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There was this tiny spot at the edge of her eyes when she smiled. They were miniscule lines that would, in thirty year’s time, turn into crow’s feet – should she live that long. But now, they were creases that appeared only when she really laughed. William would find himself fixated; he would watch Buffy’s face when she spoke just waiting for those elusive lines to show up...

He made a promise to himself, sentimental fool that he was. Should she give him half a chance, William would kiss that cherished little spot at the edge of her temple. And then, he would go. He would just go.

~*~

Rain soaked London and all parts south on the British Isle. Buffy left Summers School with the Big Dread knotting her in stomach, and the closer she got to the Flat, the tighter it twisted inside. Kennedy agreed to take the whole patrol route for the night. She also agreed, though with much debate of the heated kind, that she would go it alone for at least a little while longer.

So Buffy had the night off to go and work her Slayer magic on yet another love interest. As she walked home, her only thought was that she just wanted it all to end. She did want answers. But at what cost? Why did the choice always involve the lives of those close to her?

When the Flat came in to view, Buffy stopped at the corner and watched through the curtains of rain. It looked like a normal house, one of many just like it on this average-looking English lane. Squares of gold light shone through front windows, making the torrents of rain seem less glum and more like something from a Dickens novel. Why couldn’t she just keep on walking? There were other places, weren’t there? Exotic, far off places where she could go so they could go on.

Except Willow would use some fancy locator spell and they’d show up in a dirigible or a snow mobile and bring me right back, Buffy reminded herself. And she knew she didn’t really want to leave. She just sometimes wished for simple.

Inside the Flat, things seemed simple. Willow met Buffy at the door.

“Dawn called,” Willow said right away. “She forgot to mention she’s meeting with a study group. Something about a chemistry practical.”

Buffy peeled off her raincoat. She thought she actually heard a soft piano concerto playing in the background.

“That’s odd,” Buffy said. “She said she’d be home.”

“Is Kennedy...?” Willow said.

“Taking patrol,” Buffy said. She hung up her coat. “Yeah. Where are…?”

“Giles and Xander are downstairs. Waiting,” Willow said.

Buffy dropped her gaze. “And... the others?”

“Lorne, Angel and Connor went up to the roof earlier. William was up there. Now I’m thinking he’s in your room,” Willow said.

“And the thing,” Buffy said. “Did you get what you...?”

Willow nodded once. “Everything. But one thing.”

Buffy looked hopeful. “Yeah?”

“Blood,” Willow said.

Buffy’s shoulders folded forward. “Blood?”

Willow leaned over to whisper into Buffy’s ear. “I need some of William’s blood,” she said.

She crumpled again. “Oh my God,” she said. “We’re doing this, aren’t we? And are we just... with him in the house?”

“Giles thought it best. The spell doesn’t... it won’t take long,” Willow fidgeted the way she always did when she had to be the bearer of unpleasant tidings. “Also, he has some mission for Angel. There’s this church... So they’ll be out of pocket. About the...”

“I can get the blood,” Buffy said. “When he banged his knee the other day. I haven’t done laundry yet. Will that work?”

“Yeah,” Willow said. “But that wasn’t what I was gonna say.”

Buffy knew what Willow planned to say, and stopped her. “Don’t,” she said. “We can’t. We have to know. And if I’m going to get through this...” Buffy shook her head roughly, “No swerving.”

Willow took a deep breath. “Right. Swerve-free.”

She gave Buffy a brief hug, then left Buffy standing alone in the entry hall.

Buffy had to force herself to take every step up to the second floor landing.

She placed her hand on the doorknob, then whispered to herself, “No swerving,” as she pushed the door open to their rooms.

~*~

William was not in the sitting room. Buffy breathed a little easier, because it helped her immensely to think that perhaps he was napping. If they were going to disenchant him, wouldn’t it be best if he could go (or not go) in his sleep? She listened for sleepy sounds in the next room, but heard nothing. Buffy decided it best to stick to the task at hand. Just stay focused.

She went to the laundry hamper that stood in the corner of the sitting room, behind a folding Japanese screen. She dug through it in the dark, trying to determine which pair of dark black jeans he’d been wearing that day when they were skating in the park.

The memory of that day came back to strike her like a sledgehammer to the chest. How she’d laughed at him when he fell. How the sunlight looked on his skin as it fell in wavering dapples through the trees. And how the scrape on his skin had healed...

“Laundry detail, is it?” William said.

Buffy leapt so high she almost toppled.

“Yeah,” she said, feigning a laugh. “You know, it never goes away. It’s like it’s teleported in from the demon hell dimension of dirty clothes...”

William gave her the ‘I know you’re lying’ look. Inside, Buffy was slowly imploding. She couldn’t look at him and she couldn’t look away.

“Something’s up,” William said.

“As in up up?” Buffy said, lamely.

“Right. Rupert’s found himself a lead. He’s sending Angel and the boy to have a look. Figured I’d tag along,” William said.

Buffy’s eyes went round. “You’re going with them?”

“I’m not staying here,” he said. “Everyone’s all twitchy. See, the good guys... you’re all such terrible liars. I know what’s going on.”

Buffy’s brow pinched. “You do?”

“Buffy,” he said. He uttered a derisive laugh. He stepped close enough to touch her, but held back. She stared up at him. She couldn’t breathe, or think, or move. He trailed one finger down the curve of her temple, around her cheek all the way to her chin.

“Don’t wait up, okay?” William said. He took a step back, turned and was gone.

Buffy covered her face with hands that were shaking. She stood there in the dark for a long time, trying to steady her breathing, trying for all that was sane and rational to remember why she was standing there in the first place. Then she remembered that she’d come for blood. That was always the way. She came for blood, and she got it.

Unfortunately, he got it too.

~*~

“Let’s get this done,” Buffy said as she came down the basement stairs. Her lips felt bloodless and her fingers and toes had gone numb. She tossed William’s black jeans to Willow, then took her place in the circle between Giles and Xander. She did not look at them. Could not.

Xander’s face made the Grim Reaper look chipper. He said, “It’s okay, Buffy. This is for the best.”

Buffy didn’t hear him.

With an elegant pair of silver scissors, Willow trimmed the bloodstained patch from William’s jeans. She dropped it into a slender clay vessel that rested amid runic charms and bundles of grassy herbs at the center of the altar.

Willow sat back on her heels and held out her hands.

“With this I cast the spell of Unmaking,” she said. “With this blood, we consecrate to thee: take back this creation unto the earth. I call upon the elements to make our measured offering. Take back this creation unto the earth.”

Willow pulled a heavy canvas pouch out from beneath the altar. She passed it to Buffy.

“This is for you,” Willow said, quietly.

Buffy slid a chunk of amethyst geode from the sack. She turned it her hands, testing its weight.

“When I give the signal, you have to crush the vessel... with that,” Willow explained.

“God almighty,” Xander said.

“Crush it,” Buffy said, nodding vacantly. She caressed the craggy surface of the stone, then raised it, ready for Willow’s signal to strike.

Giles motioned for Willow to continue.

And Buffy waited.





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