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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.


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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.


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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."


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"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."


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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?"


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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…

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"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."


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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.


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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.


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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?"





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