Prologue

Time. It's a bitch isn't it? Moves like a rushing river when you're in love. Like a still lake when love's gone. When you're young and you have things to do, places to see, people to be with, it blows right past you like a bloody hurricane. But when you get old and you've got nothing to do but wait, you have to sit in the still, quiet eye of the storm and just listen to the silence.

But it's in the silence that I hear you my love. Has it been as long for you? Does time mean anything where you are? And will you be cross with me for keeping you waiting so long?

So many bloody questions.

You taught me how to say that word. Bloody. Told me how daft it sounded coming from an American. Still does really. Just like it did back then.

That day you came storming into my life, into my heart and just refused to leave. And I can still hear your voice, still remember you face, as if it was only yesterday…


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Chapter One

Royal Air Force Langdon Airbase, June 1940

"What the bloody hell are you doing in here? Hello, ladies' bathroom. Can't you read?"

"Need a pair of knickers, love."

"Excuse me?"

"Knickers, you know?"

"Yeah, I've heard of knickers. Panties, right?"

"It's for a bet. Come on love, England's counting on you. If I don't appear with a pair of knickers before that American bloke, then I've got to wear the bloody things all night."

"And I should help you, because---?"

"Why should...Oh yes, American right? Thought your bloody hell didn't sound right. You with one of them?"

"What the bloody hell's wrong with my bloody hell?"

"One of them your boyfriend?"

"No they bloody aren't."

"See, you can't say it properly."

"That's it. You're not getting my knickers."

"Aww, come on love. Don't do this to me. Alright, you say bloody hell beautifully. Like a proper lady in fact. Or a princess, you could be princess...What's your name?"

"Buffy, Buffy Summers."

"Okay, Princess Buffy Summers. Please could I borrow your knickers for five minutes? Promise I'll bring them back. Then, I'll...buy you a drink. How's that?"

"Might not want one. And you look as if you've had one too many already."

"Buy you one anyway."

"You've got one heck of a chat-up-line, do you know that?"

"Yes I've been told. What colour are they?"

"What colour are what?"

"Your knickers. I get extra points if they're like, purple or something."

"They're white."

"Bugger. They'll have to do."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, okay, just turn around."

"Good show Buffy. Helping the war effort, keeping up morale, and all that."

"Do you ever stop talking? No, don't answer that, here, you can turn back. Now what's wrong?"

"Wow. Haven't seen a pair like these before. They from the states?"

"Yeah, they're from the states, and will you quit waving them around, someone's gonna see. Look, I'm freezing my butt off here. Literally. Go do what you gotta do."

"Yes ma'am. England appreciates your help in the fight for freedom."

"Just bring 'em back, that's all."

"I will."

"Wait, what's your name?"

"William. Flight lieutenant William Giles, otherwise known as Spike, and the man who's going to teach you to say bloody hell properly one day."

"Well, Flight Lieutenant William Giles, otherwise known as Spike, blah, blah, blah. I want those back in five minutes, otherwise you're dead."

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I'm dead already love. Been dead a long time. Such a long, long time without you.

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"Mother? Mother, are you alright?"

The frail old lady smoothed a lock of her hair back into place and looked at the man. "William?"

"Yes, mother." He crouched before her, taking her hand and looking intently at her. "I knew this would be too much for you. Come on, let's get you home."

She waved him away, staring back into the distance. "Don't fuss, William. I'm okay."

He couldn't see what she was staring at, but she was looking, fixated on one spot, and there were tears in her eyes.

"Is that where he died?"

She nodded slowly, the tears spilling over her cheeks. She made no effort to wipe them away. Just let them fall.

"Over there. Couldn't save them. The smoke and the fire. It was too much, too much."

"You should have told me, mother. Why didn't you say anything?"

She turned then, and looked fondly at him, her hand coming up to stroke his cheek. "You're so much like him."

"But you should have told me. Why did you let me think that Liam was my dad? All these years, and I never knew."

"Selfish, I suppose." She shook her head, as if she wasn't sure whether her decision had been right or not. "Wanted to keep the memory all to myself. Such a beautiful memory."

"Oh mum. I can't believe you've carried this all these years. What was he like?"

She gazed at him for a long time, a sad smile on her face. "He was like you. So like you. He was beautiful and brave and cocky, and I loved him so much..." Her voice broke as she spoke, and she gave a small sob. "I should have told you. You had a right to know."

"Here." He took a tissue from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. "It's alright mother. Liam was a good father. I never missed out on anything."

She reached for his hand and they both just stared across the deserted airfield. A light breeze whipped the grass that grew between the cracks in the concrete runway. A door banged back and forth on one of the now derelict hangars.

And in her mind she was back in nineteen forty. The Battle of Britain. What was it Winston Churchill had said? So much owed by so many to so few.

He was one of them. Flight Lieutenant William Giles. One of the few. And they all owed them so much. They'd taken to the skies in their impossibly fragile planes, pictures of their best girls painted on the sides and just done what they had to do. Without question, without hesitation. The siren would go and they'd grab their kit and scramble. That's what it was called. Getting dressed as they ran across this same runway. Cracking jokes and making arrangements for liaisons later on. When they came back.

Meet you for a drink. Your bloody turn to buy. Hold you to that.

But not all of them came back. Everyday familiar faces would be missing and another family was in mourning for their brave son who'd given his all for his country.

And the new ones would arrive. Fresh from training school, eager and so young. All so young.

But then, so had she been, then.

"Tell me about him mother. If it's not too painful. I'd like to know." Willam sat himself beside her on the concrete block and stretched out his legs, slipping his arm around her. "Tell me about my father."


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Chapter Two

RAF Langdon Airbase, June 1940

"She's coming over mate."

"Oh bugger. Look, tell her I had to visit a sick relative or something."

The improbably blond airman rose from his chair and reached for his jacket. He'd only got one arm in it before the other blonde arrived at his table, effectively blocking his escape. He looked around for a fire exit or another door. Anything rather than face the wrath of Buffy Summers, who was now standing in front of him, arms folded, foot tapping and with a face that told him she wasn't going to let him go until she'd had her say.

And that was it. The moment he fell in love with her. Of course he didn't know it at the time, that's what hindsight's for. All he remembered initially about the meeting was the telling off she'd given him. How the hell was he supposed to remember he'd gone storming into the ladies' toilets and demanded that she give him her knickers? He'd passed out, dead drunk five minutes later. And the knickers in question had mysteriously disappeared. In fact they were quite probably now gracing the backside of some floozy that one of his mates had picked up that night.

She didn't back down though. He had to admire her for that, given the reputation he had as crazy guy extraordinaire. You had to be in this game. In fact the crazier, the better. It gave you an edge, a spark of brilliance that set you apart from the rest. It kept you alive but it could just as easily get you killed. It was a fine line that he walked these days.

Spike's plane was always the first up, even when it wasn't supposed to be, and always the last back. Then, of course everyone could be witnesses to the stupidly low barrel roll that was his trademark. He liked people to know he was around, did Spike. Liked to show off. Didn't want to die and not leave anything behind. Because they were all going to die, that's where he came from every day.

Today could be your last day on earth mate. Make the most of it. Make your mark, or no one's going to remember you. No-one's going to remember stammering, tongue-tied, William with his stupid curly brown hair and clothes that looked as if his dad had bought them for him.

But, everyone's going to remember dashing airman Spike, with his snarky backchat and who- could- care less attitude. And the hair that nearly made his squadron leader have a whole litter of kittens when he'd first bleached it. And his newly found predisposition for running into ladies' toilets and demanding knickers. The list just went on and on. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do. Wasn't a dare he wouldn't undertake. He had nothing to lose because soon he was going to be dead. So, in the light of that he wasn't afraid of anything or anyone, except, strangely this small blonde woman who now had him virtually pinned against the wall by the sheer force of her outrage alone.

And if he didn't get his ass to the nearest lingerie shop pretty pronto, then it wasn't the enemy that was going to kill him, because she was going to do it for them.

He heard his drinking companion snigger as she turned to go, at last, having described in horrible detail just what was going to happen to him if he didn't get said underwear to her by that evening. And strangely enough Spike managed to stifle the impulse to throw her over his shoulder and carry her out, probably to the jeers and cheers of all his mates, and show her just who was boss.

Instead he found himself meekly touching his cap as she retreated, and wondering what size she was. And later that evening he was even more surprised to find himself standing on the doorstep of the nurses' quarters, politely asking a rather fierce looking matron if Buffy was available. Not that his visits to the nurses quarters was anything unusual, just the method of entry he was using at this time. Drainpipes were more his style, but he somehow didn't think that Buffy Summers would appreciate him suddenly appearing at her window bearing a pair of very lacy, bright red French Knickers.

He had no idea why they were French, but the colour would match her eyes if he remembered anything about their earlier encounter. She'd been blazing alright, but she didn't have him that whipped. He wanted to see her face when she opened the parcel, and he wasn't leaving until she did. The thought had crossed his mind that perhaps she'd model them for him. Hell, most of the girls he knew would be glad to, he didn't have any problems in that area at all. And they'd cost him an arm and a leg, so she owed him something for that. But he somehow didn't think so. Still, he was going to ask, probably. She may have left him somewhat stunned that afternoon, but he was fast recovering.

Buffy Summers had thrown down a challenge. He wasn't the type to back down and neither, he suspected, was she. She'd won the first battle, but he was going to win the bloody war. And he was going to see her in these before the night was out. If it was the last thing he did.

-------------------

"Oh, Buffy, he's so cute. Are you really not going down?"

Buffy leaned over the banister rail and looked, with some satisfaction at Flight lieutenant Spike Giles, who despite using every charm offensive in the book, still hadn't managed to wheedle himself past matron. And she wasn't going down. No way. Cute or no cute he deserved a little discomfort after what he'd done to her. Not only had she waited in the toilets for over an hour for him to come back, but then she'd had to walk back to the base on one of the windiest nights of the year because, by then, she'd missed the last bus. Serves her right really for being just drunk enough that handing her underwear over to a perfect stranger had seemed a perfectly reasonable thing to do at the time.

"Nope. Let him stew, the rat. Too cocky by half that one."

Gonna get him killed. But he'll go out in a blaze of glory. He's not going quietly into the night, not him.

That thought almost made her relent. They were all living on the edge these days. All of them doing crazy things. And the future, which used to be something that happened without you having to think about it, was becoming an elusive thing. Something you'd always taken for granted, but was now a precious commodity. Something that some people didn't have any more. That the man standing downstairs giving matron the puppy dog eyes might not have.

She stood, and stretched out her arms, stifling a yawn as she contemplated a relaxing evening drinking cocoa and reading that rather racy novel she'd managed to get her hands on. Twelve hour shifts were a bitch, and they didn't exactly put you in a good mood. She took one last glance at the now-desperate Spike and turned for her room. Did he even realise how difficult it was to walk knickerless in a bloody gale force wind?

