vehemently, as she dropped into a defensive stance, clearly inviting him to spar with her.

This he could do. It was practically their chosen mode of communication.

“So it’s my imagination that you’ve got some major regret about something going on?” He jabbed at her with a quick left that matched the sharp edge of his words. Both had the desired effect, catching her off guard and connecting with her right cheek.

She answered him by throwing a quick series of high and low punches, followed by a roundhouse with her right leg. He easily blocked each of the moves, then backed up a few steps giving her a moment to regroup. She was definitely off her game today. She came at him again, lunging with a feigned high jab before landing a solid kick to his ribs that sent him flying back a couple of feet to connect with the wall.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” He laughed as he pushed off the wall. “Question is, what is it you’re regretting? Or should I say, who is it you’re regretting?”

Fire blazed in her eyes as she flew at him, delivering a barrage of blindingly quick punches from both hands, pushing his back against the wall again as he brought his arms up to block the blows. She followed up by grabbing him by the back of his head with both hands and pulling him down while throwing her knee at his face. He managed to block most of the force of the blow, so she changed directions, jumping up and throwing her left knee into his right side before he could block it. He shot his right hand out at her chest just before she hit the ground, sending her flying backward, landing in a not so graceful heap.

“It is just me,” He began as she sprang back up and then dropped back into fighting stance. “Or do you really not have your head in the game today?”

She planted her left foot and sent a solid roundhouse kick with her right leg that didn’t connect, but the follow-up front kick from her left foot caught him right in the sternum and sent him back and then to his knees. She quickly sent another round his into the middle of his back, send him to the ground completely. She brought her right foot up and tried to slam it down on his back, but he quickly rolled towards her, catching the foot before it could connect.

“Must have hit a nerve,” He groused, twisting the captured foot hard, throwing her off balance and sending her splayed out on the mat next to him. “So who has you so worked up you can’t even connect two-thirds of your punches?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” She bit out. “It sure as heck isn’t you!” She charged at him, telegraphing her intended right hook from a mile away.

“Didn’t think it was.” He caught the wild swing and used her own momentum to send her stumbling past him. She quickly recovered and spun back around to face him and charged with another right swing. He blocked it with a kick from his left foot that knocked her off balance again. He followed it with a front kick that knocked her back.

“Is it sweet little Willy that’s got your head all spun around?” He pushed, adding as much disdain as possible to his words.

“Don’t talk about him like that!” She ground out, taking the bait and charging at him again, leading with another wild right. He easily caught it, twisting under and around to flip her over and onto her back on the floor.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” He laughed. “But somehow I don’t think that’s all, is it?”

She popped back up to her feet and spun back around to face him, pacing a couple of steps left and right, trying to regroup.

“Maybe you’re thinking too much, Angel.” She suddenly took two steps toward him, clearly gearing up for a jump kick. He turned to the side and caught her in mid-air, throwing her forward, her arms flying out as she landed in a roll.

“Maybe you’re not thinking enough,” He countered, as she began pacing again. He hadn’t seen her this worked up in, well, ever.

“Brooding is you’re department, not mine,” She scoffed at him, then rushed him, feigning a hook before she ducked under his block and counter, to spin around and catch him square in the face with a left backhand, followed by a brutal uppercut that had him seeing a few stars.

He dabbed at the blood he could feel trickling from his nose and smirked, knowing he was getting close. It always took quite a bit of pounding before her walls crumbled enough for everything to come spilling out.

“Brooding, huh?” He sent a wolfish grin her direction. “Is that what you’ve been doing down here? Brooding about something? Maybe say… a wish?”

Her eyes betrayed her thoughts, opening wide for a second before her face hardened. She stepped forward and spun like she was going to send another roundhouse at him, but then dropped to the ground and swept his feet out from under him, dropping him on his back. She was on him in the blink of an eye, straddling him and raining blow after blow on his head as he tried vainly to block some of them.

“You have no idea what you’re talking out!” She punctuated each word with another blow.

He finally had enough and bucked her off over his head, springing up and spinning around just in time to catch a spinning right back fist. Almost there.

“What happened, Buffy?” He asked, stepping back as she once again started pacing, clearly trying to calm herself down. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she had picked up a few of Spike’s traits. “Don’t get me wrong,” He sidestepped as she charged him. “I couldn’t care less that Spike’s gone.” He sidestepped again as her next lunge faltered at his words. “I’m just curious,” She spun around sending her elbow towards his face. He caught it with one hand, and grabbed her around the waist with his other, hauling her flush against him and pinning her there with her arms crossed in front of her, “what it is that idiot finally did that made you accidentally summon a vengeance demon,” She suddenly went very still, “and then wish him dead.”

He watched as her eyes suddenly went hauntingly distant for a few seconds, giving him time to inhale deeply and confirm up close what he’d only vaguely scented earlier. And then she suddenly went almost feral, kicking and screaming, biting and clawing, in an effort to free herself from his hold. He dropped her like she’d been covered in holy water, stepping back and watching as she scrambled wildly away from him, climbed to her feet and dropped into a fighting stance again with a deadly glint in her eyes. She didn’t even seem to notice the tears streaming down her face as she issued him a venomous, “Don’t touch me again.”

