Now, it was Sunday night. Kennedy had come home early, since she had no such success with convincing a middle-aged couple of Scottish school teachers that their daughter was in fact part of a grand mission to save the world from sundry creatures of darkness.
Despite this, the mood in the Flat was decidedly festive. Willow, Dawn and Andrew transformed the dining area/library into a regular party-style dining area with festoons of orange flowers, dark purply candles and crystal dishes full of sugared almonds, olives (black and green) and various spicy sauces from lands East.
Buffy and Dawn flanked William, to act as extra buffering against Giles and Xander. Neither men felt this party idea was a kosher plan, and made no attempts to hide their collective apprehension.
Perhaps to leaven that bit of excess mood, Dawn brought her exceptionally perky friend Mickey to dinner. Mickey wore her dyed black hair tied up in random tousled pigtails. Mickey had Cordelia-esque metabolism, so she munch always on carrot sticks and soybeans. When she spoke, her voice sometimes hit notes so high only bats could understand her. Xander like to say she was so Goth it was precious. To which Dawn would roll her eyes and flounce out of the room. Dawn held a master’s degree in the whole eye rolling then flouncing thing.
Giles sat at the head of the table, as he always did, with Xander to his right, next to Mickey. Kennedy was to Giles’ left. She spoke incessantly about the failed Slayer mission, all the while stabbing black olives with a toothpick.
Andrew and Willow fussed companionably in the kitchen, finishing the last of their dinner preparations. Buffy caught only wisps of their conversation, which she found less irritating than Kennedy’s almost military-style depiction of the Slayer pitch she provided to the poor Scottish family in Plockton.
For instance: “It is not too much cilantro,” Andrew whispered harshly. “It is supposed to have kick.”
Willow said, “Not the kind to kick us off the British Isle, Andrew. It has to be subtle.”
“It has to be subtle,” Andrew mocked.
Buffy laughed. She noticed that William was smiling too. He seemed less spacey today. Progressing toward non-zombie with every hour that passed. He still did things you might expect from someone who’s been comatose for an age. Like, earlier, he lay down in the bath and let the water fill the tub so that only his nose and forehead poked out. When she asked him what he was doing, he’d said, distractedly, “Oh. Listening.”
And now, he dragged the tips of his fingers over the fringes of flower petals while Kennedy talked. He caressed each waxy leaf as if it was the most interesting thing he had ever felt.
“So this girl,” Kennedy said. “This Veronica girl had been in dance her whole life. Excelled in like, tap and Celtic dancing. I told her parents, ‘hey, dancing’s like fighting. It’s natural to her, because it’s her destiny.’ I gave them our whole Slayer school pitch, but they were so fixated on blood, blood, blood. And you know what they finally said? They said she was too young.”
Dawn leaned in. “Can we ix-nay on the odd-blay, Kennedy? Muggles present.”
Kennedy cast a quick glance to Mickey. “Metaphorical blood. Dance competitions. Brutal.”
Mickey took a handful of almonds and began to crunch between her front teeth in a cute but chipmunky sort of way.
“Well,” Buffy said. “How old was she? This Veronica?”
“Sixteen,” Kennedy said, sitting back like she’d just cast the cincher argument in a courtroom battle.
Buffy and Dawn scoffed simultaneously.
“Still,” Kennedy went on,” I’m sure we could have closed the deal if Giles hadn’t called Willow home. She way better on the persuasion end.”
Willow entered the room bearing a tray full of saffron rice. “Way better on what end?” she asked.
“Persuasion,” Xander said. “Kennedy thinks you shouldn’t have come home early.”
Willow looked from Xander to Giles, and then to William and Buffy.
Giles pursed his lips. “Yes, well,” he said, taking the tray from Willow. “We’ll keep an open file on Veronica James. Willow, Andrew, this looks extraordinary.”
Andrew came along behind Willow, wearing oven mitts the size of boxing gloves. He carried a massive and elaborate serving dish to the center of the table with calculated flourish.
“Bon appetite,” he said, grinning.
As Willow and Andrew took their places at the table, the others all leapt unceremoniously into the food and conversation, passing platters and sauces and serving spoons.
Out of nowhere, William said, “Witches make the best chefs.”