No, let him stew, he'd survive. Or not. It wasn't her call anyway and she had nothing to feel bad about. She wasn't responsible for this mess of a war. Just someone who was trying to help.

"Does that mean I can have him?" Her friend winked at her and took one last look downstairs.

"Yeah." Buffy started on the buttons of her nurse's uniform. "Take him, he's all yours."

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She wasn't going to relent.

He'd tried every trick in the book and still matron stood before him like the proverbial Valkyrie, arms folded and just daring him to get past her. He'd thought there wasn't anything he couldn't or wouldn't do, but he was beginning to learn a few things about himself since he'd had the misfortune to run into Buffy Summers.

Women. It was simple, right? They either loved you or they didn't. Sometimes they said yes, sometimes they said no. You either lucked out, or you walked away. Like buses there's be another one along in a little while.

Since he'd turned into Spike he hadn't had so many of the no's, and it really hadn't bothered him. Until now. Why the hell didn't he just hand the parcel over to the dragon and have done with it? Then he could walk out of Buffy Summer's life and, with a bit of luck, never run into her again.

Because he wasn't thinking with his brain right now. He was thinking with his trousers, and that image of her wearing the French knickers, just wouldn't bloody leave him alone. Suddenly, the most important thing in the world was not to die before he'd seen her in them. He sighed dramatically as matron resolutely closed the door and then he squinted up at the building. It was going to have to be the drainpipe after all. Now, which room was hers?

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It had been a heck of a day. Even in the middle of a war, when you'd thought you'd seen everything there was to see there always seemed to be something else waiting for you. To test your reserves. To see what stuff you were made of. Buffy undid the remaining buttons of her uniform and slipped it off. Throwing it down, she flopped back on her bed and let out a long breath. One of the young airmen had upped and died on them just like that. He'd been getting better, had started talking about going home and then he was gone, quietly in his sleep. Never had made a fuss that one. Just gave up for no reason, some reason, who knew? And there wasn't a damned thing she could do about it.

She covered her eyes with her arm and tried not to think about it too much. Yes, it affected her, but you had to maintain some degree of detachment or you couldn't do your job. Especially during a war. And everybody needed to do their job right now.

And then there was Liam. He'd asked her out again and she was starting to think very seriously about saying yes. So, he was a little older than her, but mature men were good, right? And you could do worse than a consultant surgeon; any nurse would tell you that. Her friends looked on enviously and couldn't believe that she even had to think about it, and her father would approve. Oh yes, Squadron Leader Hank Summers, who really hadn't wanted to bring her to England with him, would approve of her marrying a surgeon. Fitted right in with his image of what he'd always wanted for her.

It was giving her a headache just thinking about it. Her roommate was away for a long weekend and she was thankful for that. Anya never stopped talking, and she'd made it more than plain that she'd have Liam if Buffy didn't want him. Dropped incessant hints, despite the fact that Buffy had told her more than once that she was welcome to him, and that he wasn't actually her boyfriend anyway.

So Buffy hauled herself from the bed and slipped into a robe. She picked up her spongebag and made her way to the bathroom. Bath, then cocoa, then novel and bed. And nothing else. She wasn't going to think about young airmen who lay hopeless in their hospital beds, she wasn't going to think about Liam and his offer of a date at the opera, and she wasn't going to think about cheeky young fighter pilots who thought the height of amusement was stealing your knickers.

She reached the bathroom just as the door was closing and the bolt firmly thrown across. "Damn." She closed her eyes in frustration wondering if she had the energy to walk upstairs to the bathroom on the second floor, and then she decided she didn't. Exhaustion was overtaking her and if she didn't get into bed soon she was going to fall asleep right there on the corridor. She walked along to the small kitchenette that served her floor and made herself a hot drink, and then she went back to her room stirring the cocoa as she went.

Spike had looked so funny standing there trying to get round matron. No, funny wasn't the word. Surprised? He'd looked like someone who was used to having women fall at his feet and had suddenly come up against one he couldn't charm and it had confused the hell out of him.

"Ha," she gave a little chuckle as she let herself back into her room, they didn't call matron the dragon for nothing. She'd earned that nickname with honours. Not that she had a clue what went on behind her back of course. It was inevitable really, given the combination of young nurses and airmen. They were all screwing like there was no tomorrow, which for some was a grim reality. She'd been on a few casual dates but had tried to steer clear of any involvement, given that she was going back to the States after the war. That was until Liam had come onto the scene. His soulful gaze and quiet persistence were working on her in subtle ways. It wouldn't be a one night stand with him, she already knew that. And all she had to do was say yes. And maybe she would, but not tonight.

She slipped the robe from her shoulders, letting it drop as she lay back onto the bed and reached for her book. John and Amanda were about to do the dirty deed somewhere in a hot, steamy jungle and a little escapism was just what she needed right now... She plumped up her pillow, found her page and reached for her drink.

Then she froze.

Someone was in the room. She looked around, no, not in the room there wasn't exactly anywhere to hide, but she could hear someone moving. She went very still and listened and there it was again, a scuffling noise and a muffled curse. Then a slight breeze caused the curtains to ripple and focused her attention on the window.

Bloody hell, someone was climbing in through her window. For a moment she stayed very still, then she jumped form the bed and grabbed her robe.

"Boy have you got the wrong room, buster," she muttered as she picked up a medical textbook. These airmen thought they could do what they bloody liked and he probably had just got the wrong room, but she wasn't in the mood for this tonight. All she wanted to do was read her novel, drink her cocoa, then go to sleep. It wasn't too much to ask, was it? She made her way determinedly to the window and stood beside it as the shape struggled with the flapping curtains. Whoever it was wasn't going to forget Buffy Summers in a hurry.

She didn't hit him very hard. She was a nurse and she really didn't want to hurt whoever it was. Only wanted to make her point, but it was enough to floor him. He went down with a surprised grunt, hit the floor and just lay there, unmoving.

Buffy folded her arms. "Okay, you can get up now."

No response.

"I said you can get up, quit fooling around."

Still no response. The nurse in her was struggling with the outraged woman at this point and of course the nurse won. She dropped to her knees beside the prostrated figured and reached across to pull him over. He was just coming to, giving a slight groan as he flopped onto his back, and then she was looking into the very blue and rather dazed eyes of airman Spike Giles. He stared at her for a moment, gave her a lopsided grin then fell back, his eyes closing once more.

She sat back on her heels, hardly able to believe what she was seeing, or what she'd done. She also had no idea how you could feel incredibly annoyed and really sorry for someone at the same time. But it was him, yet again. He seemed so very determined to force his way into her life, yet every time they came in contact with each other they seemed destined to come to blows. She'd wanted to hit him in the canteen, especially when he'd had the nerve to smirk at her when she was making a perfectly valid point about him returning her underwear. And now he was here, lying on her bedroom floor, probably with a concussion, and all she managed to feel was tremendously guilty.

This was one determined guy. She should have gone down after all, taken the parcel off him and that would have been that. End of story; never have to see Spike Giles again. But no. She'd had to give him a reason to pull a stupid stunt like this. God, she could have pushed him out of the window and killed him, the stupid jerk.

"You're a stupid jerk, you know that?" She told his still figure as she worked out what to do next. "And I didn't hit you that hard."

She pulled herself up and went over to the basin in the corner of the room. A cold compress was what he needed. She ought to do something for him, being a nurse and all, but it was more than he deserved, the idiot. As she dropped to her knees beside him once more and felt gently for the bump on his head, she thought that perhaps she would say yes to Liam. It was about time she got herself a regular boyfriend. Someone steady and not crazy. Someone who would never contemplate climbing in through girls-he-hardly-knew's bedroom windows to deliver parcels of underwear. There was enough craziness around her without adding to it by having anything to do with Spike Giles.

Thought he could charm the birds off the trees? Well, not this one. And how the hell was she going to get him out of the front door, past the dragon? She always had her door open at this time of night for that very reason. He didn't look in any fit state to climb back down the drainpipe.

She twisted him round and pulled his head into her lap as she waited for him to come to. He was taking rather a long time over it, which was typical of him. Probably made a drama out of everything - even being knocked out. Well, concussion or no concussion, when he woke up he was going to get another very large piece of her mind, and then she was going to have to work out how to get him out in one piece, because this was nothing compared to what would happen to the both of them if matron found out he was here.

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He'd been right when he'd thought she wouldn't appreciate it, but as usual, he hadn't stopped to think his cunning plan through. Climb in the window, give her the parcel then somehow convince her to try them on.

Simple, yes?

Wrong.

What the hell was it with this woman that she couldn't be within ten feet of him without either threatening or trying to kill him?

But mmm, this was nice. He nearly gave the game away there and then as he struggled to stop his trademark smirk from breaking out all over his face. She really thought she'd knocked him out? Insulting really, surely he looked tougher than that? Okay, so the blow had hurt some, but it had definitely been worth it because now he was not only lying in her lap enjoying a wonderful view of her breasts where they spilled over the lacy cups of her bra as the robe gaped open, but he had her completely at his mercy because she had to be feeling guilty about this, right? He was going to milk this one for all it was worth, and he was definitely developing a thing for American underwear.

He gave a little moan to signal that he was about to wake up, and fluttered his eyes open. She looked so concerned that he almost felt sorry that he was deceiving her, but what was the saying? All's fair in love and war. Well, they had the war but he wasn't about to fall in love with anyone. Focus on the mission - getting her into the underwear - he told himself sternly, giving another groan for effect. God, she was pretty though, and she had a body to die for, as the now completely open robe was showing him. One that was going to look great in these red lacy things he'd bought her.

Time to move mate, getting a bit carried away here.

Her arms went around his shoulder and he let her help him up, breathing in her delicious perfume as he rested his head on her chest. She pulled her robe closed, self consciously as she helped him to sit up, and then just stared at him.

He stared back into her beautiful, green eyes. Yes this was very nice. Definitely worth being hit over the head for.



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Chapter 3

Buffy looked down at the man stretched out on her bed, picked up her spongebag and turned for the door.

"Look, I'm going for a bath, then we've got to figure out how to get you past matron. Don't move from there, you need to rest, okay?"

"Yes ma'am." Spike saluted her and lay back against the pillows. Her pillows. Which she should be relaxing on right now. But although she was fairly sure there was nothing at all wrong with him, she couldn't take a chance. Not if he might have a concussion. And now she felt all responsible for him.

"And don't even think of trying to climb back out that window, d'you hear me?"

"Loud and clear. Umm, I could help you wash your…"

"And don't you even think about that either," she ordered him, but she could see by the smirk on his face that he already was.

"Look, just stay put, and don't touch anything."

