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CHAPTER FIVE --

Neither Giles man was sure just how long they sat at the table, sharing a drink in silence. But they were suddenly jolted by a clamor echoing from the living room. Giles stood and Spike craned his neck to see who was breaking into their front door.

In walked a form, weighed down by fruit baskets and food trays.

“Hey, Giles,” the voice chirped.

And Spike froze.

She continued to talk, muffled behind her stack, and blindly made her way into the kitchen. Plopping her parcels down onto the counter, she pulled away to reveal her face to them.

And God if it was at all possible, she was more beautiful then he remembered. From the large living room window, the afternoon sun spilled in around her, illuminating her like an angel.

Spike wandered how she could be so calm, so relaxed. She smiled at Giles, continuing her long list of instructions given to her by her mother.

Spike pushed himself further against the kitchen wall. She hadn’t seen him yet. And now, faced with her incredible presence, he wasn’t sure he wanted her to.

Buffy stuttered over her words, frowning at the distracted look Giles was giving her. “Giles, what’s . . .” He gave a telling, albeit slightly nervous, glance over her shoulder. She whipped around, her hazel doe eyes widening, as she came face to face with the boy from her past.

“William,” she breathed, her body frozen. She shook her head, eyes darting to the floor, composing herself. “You look different,” she stated, when she met his gaze again.

He’d daresay he did. Gone were the glasses he wore last time he saw her. He wore contacts now. He still owned a small pair of thin wire-rims, but he only wore them in the privacy of his own home where no one would see him. He used to have a messy flop of thick brown hair. But the day he had reached L.A. he had his unruly locks shorn short and bleached. And Spike was pretty sure he remembered burning every trace of tweed and every geeky dress shirt he had worn every day of his life. He had replaced his old attire with fitted t-shirts, jeans, and Armani suits.

He smiled softly, “You look the same,” he remarked. She still wore those cute little sundresses she had always worn. But, where eight years ago they were cute, on her womanly body now they looked downright sexy.

She worried her lower lip, “Yeah,” she finally replied, apparently not sure whether to take it as the compliment it was or not.

The three of them stood in awkward silence. Spike rocked back and forth on his heels. Buffy’s eyes danced across the floor. And Giles cleaned his glasses.

Buffy shrugged, “I guess that’s your car out there that everyone’s talking about,” she asked Spike.

“Yeah, a 2005,” he confirmed.

“Oh,” she replied quietly. “Well,” she wiped her palms on her dress, “I told my mom I’d just drop these off,” she gestured to the fruit, cookie, veggie, and sandwich trays that now decorated their kitchen. “I better be getting back.” Buffy looked to Giles, “Mom said if you need anything . . .” she trailed off.

Giles smiled and nodded in her direction. Next to Jenny, Buffy was his favorite girl in the world. All the Summers women had been endlessly helpful these last few days and had stepped up to aid a now aimless man.

Buffy looked helplessly around the room. “So . . . Bye,” she waved her hand awkwardly in their general direction before fleeing out the door.

Spike let go a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. He moved further into the kitchen to help his father follow Mrs. Summers’ direction about what trays went in the fridge and what didn’t. “You didn’t tell me you guys stayed close with Buffy.”

Giles shrugged, “Your mother had dropped enough hints. She and Buffy went shopping all the time. And I help her research items for the gallery.”

“Buffy’s working at Joyce’s gallery?”

Giles nodded, “She’ll own it someday. I suppose you didn’t know she graduated magnum cum laude from UC Sunnydale with a bachelor’s in art history.”

Spike nodded distractedly, “Yeah, it’s been awhile” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .



“Ewww! William!” Buffy toppled over, reaching her face as far away from him as possible.

He had done the most abominable, most disgusting thing he could have ever possibly done.

He had tried to kiss her on the cheek.

She had no idea where this boldness had come from. Apparently when it came to her, William refused to go half-way.

For the past week, he’d chased her around the playground, trying to kiss her. While Buffy was fleeing in horror, Willow sat on the swings smiling. She apparently found Buffy’s predicament sweet.

Now, as their class sat down on the carpet for story time -- a rare treat, William immediately sat down next to Buffy. Huffing, she immediately got up and moved to the other side of the carpet, seeking protection by Willow. Unfazed, William followed her around the carpet. Letting go a growl of frustration, Buffy again raised to her feet.

“Buffy and William, stop playing musical chairs and please sit down,” their teacher, Mrs. Stewart, scolded.

Startled by her teacher’s order, Buffy looked down at the only available space left on the carpet -- next to William. He gazed up at her and smiled in success. Sighing, she took her seat next to him, accepting her fate.

As the story progressed, their fellow classmates slowly dropped one by one down onto the soft carpeting, closing their eyes to the rhythmic voice of Mrs. Stewart.

And William and Buffy were not immune.

By the end of the story, most of the class had fallen asleep. Over in the corner, pressed up against the wall was William. One arm cushioned his head, the other was around Buffy. And she didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

They were snuggled up together in sweet dreams.

TBC





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