In the lull that followed, Xander breathed, “Uggles-may, Spike.”
“Thanks,” Willow said. She gave him her shy Willow nod.
“It’s true, you know,” he went on. “Cooking is a lot like magic. When someone does it right – just the exact right and perfect combination of ingredients – it becomes greater than the sum of its parts.” He picked up a forkful of rice. “Just like this,” he said. “Like magic.”
“Aw,” Willow said, actually blushing now. “I’ve never thought of it that way before.”
Willow looked from Buffy to Xander. The latter was doggedly unimpressed.
Andrew said, “Spike’s a big fan of culinary television...” And the conversation of around the table resumed as reasonably normal as ever.
Buffy squeezed William’s knee under the table. “How’s it going?” she asked him, quietly.
He nodded. “You’re a teacher now?” he asked.
Giles sent a worried look to Xander, but Buffy paid no notice. She proceeded to tell William about Summers School.
“It was kinda my idea, actually,” Buffy said. “But Giles set everything up. We started the first in Cleveland, you know, over one of the other, more perky Hellmouths. Once it was on its feet, we branched. Robin and Faith run the one in New York. It’s officially the biggest. New York – full of the big bad...”
“I recall,” William said.
Buffy went on, “Now we have schools in Chicago, Houston, Mexico City, Tokyo, here. And, we recruit. We’re like the army, but without pensions or tuition reimbursement. The best part is that there are hundreds, maybe even thousands of Slayers in the world. Actual, real Slayers. Our goal now is to build...”
Xander leaned in. “So, um, Spike,” he said, spitting out the words. “When did you start dressing the part of lumberjack? Cause I gotta say, the plaid flannel...”
“Xander!” Willow hissed.
“Actually,” Dawn chimed in, “it’s your jacket, Xander. We didn’t think you’d mind. William was cold earlier, and you haven’t worn it in...”
Xander sat back in his chair. It was clear he would gain no ground with the Summers women. “It looks huge on you,” he finished, lamely.
Andrew offered a bowl to Xander. He said, “Dear, would you like some chutney to go with the foot in your mouth?”
William managed a weak smile. Buffy continued talking, but he and Xander had entered a kind of macho staring match which drained all of his limited ability to focus.
“Besides,” Dawn said. “You can have it back tomorrow. We’re going shopping to buy William new clothes of his own.”
“What?” Xander and Giles said, in accord.
“Oh yeah, Kennedy” Buffy said, “I need you to open the school tomorrow so I can take care of that. Plus, William and I are going skating.”
“Skating?” Giles said.
“Y’huh,” Buffy said.
At the other end of the table, Dawn and Andrew had launched into a separate conversation with Mickey regarding a prior mishap in the kitchen. For a moment, they were all drawn in by the bubbliness of Dawn’s narrative.
“So Andrew stored the pie in the freezer, so it would be slightly chilled for dinner,” she said.
Kennedy picked up the thread seamlessly, “Oh, but Willow had all these reagents in baggies up there, too...”
“Reagents?” Mickey said, shaking her head with uncertainty.
“They were all slippy,” Willow added.
Dawn was laughing now. “Right, slippy. So then Willow comes in for some newt’s eye popsicles and... and the whole pie just slides right out.”
“No,” William said, mildly amused.
“Newt’s eye what?” Mickey said, still unsure that maybe they were all pulling a sneaky one on her.
“Yep,” Willow said. “Pie slid out, onto my foot. Pie-d a terre.”
Andrew was sneering. Willow, Kennedy and Dawn shuddered, giggling.
“Stop it, stop it,” Andrew cried. “We are not discussing the banoffee pie incident.”
Maybe it was because he seemed as lost in the current conversation, Mickey sat forward looking at William.
“So, William. You’re new, right? How d’you fit in?” she asked.
“Well, no,” William began, slowly. “Actually...”
“Actually,” Xander said. “Spike’s been around for ages. Isn’t that right?”
“Xander,” Giles said, in a cautionary tone.
“No. We’re all here. I’m thinking now’s a good time. Enlighten us, please. How do you fit in?"
“Xander, what is wrong with you?” Buffy said.
“It’s an easy thing to see,” Xander said. “Even one-eyed jack like me can see it.”