"I wouldn't dare."

She watched in irritation as Spike put his hands behind his head and assumed a look of extreme innocence, which didn't fool her for one moment. The leery grin was still on his face. He had her, and he knew it.

What the hell had possessed her to hit him? He would have delivered his package and gone back the way he'd come, and she'd never have had to see him again. Only now she was stuck with him in her room, and she already suspected that he was going to be possibly the worse patient that she would ever have the misfortune to nurse.

She spun on her heels, but he called her back, slipping his hand under his leather flight jacket and bringing out a neatly wrapped parcel.

"You forgot these."

"No, I didn't."

"Think you did love. Go on Buffy, take them. It's the least I could do after…"

"No, don't go there." She held up her hands as if by doing so she could make him magically disappear. "Have you any idea how difficult it is to walk home in a gale without underwear?"

Spike's eyes widened for a second and then he looked suspiciously like someone who was trying to stop himself from laughing, but not succeeding very well. His mouth twitched at the corners as he struggled to keep a straight face.

"Never done it myself, but I'm willing to give it a try. Go on, take 'em. Cost me an arm and a leg."

"Good." Buffy snatched the parcel, then tossed it down onto Anya's bed. "Right, now I'm getting that bath."

"Not going to try them on then?"

She looked back over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows. "In your dreams, Spike."

Did he really think she was going to put them on for him? He may be cute, but he wasn't that cute. Was he? She sneaked another look at him as she turned to go, then looked away. Damn but he was, pity about the being a complete idiot part.

"Chicken."

"What?"

"You're chicken."

"I am not."

"Put them on then."

"Look, buster, you'll be modelling these for me before I put 'em on for you."

"Alright you're on. Throw them over."

Buffy watched wide eyed as Spike sat up and shrugged out of his jacket. He was just starting the top button of his trousers when she flew across the room and stopped him, slapping her hand unceremoniously into his crotch.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Trying them on, be a love and get them for me." He looked down pointedly at her hand.

"Are you mad?" She followed his gaze, realising where her hand had landed and hastily removing it. "I do not want to see you in a pair of knickers."

"Well, I won't look as good as you in them, that's for sure, but come on, hand'em over, I never run from a challenge."

She stood back and folded her arms. "Neither do I."

"Thought as much, you want to go first then?"

"Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are? No don't answer that. Okay Spike Giles, you're on. You sure you can handle this?"

"No problem." He settled back down again, only now he wasn't wearing his jacket and his trousers were almost undone, and that smile was back. That smile that told her he thought he'd got one over on her. That he was in charge of the situation. Who the hell did he think he was dealing with here? She'd show him who was in charge.

Buffy picked up the parcel and pulled at the string, glancing at him once again as she turned round. He wasn't going to be looking quite so calm when she'd finished with him, she thought, taking out the underwear and holding it up.

Well, he had good taste anyway, and they did look wickedly expensive.

"Black market?"

"Where else?"

She looked around again, unable to resist half closing her eyes and giving her bottom just a very small wriggle as she pulled the French knickers on. He couldn't see what she was doing because her robe still covered her and she had her back to him, but she could see that he had leaned forward ever so slightly, and that his eyes had widened in anticipation. Yes, Spike Giles, you are going to regret ever asking me to do this, she thought with considerable satisfaction as she smoothed the silk over her hips. She still had on her original panties but the French knickers covered them well enough, so she pulled her robe closed and turned around to face him.

"You ready?"

"Yes." It came out slightly squeakier than his normal voice and she could see that he was having trouble with the smirk. Try as he might, he didn't seem to be able to get it back on his face.

"Okay, here goes."

"Wait." His hand came to stop her as she pulled open the ties of her robe.

"What now?" She stopped in mid pull as he pushed his cuff away from his wristwatch and made a big show of looking at it.

"How long do I get?"

"What do you mean how long do you get?"

He was mad. She had a truly certifiable lunatic in her bed. And she was about to flash him her underwear because he'd said she was too chicken not to do it. That must make her mad too. Oh god, she'd known this man all of two days and already she was acting like him.

Think of Liam, she told herself sternly. Good old, reliable Liam, pillar of the community, with his Rolls Royce and his sensible hair, and his season ticket to the opera. Liam, who would never in his wildest dreams climb in through her bedroom window to give her underwear. And who would never expect her to parade in front of him in them, like some harlot.

"One minute."

"One minute. Are you crazy? Yes, I know. We've already established that. I am not standing in front of you in my underwear for a whole minute.

"Fifty seconds then. Those things were bloody expensive."

"Twenty."

"Forty."

"Thirty, and that's my final offer."

"Alright, done." Spike looked at his watch again and counted off the seconds. "Three, two, one, go for it."

So she did, pulling the robe apart, only now realising that he was seeing a lot more than the kickers. She almost wavered then, her trembling hands wanting to do nothing more than close the robe and run from the room. A room that was getting hotter and hotter as the seconds ticked away.

She hadn't been going to blush because she was in charge here, right? And there was no way that Spike Giles was going to keep his composure, because he was obviously a complete idiot who never took anything seriously. But as she stood there in front of him, she felt the atmosphere in the room changing, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it.

Spike sat right up, blinked and cocked his head to one side, his lips slightly parted and a look of mild confusion on his face. She saw his eyes scan her body briefly and come back to rest on her face, and if she hadn't known better, then she would have said that the look on his face was one of shock.

She had a snarky comment on the tip of her tongue as she stood there, not doing any of the things she'd planned to, but somehow it didn't come out. She'd been going to give him a bit of a show, get him all worked up and then swan imperiously away to her bath and leave him to stew. But all she could do was stand there with an expression probably much the same as he was sporting. The game had suddenly turned deadly serious. Someone had changed the rules, flipped a coin and now she didn't know what to do. His thirty seconds were up, but she made no move to close the robe as he searched her eyes for something, only she didn't know what, and she couldn't move because she was trapped. Pinned to the spot by his gaze.

And she probably would have stood there all night, robe open, if he hadn't shaken himself out of the haze that had descended on them both, and slipped quietly from the bed and closed it for her.

"You play dirty, love." He leaned in and whispered it close to her ear, his voice low and barely there. "It's really not fair."

He was still looking at her as he reached for the ties, his warm fingers just grazing her sides as he closed the gown. And she moved slightly into his touch, disappointed that it didn't last longer and that he was turning back towards the bed and picking up his jacket. He slipped it on, adjusted the collar, shook his head and muttered something, almost to himself, as if he'd forgotten she was in the room.

Then he lifted his head and studied her thoughtfully for a moment, and that's when she saw it. Saw him. The person he really was behind all the bravado and the brashness. The person who hid behind that self-satisfied grin and wise-cracking talk.

She saw the fear and the uncertainty, the hopelessness and despair of a life lived on the edge, and she saw something else.

Regret.

For a split second as their eyes locked she saw it all, and that was the moment she fell in love with him. Only she didn't know it at the time, either.


------------------------------------------


Langdon Airbase 2003

"He sent me a poem, you know. Underneath all that noise and bleached hair, he was a sensitive soul. Just didn't like anyone knowing it."

William inspected his fingernails, then stuck his hands in his pockets. "Mother, this is all very personal, you don't have to tell me everything."

"And I won't, don't worry. If I go quiet for a while, well, it's just like you say, too personal." Buffy gave a small laugh. "I remember it all though, everything he said, everything he did. He wanted to be remembered you see. Made me promise I'd never forget him. How could I ever forget him, William?"

He nodded in agreement. "Sounds like he was a real character."

"He was that. Look, I have it here." She opened her purse and fished inside, bringing out a folded sheet and handing it to him. "I'd like you to have it."

William took the sheet and unfolded it. "Andrew Marvell"

Buffy laughed again, then stared into the distance. "Took me a while to work out what it all meant. Wasn't very well up on poetry."

He scanned the handwritten verse and smiled to himself. "Had we but world enough and time..." Then he read silently for a few moments and the smile faded. "But you didn't, did you?"

"No, we didn't. That's what he was trying to tell me. I thought it was just a crummy chat up line, but he was right. He had this knack of being right about the important things. Used to annoy the hell out of me."

"So, when did he give you this?"

"Oh, he appeared at the worse possible time, as usual. Liam had two tickets to the opera…"


-------------------------------------------------


Royal Air Force Military Hospital, Langdon. June 1940


"La Boheem. What's a Boheem?"

"Bo'em, it's pronounced Bo'em, and it's an opera. Say you'll come with me, Buffy."

"Oops," Buffy giggled and put her hand over her mouth. "I've never been to the opera before. Will I like it?"

"I've no idea, but say you'll come anyway. If you don't like it, we can sneak out during the interval. How about it?"

Buffy looked up at Consultant Surgeon Liam O' Connor. Tall, dark and handsome Liam O' Connor. Strong, silent and very tall Liam O' Connor. He stood before her quietly waiting for her to make up her mind, never pushing her to a decision, never harassing her for anything she wasn't prepared to give willingly. He'd told her that much. Had said he wanted her, but he knew the score. Knew she was going back to the States after the war, so he didn't want to start anything they couldn't finish.

And she'd decided that he was right, they'd talked about it sensibly and rationally, as he probably did everything, and decided that they'd just be friends. Casual dates, theatre, that sort of thing, but he wasn't about to stick to the agreement. She could see it in his eyes, in the way they followed her everywhere she went, the silent longing, the simple look of adoration. And she was falling for it, falling for his gentlemanly charm and quiet persistence, starting to think that maybe she wouldn't be going back to the States after all. Starting to think that maybe she had a future here with him.

"Okay. I'll come, but can we stick to what we said for now, you know about taking it slow?"

"Of course we can, Buffy." He looked at his watch and flashed her a smile. "Look, I'm due in the operating theatre in a few minutes. I'll pick you up on Saturday at say, six o'clock. Perhaps we can catch a meal after the show? I know this little place where they can still get hold of a mean steak."

"God, real food. I'll love you for life Liam, just get me that steak."

"Would you Buffy?"

"What?" She knew what he meant as he stood there, shyly, but she didn't have the answer he wanted. Not yet anyway

"Nothing, see you on Saturday."

He spun on his heels and strode purposefully through the double doors at the end of the corridor, almost bumping into Anya as she appeared through them pushing a trolley.

"So, did he ask you?" She ran expectantly up to Buffy and stood in front of her, arms folded. "Come on, tell me everything."

Buffy took a step back, almost knocked over by Anya's enthusiasm for her love life.

"Yes he asked, and yes I said I'll go."

"So, where's he taking you?"

"Opera."

Anya burst into a round of noisy laughter. "Opera? How boring is that. Anyway, I thought most of the theatres were closed, for the duration."

Buffy shrugged her shoulders, "Apparently not. Then he's taking me to some posh place for a meal."

