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CHAPTER 3 --

A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long! (I wasn’t happy with it at all -- then I fixed it to my liking!) Here’s how the current and flashback storylines will progress -- both will go in chronological order, the flashbacks providing the background and answers to the questions that arise in the present-day stuff. Hope I don’t lose anyone! And thank you soooo very much for all the updates!! Please, keep them coming -- I love the insights and suggestions!!! Although, I’ll give ya a hint -- this story isn’t going to be too, too angsty. (P.S. - Lisa, I promise to update more frequently so you’ll have something to come home to after work!! (I know how you feel!))


Spike wound his BMW through the streets of his old neighborhood. Not a thing had changed. Not a damn thing. Well, maybe it seemed a little smaller.

His drive was leisurely, and he looked out the window to the sidewalks as familiar faces passed by. Mr. McMullen was still the walking mailman. Spike was pretty sure the man had died thirty years ago; just no one had ever told him so he continued to hobble around with his mailbag every day.

Mrs. Fitzgerald still had those damn yapping poodles she took for a walk every morning. Spike used to mow her lawn every week and pull weeds for extra cash in high school.

Not one of the dozens of ex-neighbors that craned their necks to see inside the posh car recognized him. If it had been years ago and he’d been driving his old Desoto through the street, every one of them would wave as Rupert and Jenny’s boy drove by. Everybody would know him. He was the son of the high school librarian and computer science teacher -- both well-respected and loved members of the community. And he was the quiet young boy that helped little old ladies across the street and got straight-A’s.

And he was one-half of the neighborhood’s sweetest sweethearts. Not the most popular in school, mind you, but by far the favorite of the older adults of the neighborhood. Spike supposed the elderly couples had likened his and Buffy’s relationship to the innocent courting of their day. Because that’s what they had been -- sweet, G-rated innocence.

Oh, how things have changed.

Looming before him were two houses he remembered quite clearly. They were the homes of Willow and Xander. Granted, they had never spent much time at either house when playing, but he had stood outside of the neighboring houses waiting for his friends enough times to have the places memorized.

Spike couldn’t help but be flooded with memories of kickball games and Nintendo. Something about the past seemed so much simpler . . . . . . . . . . .



It had been a couple weeks since William had joined their group. He hadn’t had his lunch stolen since. The verbal abuse hadn’t stopped, but with Buffy, Xander, and Willow there, it really didn’t bother him so much.

Xander was more than thankful for the addition in their group.

“Man, I thought I was going to be the guy in this group forever,” he said, reaching out his hand to steal some of Willow’s potato chips.

“Xander! Get your own!” Willow laughed, slapping at his hand.

He shrugged, “I can’t help it! William’s lunch is the only other one within reach and he has all healthy stuff!”

“So, William,” Willow started, “What do you do for fun in England?” William smiled at the question while Xander and Buffy rolled their eyes. Willow had not let up since William had joined their lunch table and opened his mouth, revealing his distinct accent. She now peppered him with questions about his homeland every day. From what he eats, to what he wears, to what games he and his England friends play. He even gave her some English candy and some English money he had smuggled in on the plane-ride over.

“Well,” William thought over his friend’s question, “We play football,” he shrugged.

“Like Joe Montana?” Xander asked excitedly.

William furrowed his brows, “Like who?”

Buffy shook her head, “He’s from England, Xander. His football is our soccer,” she replied smartly, smiling in satisfaction when Spike and Willow gave her surprised looks. She didn’t tell anyone she only knew the fact because she had asked her mother about the differences between America and England.

TBC





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