“See what?” Buffy said.
Everyone fell quiet around the table.
Xander stood up. “Buffy, I can’t do this.”
William got to his feet as well. “No. I’ll go. Need some air.” Before rounding the table, he squeezed Buffy’s shoulder and then went out back to the garden.
“What’s with you tonight?” Buffy said, glaring at Xander.
“Xander does have a point, Buffy,” Giles said.
“Point? What point? He’s made lumberjack quips about your own coat...”
“It’s not him, Buffy,” Giles blurted.
“What?” she said.
Xander shook his head slowly. “It’s not Spike. Or William. Or whoever you want it to be.”
Buffy stood up. “What do you know about what I want?” she said, slowly.
Giles got quickly to his feet. He said, “Maybe now is not the time, Xander. Buffy.”
“Right,” Willow said, trying to keep things all smoothie. “We have dessert!”
~*~
William stepped outside into the unwelcoming arms of muggy London night. Still, it was more pleasant than curry chicken with pissed off Scoobies. He sat down on the uneven flagstone patio step and looked up at the cloud-strewn, moonless night sky. He drew a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of Xander’s lumberjacket, then toyed with outer plastic wrapper.
Minutes passed thus, before someone rattled the back door and came outside. William looked over his shoulder, and was slightly disappointed to find Andrew standing there.
William returned his gaze skyward. “Wasn’t expecting you.”
Andrew fidgeted, stuffed hands in his pockets, then came to stand beside William. “Came to get you for dessert,” he said.
“Yeah? Banoffee pie?”
Andrew snitted. “Mangolassi cheesecake. Really tasty, with fresh mango puree and sweetened condensed cream. But the cardamom is the secret... you know, those will kill you,” Andrew said. He sat down next to William.
William turned the cigarette pack in his fingers. “So I’ve heard.”
“Where’d you get them?” Andrew asked.
William shrugged. “Nicked them from the bureau drawer. Think they belonged to Rupert.” William shook the pack.
“They cause cancer,” Andrew said.
They heard muffled shouting inside. Andrew looked over his shoulder and sighed.
“Do people still die from tuberculosis?” William asked.
“Yeah,” Andrew said. “But only in third-world countries. And in inner cities where there are high levels of poor people, indigents and migrant workers.”
“Bloody awful,” William said.
“Yeah, but there are tons of worse ways to die. In non-third world countries, too,” Andrew said.
William looked at Andrew, faintly disgusted. “You don’t say?”
“Cancer. Car crashes. The ebola virus...”
Back inside, Willow, Dawn and Kennedy tried to diffuse the situation with cheesecake, to no effect. Mickey looked fairly lost and sorry for having started the whole mess.
“Buffy,” Giles said. “What Xander is trying to say is...”
“I know what he’s trying to say, Giles,” Buffy interrupted. She wheeled on Xander. “Can’t take it that he might be worth a second chance?”
Xander revved. “Second chance? Buffy, Spike was well-known for collasally squandering chances. He may have redeemed himself in Sunnydale. Fine. But we can’t forget that Spike would do anything...”
“It’s not Spike,” Buffy said.
“My point exactly,” Xander shouted, gesturing like a scarecrow, if they could in fact gesture.
“You’re not making any sense,” Willow said, evenly.
Giles tried valiantly to keep his head. “What Xander is rather incoherently trying to say is that if Spike is out there, we need to think about how it is that he actually came to be here, given his propensity for...”
“It was me,” Buffy said, quietly.
“You?” Xander said. He looked confused. “Please clarify.”
She shook her head. “It’s not important. What is, is that he’s back. He’s human. Xander, you’ll have to deal.”
“Have to deal?” Xander said. His face reddened. “Oh, Buffy. Grow up.”
~*~
Outside, Andrew continued to gruesomely recount the many causes of human death.
“There’s ecoli, too. Nasty bug. And anthrax, which used to belong only to cows but the government manufactured it and mailed it to itself,” Andrew said. “And then you have all your basic STDs. AIDS. Syphilis. Gonorrhea. Chlamydia."
William grimaced. “Not that you’ll have to worry for those, right mate?”
Andrew shrugged. They overheard the shouting within. Andrew looked uncomfortable.