Anya sighed. "You lucky cow, oh, by the way, your brother asked me to give you this." She fumbled in her pocket and brought out an envelope.

Buffy took it, frowning. "I don't have a brother."

Anya gave her a knowing look. "Okay, I'll rephrase. A secret admirer asked me to give you this."

Buffy's heart skipped several beats as she turned the envelope over in her hand. "Airman, strange hair, stupid grin?"

"That's him, he's waiting downstairs."

"What for? And why should I care?"

"Well, I don't know." Anya collected her trolley and sauntered past her with it. "Enema on ward five, I don't suppose you'd like to…"

"No way, I'm off in five minutes. He's not really waiting, is he?

"Said he was. He's in A and E."

"A and E, is he hurt?"

"Thought you said you didn't care?" Anya pushed open the doors and negotiated the trolley through it. "Read the bloody letter, and remember…"

"Yeah, I know, if I don't want him, you'll have him."

"Sure will, you lucky cow. You can't have them both, you know. That's just greedy."

Buffy pocketed the letter, telling herself she wasn't going down, but already knowing that she was. She couldn't leave him sitting there, right? It just wouldn't be polite, would it? It had absolutely nothing to do with wanting to see if his eyes were still as blue as she remembered them, or as open and vulnerable. Or if he was in A and E because he was hurt.

She walked back to the office and scribbled up her notes, his letter burning a hole in her pocket. Checked on the coma patient, delivered a bedpan and then she was off.

Back to her room. Definitely not to A and E.

Then why the hell was she headed there? And why the hell had she nipped into a deserted stock room to read his letter? A letter in whose contents she had no interest whatsoever. She sat down on a stack of boxes, took it out of her pocket and ripped it open.

It looked like a poem. Oh God, he'd written her a poem. Her insides suddenly felt like they'd melted. No one had ever written her a poem before, and it was long. As she scanned down the verse which had been carefully written out in copperplate script, she read a name at the bottom that wasn't his, and she actually managed to feel both relieved and disappointed at the same time. So he hadn't written it. Hadn't gone home and spent hours working on a poem especially for her. Good, now she wouldn't have to be beholden to him.

She read the first few lines, realising it was quite old and rather Shakespearean in style. Andrew Marvell, who the hell was he?

Had we but world enough and time, this coyness lady were no crime

Coyness? When had she been coy with him?

We would sit down and think which way to walk, and pass our long love's day

Oh heck, was he asking her on a date? She couldn't go on a date with Spike, she was going out with Liam.

It took her two attempts to get the letter back into its envelope, her hand was shaking so much. It hadn't shaken like this when Liam had asked her to the opera. Neither had her heart done the tango, as it was now. And she hadn't been the slightest bit worried whether her hair was in place or whether she looked awful without make-up.

Right now her feet were taking her to A and E of their own accord and she was raking her fingers through her hair as she removed her hat, and pinching her cheeks to get some colour into them.

She found him just outside the door, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette. He threw it down as she approached and she was completely taken aback by the lurch of excitement that jolted through her as he turned to her. No, not excitement, nervousness, or something. She couldn't even tell what it was that she was feeling. All she knew was that her heart was jumping around in her chest, her breath had caught in her throat and all she could see was him, striding towards her now, his face deadly serious and intent on her alone.

She thought he was going to walk right through her because he didn't stop, even when he'd got so close that they were touching. Body to body, he caught her by the elbows and she staggered back a few steps as he steadied her and then his lips came down on hers and it was so sudden and unexpected that she had no time to resist, or think of anything beyond what he was doing.

She'd been kissed before, of course she had, but not like this. This kiss didn't ask what she wanted, it told her. It didn't try to persuade or coax. It didn't say I might, or maybe. It said you will, and I do, and we don't have time to discuss this. Don't have time for pretty speeches and flowers. Maybe we don't have any time at all.

Maybe this is all we have.

And as she listened to his kiss, her body which had been as hard as his against him began to soften, and her hands were creeping into his hair and her lips were moving at last against his, giving him her own message.

Telling him it was okay and that she knew what he wanted, and she knew why he wanted it so urgently, and that he should take it because she wanted to give it to him, because he needed it so badly.

And she felt him calming down at last, his lips still moving against her, but now they were no longer crushing hers, or demanding anything of her. The tempo slowed to an easy rhythm, her body melting into his, and swaying gently as he held her.

And even though she was vaguely aware of people walking past them, looking at them, some staring curiously, someone whistling, a mother hiding her child's eyes, she didn't care. Spike needed her, and she realised then that she needed him too. Needed his strength and his warmth, his intensity and his sadness. Needed it like she'd never needed anything before. And all thoughts of Liam and the opera vanished from her mind as if he'd never existed.

All she could see was Spike. Spike warm and solid in her arms, his lips on hers, his hands on her shoulders, holding her to him as if he was never going to let her go. And she didn't want him to. Not now and not ever.

Don't do this, a small voice whispered. Don't fall in love with him, because how could you bear it if anything happened? How would you go on?

But it was already too late. Too late for the both of them. He broke the kiss and took a few ragged breaths, burying his face into her shoulder and speaking to her at last. And his voice was thick and unsteady as he struggled to breathe and get the words out.

And she didn't have an answer to his question.

"What the hell have you done to me, Summers? What the bloody hell have you done?"


tbc.

Chapter 4


Spike had always know that when he fell it would be hard and fast and there would be no going back. That's why he'd never allowed himself to fall in love.

Before now.

As he stared at the woman who seemed to have occupied every one of his waking thoughts for the last week, he had to wonder at the crappy timing of it all. Raids were becoming more frequent, he was flying longer hours, and the chances of surviving all this were getting slimmer and slimmer by the day. He was good at what he did, but that didn't mean anything these days. You took a chance every time you went up, said your goodbyes, kept your affairs in order and if you came back - well that was a bonus.

And it really hadn't worried him, until now. He'd bloody well gone and kissed her, she'd kissed him back, and suddenly, that was that. His fate was sealed and his future irrevocably tied to Buffy Summers. A future he suddenly and quite desperately wanted back.

"So, what do we do now?"

She looked at him, eyes wide, still a little dazed from the kiss. He hadn't given her time to think or change her mind about it. Before she'd drawn breath he'd had her in the Land Rover he'd borrowed, and they were bumping along a country road. Not exactly kidnapping her, because she hadn't exactly resisted. More like a seize the moment manoeuvre, Carpe Diem and all that. And he'd had no idea where they were going, until he'd seen the little tea shop in the village and pulled up outside it.

And here they were, ordering tea and cakes and what with that, and the poetry, he had to wonder if William was going to make a surprise appearance any moment now. This was just up his street, all he needed was the hair and the tweed jacket and voila, there he'd be.

Spike lit up a cigarette, took a long drag, knocked the ash into the ashtray and looked straight back at her.

"Well, you could marry me."

Buffy gave a sort of strangled gasp, which turned into a small laugh, then she covered her face with her hands. After a few seconds she lowered them slowly, her eyes even wider, her mouth open. "What did you say?"

"I said you could marry me."

He hadn't been going to kiss her, and he definitely hadn't been going to say that. But now he'd said it, it seemed the most logical thing in the world to say. Because where the hell else did they go after that kiss?

And he could see that she was thinking it too. Just for a split second it was a distinct possibility, so he just kept talking, because Spike never could keep his mouth shut.

"What do you say" He stretched his hand out and caught hers across the table. "Let's just do it, Buffy."

"But I hardly know you."

She was struggling now, the voice of reason intruding, but he knew how this worked. She made excuses, he gave her reasons. She said convince me, so he would.

He let go of her hand, once he'd satisfied himself that he hadn't shocked her into running away, and sat back as the waitress served their tea and placed one of those two tier plates full of cakes on the table. She smiled genially at them, asked them if they wanted anything else, then she left.

"My name is William Giles, otherwise known as Spike. I was born in the East End of London. I was up at Oxford doing a PhD in English Lit when the war started, so I joined up. I'm a bloody good pilot and I'm in love with you." He leaned his elbows on the table and took her hand again.

The more he thought about this, the more he wanted it. The more he looked at her, the more he wanted her. They both did. William the romantic and Spike the crazy. William was already picturing the cottage with the roses around the door, Buffy in a white dress, sitting on a rug in the garden while he lay, his head in her lap, reading her his favourite poetry. Spike had skipped that bit and gone straight to the hot, steamy sex. Well, he would wouldn't he?

And she'd closed her eyes, as if she was still trying to think of an excuse not to do this, so he squeezed her hand to remind her he was still there.

"It's not such a daft idea. You know, when you think about it."

She picked up a strange looking cake and eyed it suspiciously.

"Will I like it?"

Spike took it from her and placed it back on the stand. "You're going to love it. We can get married quarters or something, all cosy like. And every time I look up, there you'll be, and every time you look up, there I'll be."

"What?"

"Thomas Hardy, Far From the Madding Crowd. It's that git, William, just doesn't know when to shut up. Tea?"

She shook her head and laughed again as he poured the tea, and pushed the cup across the table.

"Spike…"

"D'you want someone else to kiss you like that? 'Cos no one else ever will, you already know that, don't you?"

"I know." Her voice was barely there as she stared into her cup and stirred the tea around. "But I still don't know who you are."

"I just told you."

"No you didn't. You told me what you are. Now tell me who you are."

"Then will you marry me?"

"Spike!"

"Alright, alright." He raised his hands in surrender, "You are one strict lady Buffy, er, I like it by the way." He sat back and wondered what he could say to convince her that he actually wasn't a lunatic and that he meant every word he'd said, crazy as it sounded.

Okay, William, I think this one's yours.


----------------------------------------------------------------


Buffy was having trouble keeping up with him, and dammit, but this marriage thing was actually starting to sound good. He'd make one hell of a salesman.

It was when he'd said married quarters. She'd got a picture of the two of them snuggled up on the sofa, talking or reading, or just plain snuggling and she'd realised then what was missing from her life. She did her job, went home, drank her cocoa. Went to the opera with Liam.

Oh God, Liam. No don't think about him now, it's too much. But her life was downright boring. Empty. Nice as Liam was, she knew now what was missing.

Passion.

What would she rather have? Spike cuddles on the sofa, intimate talk in the dark as they held each other. Him making her laugh with his daft comments, her silencing him with a kiss. Tickling him, him tickling her. Spike making love to her, on the sofa, in their bed, and probably other places too, knowing him. The two of them living every moment, treasuring every second they spent together. Doing it all, saying it all, just because they couldn't afford to leave anything unsaid, or undone.

Or a box at the opera, country house parties. Polite conversation. Kissing someone but thinking of someone else, making love and wishing it was him instead. Of long years wondering what she'd missed because she'd taken the sensible path, because she hadn't grabbed at life when it had run out to meet her.