As recognition dawned on him, he felt his stomach drop like it was filled with lead. He knew this as intimately as a lover. He’d spent 147 years savoring the kind of reaction she was giving him. He felt his demon rear its ugly head, angrier than he’d been in decades, his growl shaking the walls. He turned for the door, suddenly needing to find a certain vampire and rip his spine out through his throat. He’d made it up the stairs to the second floor and halfway to Spike’s room before she’d caught up with him.

“Angel, stop!” She grabbed his right arm, and swung him around, twisting it behind him and pressing him against the wall. He bucked against her, trying to push her off him. “Angel, stop! He isn’t Spike!”

“You never did get it, Buffy. Couldn’t ever get beyond the Council party line. He is Spike!” He ground out. His assertion caused her to loosen the pin she had on him for only a moment, but it was enough. He pushed off the wall, sending her stumbling backward. He’d managed another five feet toward the room before she caught him again, spinning him around and nailing him with the hardest left hook he’d probably ever been on the receiving end of, temporarily stunning him.

“He’s not, Angel!” She grabbed him by both arms and shook him hard enough to make his fangs rattle. “He’s not!”

“He is, Buffy!” He was pissed off, and he was going to set her straight on this once and for all. “Where do you think Spike came from? Or Angelus? You think the demon just takes over some empty shell? Put you on like a meat suit?” He paused to ensure he had her attention.

“What do you…” She let go of him with a shove, then crossed her arms, her confusion clearly showing.

“You’re still the same person, Buffy. Same thoughts, same feelings, same personality, everything. The demon soul just moves in and merges itself with you, just like the human soul did. Magnifies certain thing, suppresses others, but it’s still you. Angelus is just a demon charged version of Liam. Give me back my human soul, and I’m still me, just with better control and judgment thanks to the guilt over centuries of slaughter.”

“You’re lying,” She challenged softly, refusing to look at him.

He closed the distance to her in two strides and grabbed her by the arms.

“Not even close,” He insisted, giving her a little shake for good measure, hoping it would jar something in her brain into accepting what he was saying. Then he shoved her away from him. “Now get out of my way.”

She stood there, unmoving, still not looking at him. Instead, she seemed lost in thought, her face creased in deep concentration for an interminable amount of time. With an impatient growl he finally just tried to step around her, but her hand suddenly on his chest stopped him.

“Buffy?”

“Angel,” she finally cast her eyes up at him, and what he saw there confused the hell out of him. “Don’t… please?” She softly pleaded, fresh tears threatening to spill.

He stumbled backward as if the words she’d said had physically struck him, and he could swear it almost felt like they had.

“You… you forgave him?” He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. And it was making him really damn angry again. “You forgave him?” His voice edged up in volume. “Spike?” Even louder. “After he raped…”

“Tried!” Buffy shouted her interruption. “He tried, Angel, and I stopped him.”

“Not any better, Buffy!” He was now fully shouting as well. “He still tried to rape you!”

“And what about what I did to him?”

“What?” That threw him for a loop. “Buffy, what do you…”

“Less than sixty seconds, Angel! That’s the time it took for him to…” Her eyes closed and she shook her head as if to clear it before she opened them again to intently stare into his own eyes. “That’s all it took until I stopped him.”

“Buffy…”

“No! You’re not listening! I did worse to him for months, Angel, months! I spent months driving him insane. Beating him, taking what I wanted whether he wanted it or not, and convincing him it was the only way he could ever touch me.”

“Not the same, Buffy.” He’d calmed down somewhat, he’d had to just to try and figure out what she was saying.

“No, it’s not!” She answered, tears now fully flowing, her voice pleading with him to understand. “But what I did wasn’t any better. I knew how he felt, and I used it against him. I’d been ripped out of heaven, Angel, and I put him through hell because I could, and because it made the cold, empty feeling go away for just a little while.”

“Buffy…”

“I’m not done!” She shouted. “Spike was wrong, yes. But I went to him time after time, pushed him, punched him, ripped his clothes off, and took what I wanted knowing he wouldn’t stop me because he loved me. We told each other to stop a hundred times, and no one ever did. We left consent behind about five exits back. We were both so screwed up that I don’t think either of us was in a headspace to even consider consent. He loved me, Angel, and I took that and I used it to torture him until he didn’t know which was up. How the hell was he supposed to know I meant it that time?”

“Buffy…”

“Why didn’t he know I really meant it that time? Why?” Her whole demeanor changed, this last question a genuine plea for an answer, confusing the hell out of him as he tried to switch gears.

“I broke it off! I told him I was using him and he said he didn’t care! He told me I could, Angel, that I could keep using him. Who does that? You talk about how Drusilla was you at your worst, well Spike was mine! So who’s the bigger monster here, Angel?” Her words were getting harder to make out as she shook with emotion.

“You’re not a monster...”

“I am a monster!” She screamed at him. “I used his love to torment him for months and practically drove him insane until I couldn’t…” Her body shook as she cried, “I couldn’t use him anymore because I finally saw what it was… and I couldn’t… couldn’t anymore…any more because I… because I…” She crumbled in on herself into a heap on the floor.

“Because you loved him.” It was more statement than a question.

She nodded as her body shook, wracked by sobs for several seconds before she suddenly gasped, sitting straight up and looking directly at him, in an oddly calm way.

“I am a monster,” She softly asserted. “I used and hurt him for months and walked away.” She shook her head, eyes focusing distantly on nothing. “He lost his mind for sixty seconds… and I killed him for it.”