“Do you think they think we can’t hear them?” he asked.
William said, “I think they’re beyond caring.”
~*~
Buffy smiled at Xander.
“No,” she said.
“Huh?”
“Not this time, Xander. This time, I’m going to enjoy what I have. I’m gonna risk the pain. I’m gonna skate in the park, sing in the rain, eat ice cream, splash around in a fountain like...”
“Oh, like Sylvia and ‘La Dolce Vita,’” Kennedy pitched in.
“Not helping, Ken,” Xander said, pointing at her.
“Guys,” Buffy said. “I want this. I don’t want to hold back. He’s not a vampire. I’m not the Slayer. See? The stumbling blocks from before are gone and we have a chance for something normal and real. I don’t expect you to understand. But... but would it kill you to be happy for me? You know, to just take this for what it is?”
Xander scowled. “I’m well-versed in the world of wishes gone wrong, Buff. For all we know, old Spike may be just demon of the month out to prey on your weaknesses.
“That’s ridiculous,” Buffy said.
“Demons? Vampires?” Mickey said. “Are we still speaking metaphorically? Cause, I thought the witchy thing was a bit weird...”
Xander plowed on. “Ridiculous, Buffy? Like the likes hasn’t happened before?”
“This is different,” Buffy said.
~*~
Outside, Andrew went on, getting more creative by the second. He’s added train derailments, shoe bombs and the Titanic to his list of things that regularly kill humans.
“Andrew,” William interrupted. “Not that this isn’t riveting...”
“I haven’t even covered the full spectrum of cancers – pancreatic, colon, rectal...”
William practically jumped to his feet. “Bloody hell,” he said, annoyed. He pulled a cigarette from its pack. Stared hard at it. “Do you know why evil wins, Andrew?” he asked.
“Because they have money, cool clothes and speak with English accents?”
William handed him a blank look. “No,” he said. “It’s because people – humans – are stupid. It’s because they can’t see beyond their tiny lives. They kill themselves. They kill each other. They wreck everything. And for what? Fleeting breaths between birth and death. They just... reach for each other in the dark and get flashes. Of love. Of happiness. Pleasures so thin. They – we – see nothing.”
William looked up into the patchy clouds and saw stars winking out. He nodded to himself. “But I get it,” he said. “I see.” He strode toward the door.
But paused with his hand on the doorknob. Over his shoulder he said, “All those little killers lurking about you. You can’t let ’em keep you from living. You gotta live while the blood’s in your veins.”
He looked down at the cigarette in his hand. “And these things are...”
“Bad for you?” Andrew suggested.
“No,” William answered. He tossed the cigarette aside. “They’re inconsequential.”
He opened the back door and walked in.
Buffy was still facing off with Xander in the dining room.
Buffy said, “We have all been through hell. Some of us, literally. It’s so hard, Xander. I know how difficult things have been since Anya.”
“Don’t,” Xander said, but less with the forceful.
Buffy went on, “Sometimes something you want comes true, and when it does you have to hang on to it. Take it at face value.”
“At face value, then?” Giles spoke up. “Let’s have a look then at the face of William the Bloody. Before he won back his soul. Buffy, he was a murderer. A manipulator. And an insufferably bad poet.”
“Hey!” Willow said. She looked down. “That’s low.”
“Point is,” Giles continued, “he left thousands of corpses in his wake, cut a swathe across continents. Buffy, the things he’s done to you...”
“Old song, Giles. Besides, he’s changed,” Buffy said.
“It feels wrong, Buffy,” Xander said. “I don’t trust it.”
“Why? Make me understand. Because I just don’t.”
William moved closer to the dining room, but stealthily so. He could see plainly that Mickey, poor girl, wished to be elsewhere. She shrank against the window seat, face ashen. No one else took note of her.
Giles had removed his glasses. He looked around at all of them. When he spoke, his voice took on the stony, blunt edge of disappointment. “It comes to this, Buffy. Only this. There is no way in hell that creature deserves a happy ending.”
William heard every word and cringed.
But Buffy uttered a half-laugh. “Oh, I see,” she said. “Creature, is he? Willow, Dawn. You felt him. You know.”
“She’s right,” Willow said. “He’s human, Giles.”