And she couldn't imagine for one moment ever tickling Liam. He'd probably laugh politely, just to humour her, but she just knew that with Spike the two of them would be in hysterics within a minute, probably rolling around on the floor, laughing until they cried. She didn't do much of that, she realised. In fact she didn't do any of that. And she probably never would with Liam.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts, because Spike looked as if he had something important to say. And there it was again - that dizzying current of excitement that she'd felt just before he'd kissed her. She put down her cup, carefully, because her fingers were shaking now, and gave him all of her attention. Watching his hand as he stubbed out the cigarette, the way he closed his eyes as he composed himself, the intensity of his gaze when he finally looked at her again, the honesty, the love.

She'd thought the next few moments were going to be the most important of her life, that everything would hinge on what he said next, but as she looked at him while he searched for the right words, she realised that it had already happened. Somewhere along the line she'd already fallen in love with him, only she couldn't remember where, or when. But she knew why.

Brash, noisy, Spike Giles, who had stormed into her life like a bloody hurricane, had crept into her heart so quietly and so softly that she hadn't even noticed it. And she knew he was never going to leave. And that she'd never want him to.

She reached across for him this time, her fingers lightly grazing his, her eyes telling him that he didn't have to say anything because she'd already made her decision. And she couldn't remember much of the poem he'd sent her, but two lines had stuck in her mind.

'The grave's a fine and private place, but none I think, do there embrace.'

They could have been written for them. Time's winged chariot really was at their backs, and he wasn't going to slow down, for them or for anyone, all they could do was hop on board and enjoy the ride.

Buffy placed a finger on her lips as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Shh. Let me go first," she told him, as she reached for one of the cakes and peeled off the silver wrapping. She flattened and folded it as he watched her, his head cocked to one side, eyes narrowed as he tried to work out what she was doing. Then she wrapped it around the ring finger of her left hand and held it up.

"Does it suit me?"

His first reaction was one of utter disbelief. She saw it in the way his eyes widened and his jaw dropped, the way someone looks when they were never in a million years expecting the reaction they were getting. And for a moment Buffy thought she'd totally misinterpreted what he'd said and that all this was just wishful thinking on her part.

But then his mouth curved into a smile, and her heart did a happy dance.

"Are you saying…?"

"Yes, Spike, I am, you do still want to?"

"Hell, yes." He stood up suddenly, as if he was going to burst into song, or something, but then he seemed to realise where he was and ran a hand through his hair, sitting down sheepishly to the curious stares of the other diners.

"Sorry about that. I can't believe what you just said. You'll really marry me?"

"Yes."

"And this isn't a dream? 'Cos I have these dreams…"

"No, Spike, this isn't a dream. I don't know when I fell in love with you, I just know that I did. And that we have to do this now."

He nodded as she said the words, his face turning serious again. "D'you know how many weddings I've been to since this war started? People are getting married in droves. Never thought it would be me though. God, I love you Summers, come 'ere."

She could just about reach him as he leaned across the table. He put his hand out to steady the back of her head as he kissed her, starting slow and building up, until the waitress came over and politely suggested that they take it outside.

She remembered the fit of giggles she'd had as he'd dropped a handful of pennies onto the table and pulled her out of her seat. The way he'd pushed her up against the wall the moment they'd got outside and kissed her again. How he'd told her he'd always be there for her and that he'd never leave her, no matter what happened.

She remembered how they'd driven back to the base in silence, each of them glancing at the other every now and then, almost shyly, until he'd put his hand out and covered hers and she'd felt as if her heart was going to burst right there and then.

She remembered the shock of hearing the siren as they neared the airfield and found it under attack. How they'd both just gone and done their duty. He'd dropped her off at the hospital, and with one last kiss he was driving away.

And she remembered thinking that that might be the last time she ever saw him, and that if he didn't come back then she'd want to die right there alongside him, because how could she live without him?

She remembered. She remembered it all.


-----------------------------------------------------------


Langdon Airbase 2003

"You married him?"

Buffy smiled at the memory. "Your grandfather had a fit when I told him. Wasn't exactly what he had in mind for me. Maybe I should have invited him to the wedding after all? Who knows? Spike's mum was very sweet about it though. I liked Anne."

"Aunty Anne? So that's who she was."

William blew out a long breath as he contemplated his utterly amazing mother. How on earth had she kept this a secret all these years?

"But you'd only known him a week."

Buffy laughed at that and shook her head. "I'd heard stranger than that by the end of the war." She turned to him, her eyes shining and he couldn't tell if the tears were happy or sad. He guessed a mixture of both and fished out a hankie for her.

"Here."

He watched as she dabbed at her eyes and carefully refolded it.

"Thank you William. I just knew, you know? And it's not something you can explain, or rationalise." She turned to him then and looked at him fondly. "Do you remember how you were when you first met Dru? Well, imagine that every time you say good bye, it could be the last you time you see her, every kiss, every touch, it all means so much more when the future is on the line. Concentrates the mind like nothing else."

"But what about Liam? What did you tell him?"

She was quiet for a long moment. "That was hard. I think he thought… well, as I said, it was hard, he didn't deserve it. I think that's part of the reason I married him. I felt I owed him. Does that sound awful?"

"When did you tell him?"

"The same day. There was no point in waiting, I wasn't going to change my mind. He took it so calmly, but I could see how much I'd hurt him. It was a bad raid, and we lost a lot of planes that day, lots of casualties on the ground. There wasn't time to talk."

"But he waited for you didn't he?"

"He did. You know, I was so angry with him at first. It was like he'd just been biding his time, waiting for Spike to die so he could step in. But no," She placed her hand on William's arm as he opened his mouth in shock. "It wasn't like that. I just needed someone to take it out on, and he was so patient with me."

"He loved us, mum."

"I know. I know, and I did love him, in a way."

"But not like Spike?"

"No. son. Not like Spike. Never like Spike."


----------------------------------------------------------------------


Town Hall, Langdon, July 1940

Buffy blinked as she walked out of the Town Hall into the bright sunlight. She stared at the people walking by, pushing past her as they walked through the doorway. So many people, going about their lives, each with a story to tell.

Nobody noticed them as they walked arm in arm down the steps onto the pavement. A few turned and smiled as Spike picked her up and whirled her round, making her shriek with delight.

But no one knew. Not really.

All they saw was yet another couple coming out of the Registry Office. Two young people in love starting out on their married life. They might have seen the hope and expectation on their faces as they contemplated their futures together, the excitement of getting married in wartime, as so many were doing. But no one saw how much she really loved this man that she'd know for such a short time. No one could possibly see that if she loved him for the rest of her life, it wouldn't be enough.

She laughed out loud and caught her breath as he set her down, kissed the best man as he excused himself because he had to get back to the base. Watched Spike shake his friend's hand as he turned to go, and then it was just the two of them. Alone in the crowd.

She looked up at Spike who was standing with the sun at his back, his hair shining like a halo, a huge grin on his face as he reached out and caressed her face.

"So, how does it feel?"

Buffy leaned into his hand, covering it with her own., and then caught hold of it and brought it to her lips, kissing his fingertips, one after the other, because she already knew he liked that.

"Weird, wonderful, I mean, Buffy Giles. It sounds strange."

She lifted her left hand and inspected the ring. "Mrs. Buffy Giles…Oh Spike."

"Heck, you're not going to start crying again are you?" He fished a large hankie out of his uniform pocket and handed it to her, watching her fondly as she blew her nose.

"Never seen anyone cry so much at a wedding. Especially their own."

"I always cry at weddings, and I can't believe we just did that. My dad's going to kill me."

"You're not regretting it are you?"

"No way, come here. I've missed you so much."

"Well, I've been busy fighting a war, but God, I missed you too. Kept thinking you were going to change your mind."

"Hey, you've got me for life, got the ring to prove it."

She held her hand up once more, squinting at the ring in the sunshine, then looking at him, her husband. A month ago she didn't even know he existed and now he was her husband. The man she was going to spend the rest of her life with, whose bed she was going to share, whose children she was going to have, and all those other things that married people do.

He dipped his head for another kiss and she lost herself in the slow, delicious sensation of his hot mouth covering hers, and suddenly she couldn't wait a moment longer. It had been three weeks. Three weeks of trying to remember his face, reliving that first kiss, snatched conversations on the telephone. Three weeks of wondering what it would feel like when he made love to her. Three weeks to work herself into a frenzy of wanting him so much that she thought that she wasn't going to survive it.

And three weeks of worrying that he wasn't going to come back.

Always worrying, even now that she had him here in her arms, she still couldn't quite believe that he'd made it this far. The battle was heating up, and the odds weren't good, and she needed him to make love to her right now.

But he was leading her across the street, weaving them in and out of the traffic, opening the door of the small photographic studio.

"Gotta get a picture of this. Something to show the kids."

It's funny how things stick in your mind, things that seem inconsequential at the time. Things that are going to mean so much in years to come because they remind you of times you can never have back.

For Buffy it was the bell. The insistent tinkling of the bell over the door as Spike swung it back and forth, trying to attract the attention of the old man, who was perched precariously on a ladder, sorting through boxes on a high shelf.

She remembered how worried she'd been that he was going to fall off, and how Spike and her had both started giggling as the old man had steadfastly ignored them, even when the actual photographer had come in and taken their picture.

Pictures done, they made their way back to the old Land Rover which was about as far from a wedding car as you could get, stopping off to buy flowers from an old gypsy woman on a street corner. She'd taken Buffy's hand and insisted on reading her fortune, and just for a split second Buffy been hit by such a wave of panic that she though she was going to be sick.

She didn't want to know, whatever was going to happen would happen. The future was a far away place and the here and now was the only thing that was real. But the woman had insisted, holding her firmly and scanning her hand, then quietly giving it back to her. The smile had been a bit too bright when she'd told them they would have a long and happy life together, and she'd refused to take any money from them for the flowers. It had spoiled the day a little, and Spike had sensed it as they walked back to their vehicle, drawing her into his arms, and squeezing her tightly as he held her.

"Hey, Mrs.Giles, what's up?"

"Nothing Spike, I'm good."

She slid her arms around him, thinking how wonderful it was to be here doing this with him. Even in the middle of a busy street he had the knack of making her feel that they were the only two people in the world. And when he kissed her she didn't care who looked because as she'd thought before, nobody could see what was really happening.

All they saw was two people kissing. No one saw the way her skin tingled and prickled even before he'd touched her, no one saw how blue his eyes were when you were this close, or the shadows his eyelashes made on his face. No one saw how perfect this all was.

They broke the kiss and Spike opened the door for her, slipping something into her hand as he did so. She looked down at the small, velvet covered box and then at him.

He nodded at her to open it. "A wedding present. It's not much, thought we could get some pictures for it."

