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CHAPTER 6 --

A/N: And I’m back! So very sorry for the delay, but last week was my first week back at school, so there was the whole moving back in, getting books, reading, etc. But I am loving the support you guys are giving me, so look for me lots!



Joyce studied the man, no longer a boy, sitting across from her at the kitchen table. She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze, “William, I suppose it would be silly of me to ask if you wanted any hot coco. I guess you’d like a more adult beverage now.”

Spike smiled softly, “Never to old for those little marshmallows, Joyce.”

Mrs. Summers smiled brightly, and hummed her way further into the kitchen to heat her favorite boy up his favorite treat.

Spike sat back into his chair and breathed. He had never in his life wished for his L.A. office as much as he did now. Granted, he adored Joyce and, at his father’s suggestion, he had jumped at the chance to go visit her. But this constant spin down memory lane just had to stop.

For the past two days he and his father had done little else than receive the endless stream of neighbors that had come to give their condolences. Most of them, upon seeing Spike standing behind his father, couldn’t believe it was William Giles all grown up. They held up their hands three feet off the ground, telling him that they remembered him from when he was ‘this big’.

Spike jumped at the thundering slam of the front door. Swinging around the corner into the kitchen was a tall, slender girl with brown hair that swooshed around her waist. Spike couldn’t help but smile, the last time he saw this girl she was seven years old. She had to be about fifteen now.

She tossed her book bag into the corner and moved to raid the cupboards. Then, noticing Spike, she stopped abruptly.

“Whoa, strange man in the kitchen,” she remarked, looking to her mom for an explanation.

“Dawn, don’t be ridiculous, you remember William,” Joyce nodded in Spike’s direction, pouring the warmed milk into mugs.

The teen’s eyes bugged, “Will! Is that you?”

“Hey Lil’ Bit,” he greeted. “Though you're not so little anymore are you?”

“You’d be the only one to notice,” she grumbled. Spike chuckled, even at seven she had been fighting to be treated like an adult. Apparently some things never changed.

“Have you seen Buffy?” she continued on excitedly. Apparently no one had completely filled her in in the last eight years and she remained oblivious to the way his and Buffy’s relationship ended.

“Yeah, Nibblit, she came over to the house a couple days ago.”

“Cool,” she replied, continuing by plowing through her long list of news bulletins, which including a long winded story about R.J Brooks and how they had a telling discussion during fifth period math class. “Oh, Spike!” she exclaimed, following her endless stream of consciousness, “My dance troupe is performing at the festival next week. As always, it promises to be the social event of the year. You gonna show?”

“Not likely, Bit. I’ll be back in L.A. by then.”

Dawn sulked, “Man, I bet L.A. is sooooo much more exciting than this crap town.” She perked, “Do you get to meet famous people?”

Spike laughed, and before he could answer, her mother ushered her up the stairs, reminding her she was still grounded from the previous week.

Silence fell over the house and Spike finished off his hot chocolate. Getting up, he placed the mug in the sink.

“I better get going,” he made his move towards the door.

Joyce moved quickly to cut off his hasty retreat, “Well Buffy was upstairs in the shower, I’m sure she’s out by now if you’d like me to go check . . .”

“No, that’s alright,” Spike interrupted, shaking his head. He hadn’t seen Buffy since the day she came over to drop off the food. He was certain she knew he was there and if she had wanted to see him all she had to have done was come downstairs.

Joyce nodded understandingly, “I’ll see you on Sunday then,” she said, referring to the funeral.

Spike thanked her again for her endless hospitality and she saw him to the door.

Once out onto the porch, Spike halted, taking in huge gulps of the cool afternoon breeze. Leaning his hands against the railing, he pushed hard against it as he attempted to collect his emotions. Every time he thought he had shed his last tear, he got that all-encompassing nauseas feeling again and the accompanying sickening heat that spread over his body. But Spike had a feeling the strong emotions he felt coursing through him now were not necessarily just for his mother, but for something else also.

Simpler times maybe. Lost innocence perhaps. Eight years ago, time sure didn’t seem simple. High school was harsh, heavy, and confusing. And when he was in L.A., he could easily convince himself that immersing himself in work was the best route for him. But being back home, seeing people and things long forgotten, trudged up doubts inside himself that he was not in the position to be entertaining.

That’s why he needed to get back to L.A. as soon as possible.

Behind him the front door to the Summers’ home open and shut quietly. Spike didn’t have to even turn around to see who it was.

“How are you?” she asked softly.

If it had been anyone else asking the question, Spike would have replied curtly, saying that he was fine and to not worry about it. But it wasn’t just anyone -- it was Buffy. And he could never lie to Buffy.

“Tired,” he sighed, rubbing his temples. “The bloody funeral isn’t even until Sunday and I’m already sick of it.”

The desire to reach out and touch her was almost overwhelming. Half of him physically yearned for it and the other half was just curious to see whether the simple placement of her hand on his arm had the same comforting effect it held years ago. He had a feeling it would, so he shook the notion off.

She must have sensed his inner battle because she took a step towards him, “Why are you so afraid of me, Will?”

Spike let out a shaky laugh at her question. He could try to brush it off as absurd, but Buffy would be able to tell it was a lie. She always could. Sighing, his eyes searched the heavens before moving back to meet hers, “Because every time I’m with you I regress to a gawky eighteen year old boy.”

She took another daring step towards him, “And what’s wrong with that boy? I fell in love with that boy.”

Spike shook his head violently, his voice turning stone, “No, that boy is dead.”

The harshness of his voice and the answering look on Buffy’s face, like someone had run over her favorite kitten, made him instantly feel like the biggest bastard on the planet Earth. The tone that had just come out of his mouth was strictly held for rival newspaper editors and lifelong enemies. Never for Buffy.

But he had to make her understand, had to convince her. He was different now. He was not, and would not be, the boy she knew. At the sickening feeling quickly rising through his body, he couldn’t help but question who exactly he was trying to convince -- her or himself.

With that he pushed off the railing he was leaning on and disappeared down the sidewalk.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Buffy sat on the top of the rusting iron slide. Behind her, Harmony Kendall stood in the highest rung, awaiting her turn. Sudden yelling broke out across the playground. Buffy halted, and joined Harmony in craning her neck to see the commotion.

A bunch of boys from their grade had formed a circle -- like a pack of hyenas going in for the kill. They were yelling at two other boys who stood helpless in the middle of the group -- Xander and William.

“Isn’t that your boyfriend?” Harmony sneered, giving Buffy a disgusted look that she would only perfect over the years. The principal had now permeated the throng of kids, breaking up the escalading fight.

“Yeah,” she shrugged, smoothing out the creases of her dress.

“Are you going to marry him?” Harmony sung, eyes wide waiting for her answer.

Buffy looked over at the far end of the playground, where William and Xander had retreated. They were both hunched over reading English soccer magazines.

Then, with nonchalant confidence, she made her decision, “Yeah,” she replied, letting go over the side rungs and shooting down the slide.

TBC





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