“Nice and huggably soft,” Dawn added.
“Yes, well, he may have the appearance of humanity,” Giles said. “It does not change what he is...”
“You know what,” Buffy said. “I don’t care. Maybe he doesn’t deserve a happy ending. Really not for me to say. But I do. I should get the big Hollywood ride into the sunset. And damn you both for wanting to take it away from me.”
Buffy moved away from the table.
William stepped into view then, his boots echoing hollowly on the hardwood floor.
“Buffy?” he said.
She shrugged.
Xander flopped down and glowered.
Mickey stood up behind Dawn.
“So,” she said. “I guess I’m gonna... flee now.”
She bolted past Dawn and ran away.
~*~
After Mickey fled, Dawn slammed her hands palm down on the table.
“Well, guys. That’s the death of my social life in London,” she seethed. “Less than one month. So, thanks. I’m going up to my room to sulk. Not that any of you care.”
Dawn sprinted past Buffy and William, then pounded up the stairs.
Andrew, who had just come in from the garden, said, “I care.” Dawn, who couldn’t have possibly heard and probably would not have cared that he cared, slammed the apartment door behind her.
Willow sat back in her chair. “Our first dinner party in London,” she mused.
“Went great,” Xander said.
“Yeah, you guys always did know how to throw a shindig,” Kennedy said. She took Willow’s hand. “C’mon, Sweetie. Night’s not a total loss.”
Andrew came in. “Yeah, we still have dessert.”
“I’m down with that,” Kennedy said. “You desire?” she said to Willow.
“In a minute,” Willow answered. “You go on.”
Andrew and Kennedy went into the kitchen to serve up his mangolassi cheesecake.
With no one from the dining room watching, Buffy took the cue to exit stage right. She gestured for William to follow. She led him upstairs to the roof, where they spent the rest of their waking hours watching the stars play hide-and-seek with clouds.
But downstairs, Giles was busy deep thinking. He said, “Willow, Xander. Meet me downstairs. We need to have a discussion.”
So, they met up in the basement-slash-spell room. The design did not lend itself to meetings since there was no furniture, but they each sat on the colorful, overlarge pillows that lay scattered about for just that purpose.
Without preamble, Xander said, “This is bad.”
“Yes, you have it,” Giles said, massaging his forehead.
“But it’s bad, Giles. Really bad. Baddy-bad as in Greek morality play bad,” Xander said.
Willow caressed Xander’s arm.
“You’re not helping, Xander,” Giles said. “Do remain calm.”
Xander got up and entered pace mode. “You saw them,” he said. “He’s got a foothold. He’s working his way up to knee-hold. And after that...”
“I’ll go to the Council archives first thing tomorrow morning. No. I’ll go tonight. I’ll look up what I can on resurrection spells, mystical constructs, transfiguration...”
“Doppelgangers,” Willow offered.
Giles turned to her. “I’ll need you to run a search on his last known whereabouts, starting in Los Angeles. I’m doubting he could just appear as Buffy says.”
“She wouldn’t lie,” Xander cut in.
“No, she wouldn’t,” Giles said. “But whatever this thing is, it may have the ability to warp reality or change perceptions. We really have nothing to go on at the moment.”
“It does seem extra broad,” Willow said. “But what if the explanation is as simple as she says. What if she...”
Xander wheeled on her. “Made a wish, Wil? Like, blow out the candles and your lost lover returns from the undead? Wishes don’t come true, at least not in the way you want them to. We both know that.”
Willow gave him a look of defeat. “I know. But what if...”
“It didn’t,” Xander said. His voice came out raspy and harsh.
“Look,” Giles intervened, “the only thing we can say for certain is that there is a potential for danger. If someone is using him as a tool for acquiring information, he’s just walked in our front door. All of your concealment spells to protect this house are for naught.”
“So we watch him?” Willow asked.
“Until we know more, yes,” Giles said. “It might be best for all involved if we keep our suspicious between us. For the time being.”
“I’m on board with that,” Xander said.
Willow shrugged.
“Wil?” Xander said.
“Fine. Me too. For now,” she said.
Giles patted her shoulder. “My resources at the council are growing daily. We’ll know very soon what course to take.”
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