She pulled out the locket, threading the silver chain through her fingers as she held it up, tears threatening once more.

"Bloody hell Spike, what are you trying to do to me, where's that handkerchief?"

He handed it to her, bending anxiously to look into her face. "You do like it?"

"God, Spike, I love it. It's perfect, you're perfect. This is just too much."

She turned so he could put it on her, wiping at her eyes and composing herself because she could see that all this crying was starting to worry him. She'd lied earlier when she'd said she always cried at weddings. She never had in her life, before now.

Looking back on her life, she thought that if she had to pick moments that she could define as the happiest, then the two of them standing on that busy street, him fastening the locket around her neck, and teasing her gently about all the tears would have to be one of them. She felt so close to him just then, not just physically but deep inside, he was there, and she knew he always would be.

As he steered the Land Rover into the stream of traffic she noticed the keys on the dashboard, picked them up and turned them in her hand.

"Rented us a cottage, love. Bit of a slum, really, but got it dirt-cheap. Farmer says we can do it up."

"A cottage?"

"Yeah. Don't go thinking it's one of those chocolate box affairs you Americans believe we all live in. There are no roses round the door, but you could plant some if you like. I'll get you a bike, so you can get to the hospital, and I'll have to live at the base while I'm on call, but it'll be ours. And I get to carry you over the threshold. What do you say?"

She almost didn't recognise her voice when she finally answered him. Low and a little husky from all the tears, it reflected just what she was feeling at that moment.

"I'd say, get me there fast, Spike. I really, want you."

"You got me love."

"No, I want you to make love to me. I really, really want you to make love to me."

He'd flashed her a grin then, and put his foot flat down and it was a miracle they'd actually got there in one piece. It was the days before speed cameras and traffic cops on every corner, and the Land Rover, ancient as it was, wasn't even capable of moving very fast, but by the time they got to the cottage, they were both nearly hysterical with laughter.

Spike had leapt out and pulled her into his arms, swinging her high into the air and running up the path with her. She'd fumbled with the key, and then he'd stopped and stepped over the threshold slowly and carefully, letting her slide down his body as he released her, starting a kiss that had lasted until they'd got up the steep, cottage stairs and into the tiny bedroom.

Some one had put fresh linens on the old brass bed, which creaked and groaned as they flopped on to it, laughing again as it wobbled dangerously. And then she was opening the buttons of his uniform, slowly and deliberately, looking him in the eye as she did so. Trying to look sexy. And succeeding, if the look he was giving her was anything to go by.

Spike in a uniform. Every woman's fantasy, but Spike out of a uniform? Well, she was just about to find out. The jacket hit the floor, followed by his shirt and tie, and then it was her turn as his fingers closed over the buttons of her blouse. And she lay back and sighed, because after this, he'd have had everything she had to give, and she'd be well and truly his forever.

Chapter 5


Langdon 2003


"Oh, see now, I've made you cry. Here, hankie or tissue?"

Buffy pushed the handkerchief into William's hand, opening his fingers, closing his hand around it, watching him as he wiped at his eyes, and avoided hers.

"It's not a sad story, not really. We laughed a lot, Will. It was either that or cry, and Spike wasn't the crying kind."

"He looks so much like me."

William stared at the photo. His mum and dad on their wedding day. He had a picture of his mum and dad on their wedding day, or so he thought. Now the man he'd always thought was his dad suddenly wasn't and this man was. And Spike was so like him, they could have been clones.

"You're cross with me, aren't you? Here, let me…" Buffy reached for the hand but William moved it away, his eyes still on the photograph.

"No, of course not, and don't fuss mother, I'm not five years old any more."

"You are cross with me, I don't blame you, but please try to understand how it was. I was just so empty after he died that I sort of locked the memory away somewhere deep inside of me, and you were the only thing that kept me going after that."

He let her take his hand as she spoke, calming down a little as he tried to adjust to it all. She'd told him most of the story in the car on the way down, but it wasn't until this moment, when he'd looked at the picture, that it had really started to sink in. This man, holding his mother on her wedding day was his link to the past, not Liam. They looked so happy, and it was as much a shock seeing his mother with another man as it was finding out about his father.

He turned his mother's hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze, forgiving her for keeping this all from him, and she gave him a heartfelt smile in return.

"Thank you Will."

"It's alright, mum. You did what you thought was right, as you've always done. I've never expected anything less of you, because you are the most amazing mother anyone could hope to have."

"Flatterer." Buffy shook her head, still smiling to herself. "You are so much like him."

"I'm sorry I snapped at you, mum. It was just seeing that photo. . ." He looked around then, a small shiver running up his spine. "It was like the past suddenly reaching out to me. Freaked me out a bit, that's all. Bit creepy, this place, should we be getting back?"

"Not yet, son, just a little longer, please?"

"You're looking tired, mum, I really think we should get back."

Buffy looked at her watch. "It's not time yet, love."

"Time for what, mum? Oh." He saw that she was looking at the runway again, and closed his eyes. He had no right being angry with her, she'd borne all of this alone, but she'd made sure he'd had everything. Liam had inherited a considerable fortune, all of which would be his one day. His mother had lived nearly a lifetime with a man she didn't love, and she'd done it for him, all he could do was try and understand, and thank her for it

"Three o'clock. I need to be here at three o' clock."

"Is that when…?"

"Yes love, it is. I just want to be here."

"Then so do I mum."

She went very quiet then, for a long while and just stared across the airfield. She'd said she wasn't going to share everything, so he sat patiently beside her as she continued to relive her memories. He guessed that there came a time in everyone's life where they needed to sort through what they'd done, put things in order, try and make sense of it all.

And he guessed there came a time where you questioned what you'd done and maybe you might come to realise how you'd do things differently another time around, maybe just like his mother was doing now. But the past never came back, not really. And you couldn't change it.

All you could do was live with it.


------------------------------------------------------------


Thatch End Farm Cottage, August 1940


"Looking good, Spike."

"You think?"

"Yeah, I think. You've got hidden talents, love."

Buffy pushed herself into a sitting position and took off her sunglasses. She gazed approvingly at Spike's handiwork and then scrutinised her arm. "Hey, I'm getting my tan back, look Spike."

Spike finished off the last few brushstrokes of whitewash and stood back to inspect his work.

"Definitely an improvement. Looks like we might get our chocolate box after all. How'd it go with your dad?"

"Oh, he's still mad at me, gave me a lecture, you know the usual."

"Do you care?"

"No, yes, just a bit, he is my dad after all. I don't want us to be on bad terms, not now."

Spike put his arm behind his back, hiding the whitewash brush as he sidled over to where Buffy was sunbathing.

"Pass me my shirt would you?"

"What for? I'll only be taking it off you again."

"Is that right, Mrs?"

He was very close now, brush at the ready, as Buffy threw her sunglasses onto the grass and lay down.

"Looking good, Spike."

"I take it we're not talking about house painting any more? Close your eyes, Buffy."

She did as she was told, already feeling the familiar tingling in the pit of her stomach. The way they wanted each other was almost bordering on the ridiculous. She tried to be strict with herself when she was at work, but even then she found herself nipping into the stock cupboard just so she could think about him without any distractions. Or to read one of the poems he'd taken to giving her, especially when he was leaving for duty.

Thoughts of him sustained her through the long days and lonely nights when he was busy fighting for king and country. Nights he should have been with her. Using up time they couldn't afford to waste.

"Hey." She shrieked and rolled over as he dabbed the end of her nose with the paintbrush, pulling him with her, wrestling the brush out of his hand. He didn't put up much of a struggle. He never did.

"Now, what shall I do with this?" She waved it at him, but before she could do any damage it was sailing across the lawn as he rolled her over again and kissed her. And god, this man could kiss. He kissed her like there was no tomorrow, no yesterday, nothing in the world but the two of them.

Do you want someone else to kiss you like that, because no one ever will, you know that, don't you?

I know, Spike, and no one else ever did.

And these were things too private to share with anyone. These memories that made you smile at inappropriate moments and made you ache in the long, lonely nights of your life. Memories that make you feel things you thought you'd never feel again. Memories that haunted you and reminded you of how it was, and how it could have been.

The feel of his lips, the line of his body pressed against hers. Clean, smooth skin, cool and calm. Lying on fresh sheets, taking their time, no hurry, no rush, coming and coming again, drawing it out for so long so that you think you're not going to survive it. Sighs and whispers, please and thank you and I love you and always will. Thinking there can't be any more, and finding that there is.

Or when he'd just come back from duty, all hot and sweaty, stubbled jaw scratching her face because he just couldn't wait. Her back scraping against the rough stone wall, on the kitchen table, wherever they landed. And hot, always so hot, and urgent. No time to think, or ask, or question. Demanding, insisting, taking and giving. Here and now, because that's all there is.

He'd made her as crazy as he was. Because it was the only way to get through this.

"No, wait. Stop, Spike." She pushed him off her and tried to roll away but he caught her again,

"You want me to stop?"

"No, I don't want you to stop, but I've just remembered, the farmer's wife, you know, Tara? Said she'd be calling over with jam."

"You want me to stop for jam?"

"Get off, Spike, she'll see us."

"Then we'd better give her something to look at."

He pinned her down and took his time, made love to her slowly, deliberately, until she was both hysterical with wanting him and worrying that the farmer's wife was going to catch them, doing it right there on the grass in front of the cottage.


---------------------------------------------------------------------


Langdon 2003


"Sometimes I see you so clearly. Do you remember how we laughed when we found the jam sitting on the back doorstep, Spike? I liked Tara, she was so kind. Gave us all that stuff, because we had nothing. Bed-sheets, pots and pans, plates. We only had two cups. I've still got them you know, after all this time, I've still got them."

"Poor as church mice we were."

"But happy mice."

"Yeah, happy mice. I've missed you Buff."

"I know. You came to me with nothing but a boxful of books and a suitcase full of clothes, but you left me with so much. How did we manage to cram so much into so little time?"

"We had passion, love. And we lived it, gave it all, took it all, held nothing back. God, I've missed you."

"I know, I know my love. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go on this long, but Will needed me. You knew what you were doing when you gave me him."

"You did great Buffy, but he doesn't need you any more. Time to let go, love."

"I know, I know…"

"Not long now, soon be three o'clock."

"That time already? Funny, now that it's here, it seems to have all gone so fast."

"Does time mean anything where you are? And will you be cross with me for making you wait so long? So many bloody questions."

"I'm scared, Spike."

"Don't be. Dying's easy. Leaving those we love is the hard bit."


------------------------------------------------------------


"Thatch End Cottage."

"What did you say, Will?"

Buffy forced herself back to the present, focused on the voice, William's voice, not his. But when he spoke to her it seemed so real. She'd never told anyone about these conversations she had with dead people, because no one would have believed her anyway. She'd been walking in two worlds for so long now that there couldn't be anything to be scared about, could there?

"Thatch End Cottage, it's where you lived, isn't it?"

"It is, Will, but I've never told you that."

"Children see a lot more than you think, mum. You used to visit and sit outside, staring at it endlessly."

"But you were so young then. How could you possibly know that?"

"I don't know, it's just there. The name, it's always been there, and now I know why. And you planted that rose, didn't you?"

"Yeah. I never asked where Spike got it from, he just turned up with it soon after we moved in. Kind of an obsession with him, so much so that I used to tell him he loved that rose more than he loved me. It's not there any more, place is some sort of holiday home I think. Farm was sold off about fifteen years ago when the old folks died. Tara was such a sweetie, never had any kids of her own so she sort of adopted us. Always popping round with bags of fruit and vegetables, baskets of eggs, stuff from the farm. Always had time for a cup of tea and a chat."

"Was it lonely, living out there?"

"Kind of, but Anya, irritating as she could be, was a good friend, really. Always made sure to visit when Spike was away. We hooked her up with Xander, he was Spike's best friend. Kind of a shaky start, but they made it to the altar eventually. God, we used to laugh, the four of us. Xan used to make homemade wine, lethal stuff."

William glanced at his watch. "It's almost time, I'm guessing we're getting near to the end of this story?"

"Yes son. Almost time, and the end is near, won't be long now."

"Oh god, mum. This bit's going to be so sad, isn't it? I don't know if I can bear to hear it."

"Shall I stop then?"

"No, you need to tell it. Spike would have wanted me to know, wouldn't he?"

"He would, Will, and thanks for listening. These stories need telling because they validate our existence, you know? No man is an Island, that's from a poem too, and whoever wrote it was right. We are what we are because of the people around us, they touch us and leave a mark. Some fade, but others stay as fresh as the day they were made. Some heal, but others burn for the rest of our lives. I realise that now, and I never should have kept this from you." She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed deeply.

"This story should have been told a long time ago. I'm so sorry, Spike."


-------------------------------------------------------------


Thatch End, September 1940

"Get on the bloody bike."

"No way, Spike, you're too drunk, we'll fall off."

"Look here, Mrs., I'm a bloody fighter pilot, I think I know how to drive a bike."

"You don't drive a bike, you ride it."

"Well, thank you Anya, I never would have known that if you hadn't told me."

"You're welcome, Spike. Oops."

"Grab her, Xan, she'd fallen in the ditch again."

"Anya, what are you doing down there?"

"Sleeping, what the hell do you think I'm doing? Pull me out."

"Your command is my wish. No, that's not right. Er, I wish you were my commander, er…"

"Xander, pull me out."

"Only if you'll marry me."

"No way, you'll have to do better than that, Xander Harris."

"S'not fair, it worked when Spike did it."

"Well, Buffy wasn't bothered about expensive jewellery and dirty weekends in five star hotels, or she wouldn't have married Spike, would she?"

"Are you saying you'll have sex with me if I take you away for the weekend?"

"Only if it's a five star hotel."

"You're on. Spike, you'll do my weekend shift, won't you?"

"No problem, mate."

"Oh no. Spike, that's three in a row. It's not fair, tell him Anya. You can wait, can't you?"

"Aww, come on, Buffy, Anya's going to have sex with me. You wouldn't want me to die before Anya had had sex with me, would you?"

"I don't want anyone to die, Xander, that's not the point. We had things planned for this weekend. Spike?"

"Hey, look at me, no hands. It's okay, Buff, Xan can owe me big time for this."

"It's not okay, I hardly see you as it is, tell him it's not okay."

"Buffy, he's covered for me loads of times, I can't say no."

"Yes you can, you would if you loved me."

"Hell, come back, Buff, where are you going?"


------------------------------------------------------

It's funny how the world turns on such small things. Roads we take, decisions we make. No matter how small and inconsequential, they all make a difference in some way. Some change the world a lot, others just a little…

-------------------------------------------------------


"Come back, Buffy, where are you going?"

Spike pedalled rather unsteadily down the dark lane, wishing now that he hadn't had that last glass of wine. It was pretty revolting stuff, but it was alcohol, and it was free. He wasn't looking forward to the hangover he was going to have tomorrow morning, though. Xander's wine was famous for that. Perhaps he should have been like Buffy and not drunk anything tonight? That's why she was being so unreasonable about this, she was just too sober to realise that Xander needed to have sex with Anya or he was going to burst. Perhaps it was a guy thing? And where the hell had she got to?

He found her sitting on a rock at the side of the small river that ran through the valley. Her hair shining in the pale moonlight, her back to him. All stiff and still angry, he could tell that much from where he was. And he didn't like it one bit. They weren't supposed to argue, they were in love. Arguments were for people who hated each other, oh god, that must mean she hated him.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time to ride the bike across the field. You have good ideas when you're drunk, and you have arguments with your wife, and she runs away from you, and she never speaks to you again. And then you fall off your bike because you're too drunk to notice how bumpy the ground is.

"Buffy, I fell off the bike."

"Good."

"I think I've hurt myself."

"Good."

He sat up and rubbed his head, where he'd clonked it on a stone. Stupid stone. And she still hadn't turned around. When the world stopped spinning he'd go and talk to her, tell her how much he loved her and how she wasn't to hate him because Xander was his best mate, and you had to stand by best mates. Especially when they wanted to have sex with their girlfriends.

"Buffy."

"Go away."

He stood up and walked unsteadily towards her angry back, reaching out a hand and touching her hair. She was shaking.

"Buffy?"

"I said go away, I'm not speaking to you."

"Are you crying?"

"Yes."

"Why, love? Xan'll make it up to me and we've got the whole of our lives in front of us. It's just two days, let me do this for him?"

He fished in his pocket, brought out a hankie and dabbed at the corner of his eye, it came away streaked with blood. "Ouch, look what I've done."

She didn't want to look, he could see her trying not to, but she did. She didn't want to look alarmed at the blood either, but her eyes widened ever so slightly as she glanced at the hankie, then at his head. She folded her hands together to stop herself helping him, but he could see them twitching as he handed it to her.

"Would you?"

She sighed, and so did he as she took the hankie from him. Her hands were light and gentle as she pushed back his hair and pressed the hankie onto the wound, and the tears that had shone in her eyes made haphazard tracks down her cheeks as they fell, unchecked.

And his heart ached so badly just then, because he'd done that to her.

"I'll tell him I won't do it. He'll survive, or find someone else to cover, heck, he's done enough favours for people. Flown more hours than most, has Xan."

She closed her eyes for a moment, then she scooted across to his waiting arms, the stiffness softening as she relaxed against him, slipped her arms around his back, leaned her cheek against his shirt, and suddenly it was all okay again.

"No, Spike, it's alright. I'm sorry."

"So am I, love. I'll tell him when we get back."

"No, do it, I don't mind. You're right, he's been a good friend."

She had another look at his head then, and he sat very still as she worked, following her movements with his eyes. It was a big responsibility loving someone this much, and not one he'd taken lightly. Once he'd said the words he was there for life. Spike didn't do things by halves.

"We need to put something on that love, don't want it going septic."

"You want to get back then?" He started to get up but she pulled him down again, holding on to his sleeve, her face holding an emotion he couldn't fathom.

"Not yet, Spike. I need to tell you something." A small hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth but her eyes held nothing but anxiety, as if she had both good and bad news at the same time.

"What is it?" He tilted his head to look at her, not really worried, because she didn't look that sad, more as if she didn't think he was going to like what she was going to say.

"I was going to tell you this weekend. Bought a bottle of proper wine and everything to celebrate."

"Is it your birthday? God, I'm sorry Buff…"

"I'm pregnant Spike. We're going to have a baby."


--------------------------------------------------------------


She hadn't been sure about it, didn't know how he'd react. What if he didn't want a baby? They were young and there was a war on. The worst possible time to have a child, but she knew they hadn't been careful enough to avoid this. This was the inevitable downside to wild, spontaneous sex and she'd only missed one period, but she was fairly sure.

The timing was bad, but also sweetly poetic, and she knew exactly what he was going to say.

"Good." He spoke quietly, but he sounded as if he meant every word. "Now you have a reason to go on."

"You'll see him, Spike, you will."

"Him? I hope so, Buff, I hope so."

He groped for her in the semi-darkness, pulling her to him, but it was her holding him, trying to tell him without words that everything was going to be okay. Pretending, lying, reassuring him with promises that weren't hers to make.

As she held him close and told him everything he needed to hear, she wondered who would hold her when the time came.

The mood shifted subtly as it always did when they were within touching distance. She could feel the electric tingling off him as he leaned against her, his chest rising and falling as he breathed her in. Hands sliding over clothes, reaching for buttons. Warm breath heating her skin. Hard clay soil scratching her back as he lay her down. The sharp acrid taste of Xander's wine mixed with the taste of him. A slow, slide into ecstasy.

Every time they did this she was more aware of what she had to lose, clung to him more tightly, went places she didn't know existed.

And every time they did this, it was harder to come back.

She just wanted to stay there, him buried deep inside her, that almost painful look on his face, as they lost themselves in something so good that all they could do was cry out at the wonder of it all. Her name, his name, over and over, as if they were magic words that would keep them anchored to that spot forever.

And in the background she could hear the splashing and gurgling of the river as it moved relentlessly on, like time, stopping for no one. And she held him more tightly and kissed him more deeply, her hands twisting his shirt as she clung to him, and tried to make it stop, just for a little while.

Oh yes, he knew what he was doing when he gave me you, Will.


---------------------------------------------------------


I used to watch you get dressed. Lying in bed in the morning, watching, always with a sinking heart as you turned into Flight Lieutenant William Giles. You used to love it, didn't you? The thrill of it all, the excitement of battle, the adrenaline rush, all those manly things. But I could see you didn't any more.

You had too much to lose now.

You always sat on the bed just before you left, held my hand, asked me what I'd be doing, whether I was working. Talked about maybe seeing a film, going to the pub when you came off duty. All those normal things married couples do.

The baby wasn't much of a reality yet, we both knew it was early days and that anything could happen, but it seemed to calm you down. You were very quiet for the few days after I told you, and you never really told me what you were thinking. You never got the chance, did you?

That morning you came back, something you'd never done before. Flashed me that grin of yours as I waved you goodbye from the bedroom window, next thing I knew we were both back on the bed going at it like rabbits, you still in your flight jacket, the fur collar tickling my face.

Then you swung your rucksack onto your back and you left.

And I just lay on the bed, too relaxed after what we'd just done to get up and wave to you again. And by the time I realised that I should, you were just turning into that bend in the lane.

You didn't look back. And it was the last time I ever saw you.


----------------------------------------------------------------


Buffy looked at the clock, heard the sound of the Land Rover pulling up in the lane. Stopped by the mirror, patted her hair, checked her make-up. Took a sip from her half finished glass of wine as she flung open the door.

"Xander?" She peered around him, frowning, wondering what he was doing here when he should be in a five star hotel having sex with Anya.

He just stood there on the doorstep, not moving, not saying anything. It didn't take her long to realise why. She stepped back, the wine-glass slipping from her hand as she asked him the question that she already knew the answer to.

"Xander, where's Spike?"

Chapter 6


Langdon 2003


"It was a long time before the world came into focus again. I sat in a kind of fog that, looking back, I can see lasted for years. At first it was black, just like night, then very slowly, starting with your birth Will, there was a tiny speck of light, and I started seeing faces again, and recognising names and places. And hearing what people were saying. You and Liam got me through that, I don't know what I'd have done without you two."

She did, though. She'd always known exactly what she'd have done if she hadn't been pregnant.

And William seemed to know it too. He opened his mouth to speak but she stopped him.

"Yes, I did resent being pregnant, I did resent that you stopped me from following him, but when I first saw you William, well, you're a father, you know, don't you?"

"You wouldn't have done it, would you?"

"If I hadn't been pregnant? Yes, I would have."

"Mum…"

"No, Will. There's not a lot left to say. Apart from this, I've always made sure I said it all, that's one thing the war taught us. I've always told you how much I loved you. I got that right, didn't I?"

"Mum, it's alright, really it is, you couldn't have loved me more. You must have known how much of a shock this would all be, though. Think I've coped quite well, considering."

"You have, Will, but that's just you, isn't it. . ."

He was right, she couldn't have loved him more. He wasn't just her son, he was her link to Spike, a constant reminder of what Spike looked like, a small glimpse of how Spike would have changed if he'd had the chance to age alongside her. William was both her anchor to this world, and her window to the other one.

"It was over there." She pointed to the far edge of the field. "There was a damaged plane trying to land, clipped Spike's wing as he was coming in. They both went down. I was on my way home from the hospital, might have even heard it. I used to spend hours just lying still and trying to remember every detail of that journey home. You just got used to it after a while, all the noise, the explosions. I might have heard it, I'll never know. Xander never forgave himself."

"Finish the story mum."

"I will, son. I need to say something about Liam, because he was a hero in his own way too. There were lots of quiet heroes in that war, working away in the background, largely unsung. And I wasn't the only one to lose someone. Everyone you met had a story to tell, a son, a father, someone who'd died. Courage isn't just about facing the enemy head on without flinching. It doesn't have to be noisy and obvious. All those mothers and wives who gave their loved ones without question, then had to go on without them were every bit as brave as those who did the fighting.

Liam did join up eventually. I think he felt guilty, maybe he thought it would make me love him, I don't know, but he survived it. We lived with his parents at the mansion in Devon. I'd never realised quite how rich they were until I saw that place."

She stopped talking for a moment, her thoughts drifting back. The future called to her, but the past still had such an irresistible pull. Sometimes she didn't even have to think about it, it was just there, surrounding her. The sights, the sounds, sometimes they were so real that she thought she was losing her mind. Liam had got her to the best doctors, but the most they could offer was that she was suffering panic attacks. Maybe they were right. But the past had never left her alone, so much so that she'd never really lived in the present.

"Do you remember the small graveyard they had there? You found your name on one of the graves and you kept telling me it was you. You couldn't understand it was a different William who'd lived a long time ago."

"I know mum. There was just something about that particular grave. Don't know what it was. Maybe it was just the name. Have you decided what you want to do with the place?"

"Since the fire, no. I'll leave that up to you. But Liam did love us both, and we should thank him for that."


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What can I say about you Liam? I never loved you properly, you know that. But I did love you in a way. You deserved a medal for the way you stood by and took everything I threw at you. And all your life you had to stand and be compared to Spike, and know that you'd always be found wanting. People talked, didn't they? About the indecent haste with which I married you after Spike died. They said I married you for your money, and they weren't far wrong. Does that make me very wicked?

You know, I can't even remember our wedding day. All I have of it are pictures of blurred shapes in my mind, moving around me, coming in and out of focus. Scattered conversations, the clink of glasses, the flash of the photographer's camera.

I thought it was all a dream, and that I was going to wake up, my heart racing and find Spike asleep beside me. And I used to dream that Spike had died and that I'd married you, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn't wake up from it. And for a long while I didn't know which one was dream and which was reality.

I need to forgive you, Liam. Forgive you for catching me when I was at my most vulnerable. Forgive you for the way you wouldn't give up, even though you knew I didn't really want to marry you, and forgive you for not being Spike.

And you need to forgive me for never really appreciating what you did for me. I think you already did that, though. You were always more generous than I was.


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"Mother, mum?"

"William?"

"Hey, I think you fell asleep for a moment, it's nearly three o' clock."

"Three o' clock?"

"You wanted to be here for three o'clock, remember?"

William watched his mother blink several times. She really did look tired now, and her voice was fading, almost as if it was too much of an effort to speak. He glanced at his watch again, anxiously wishing three o'clock would come, so he could get her home. She took a deep breath, as if she was gathering up all her reserves and then she hugged him surprisingly tightly for one so small. It made him smile and warmed his heart. She'd always been so strong, a fighter. After Liam's parents had died, she'd taken on the family business at a time when women weren't supposed to do those sorts of thing, and she'd built herself a reputation that was second to none.

"Oh yes, I remember now." She stayed where she was, leaning against him, a reassuring warmth as she'd always been to him.

"I remember it all, Will, and there's only one small part of this story left to tell, then I'm going to say my goodbyes. Is that okay?"

"It's fine, mum, you don't have to ask."

"I know son, I just can't help it. You'll always be that little boy with his socks around his ankles and the skinned knees, running to me for a hug and a kiss. It's a mommy thing. Doesn't matter how old you are, I always worry about you."

"I know that too."


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Fast forward the years. Rewind them. If we could watch a film of our lives, which bits would we skip? And which bits would we watch so much, we'd wear out the tape? Rewind the happy bits, fast forward the tears, pause here and there, remember, forget.

Laugh at the clothes we wore, cry for the people no longer here. Be envious of all that youth and energy, long gone. Marvel at how we made it through. Wonder why we need so much today to make us happy. We were happy then, and we had nothing but each other.

Babies crying, children laughing, awkward youth, wedding bells, proud parents.

Peace, a different world, men on the moon. War, always more war. Did we learn nothing?

Too young to be a grandparent. First grey hair, wrinkles.

Looking in the mirror and seeing your mother.

And here we are, at last. How many years has it been, Spike? Too many. You always said I kept you waiting, and I did didn't I?

But you'll forgive me, won't you?


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As she fell silent against him, William contemplated this amazing woman, who he was more than proud to call mum. So many hopes and dreams. So much love. It had sustained her for a lifetime. That wonderful thing she'd had with Spike.

"You should have told me mum." He whispered it quietly, not really wanting her to hear. He thought he understood now, why she hadn't wanted to share it. It was just too precious a memory to give any of it away, even to him.

"But I wish you had mum. I would have kept it safe for you." He stroked her hair as she slept, realising for the first time how small and fragile she'd become. He knew she was old, but she was his mum. Just as she still saw him as a little boy, when he looked at her, he saw the smiling yellow-haired beauty that he remembered from his childhood. Remembered how happy he'd always felt that she was his mum and no one else's. And now, suddenly, she was little and hardly there, as if giving away her memories had somehow robbed her of the energy that had kept her going all this time.

Giving away? Don't you mean sharing? he corrected himself.

He shifted positions to look at her and that was when he started to realise that she wasn't asleep, and that she had been giving away her memories after all.

She'd passed them on to him because she didn't need them any more.

He kissed the top of his mother's head, feeling his hands start to shake as the realisation sunk in. "So like you, mum. So fiercely protective of the things you love. And thanks, I'm honoured that you gave them to me. I will keep them alive for you, but I'm not going to keep them to myself. Oh no. I'm going to tell them. Joyce and Hank, they deserve to know about their granddad. Don't you think? And the great-grandchildren, are they going to understand all this? It all happened so long ago."

He closed his eyes and let the tears come.

Another time, another world. A single event that changed so many lives. If only we could turn back time. If Spike had known he was going to die that day, would he still have gone. If he'd had the choice? Would he have still got on that plane and flown out in defence of his country?

"Yes I would, son. We all just did what we had to do. Every one of us."

"Dad?"

"Yeah, it's me son. Let me take her."

William kept his eyes closed but he could still see him.

The bleached hair, the blue eyes, the uniform. Just as he was in the photograph.

"Shouldn't I do something, call an ambulance? Maybe she's still..."

"No son. Let her go. It's time." Spike gave a small laugh. "She's kept me waiting long enough. Always liked to keep me waiting. Let me take her."

William hesitated for a moment, his eyes still closed, wondering if he was maybe dreaming this, then he felt for his mother's hand and gently placed it into Spike's outstretched one. She still leaned against him, but it didn't feel like her anymore and he knew then that he wasn't dreaming, and that she'd really gone. Not to a better place. Just a different one.

"Don't worry son. She knew it was her time."

Spike turned to go, raising his hand to his head in a final salute. "Get to take this bloody uniform off at last. Come on love, I've missed you."

William couldn't see who Spike was talking to as his image started to shimmer and fade. He wrapped his arms around his mother, holding her close, and said his private goodbyes to them both.

"Glad I got to meet you at last, dad," he whispered to the retreating figure. "And look after her. She's fussy you know. Like's everything just so."

"Didn't you mum?" He buried his face in the hair that had been as blonde as corn-silk and let it mop up his tears. As she'd always done. And when he looked up again he could have sworn he saw two figures walking into the horizon. A small blonde and a taller one. Two special people who deserved to be together at last.

Wiping at his eyes, he peered into the distance, but there was nothing there. Just an old sheet of newspaper flapping and blowing across the runway that had seen so much drama, so much laughter and so many tears. All so long ago.

He sat for a long while crying and holding her, then he got out his phone and called for the ambulance that she didn't need any more, because he didn't know what else to do.

What do you do at times like these?

You go home and you re-live happy memories. You look at the photos and give thanks. Thanks for all the good times, and maybe for the not so good times too. They all count really. All teach us things that we need to know, and help us on our way. And whether you share them or not, the important thing is that you have them, and that you honour them for what they are. Little footprints in time, all of us together building a pathway to eternity.

Keep your memories in a book or in a box under the bed. Keep them in your head and keep them in your heart. Keep them in all the places you've ever been and in all the people you've ever known.

Don't let them be dimmed by the passing of time

Just keep them.

The End.