[Reviews - 814]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 5029 times

- Text Size +




Later they lay facing each other in bed, with only the moonlight shining in as their light. Buffy had told her parents she was going out with friends and would not be home that night . . . and it'd probably extend to the following night if William had any say. Currently they were clothed in their pj's. Course, William's pj's consisted of being shirtless, but that was fine as far as Buffy was concerned. Her boyfriend was pretty to look at.

Their heads on resting on their respective pillows, one arm curled under their pillows and their hands linked in the center, they just lay there, talking.

"Did you always want to be an attorney?" Buffy asked.

He smiled, "Yes. Mostly because I liked the idea of having power."

She giggled and rolled her eyes, "Why does that not surprise me? What did your parents do?"

"Well, my mum died when I was thirteen."

She squeezed his hand, "I'm sorry William."

He smiled, "Thanks."

"What was she like?"

"She was very kind and very patient…which she had to be dealing with my father."

"So he's difficult? Do you see him often?"

"When I take trips to England."

"Do you do that often?"

He chuckled, "You're just full of questions tonight."

She blushed slightly. "I want to know things about you Will."

"I'm teasing. I don't mind. I told you, you can ask me anything."

"So tell me about your Dad."

"He's an artist. What they would call a ‘starving' artist when my parents first got together and for a long time until after my mother passed away. They were living on the Dole, which isn't all that much until his art work took off."

"Oohh, an artist. Is that what made you take it up?"

"Yes and no. I fought against it for a long time. I saw how he struggled and how my mother took odd jobs to make ends meet. He was your typical temperamental artist."

"How long were your parents together before you were born?"

He grinned, "My mum was four months pregnant with me when they married. Before that, they'd been together for six months."

"Wow!" Buffy's eyes widened.

William smiled gently, "When you know, you know," he told her softly.

She averted her eyes to their joined hands and continued. "So, what sorts of jobs did she take up?"

"Mostly she took care of the kids in the neighborhood. She became a second mother of sorts to them."

"Did that make you jealous?"

"Little bit, I won't lie. She was a loved woman. She kept us upstanding citizens. My father was kind of a loner so he was barely seen out and about. He was always tucked away making his masterpieces."

"How did she die, Will?" Buffy asked softly.

"Aneurysm. My father and I had gone to an art gallery to see if they'd take his work and when we got home, she was on the floor in the kitchen…" his voice trailed off and Buffy squeezed his hand and kissed the top of it.

"I'm sorry, William. I won't ask you anymore if you don't want me to."

"It's okay, Buffy. It was a long time ago. It's just hard to relive it," he assured her.

"Had the gallery taken your fathers work?"

"No, and for a long time I blamed him for her death, thinking if we'd been there it wouldn't have happened."

"Did you ever tell him that?"

"Yes. I became quite the rebel in my teenage days."

"Oh?"

"We'll save that for another time," he chuckled.

Buffy pouted slightly and then when she saw he wasn't going to relent, she plowed ahead.

"So then what happened?"

William sighed, "Well, after that, he decided it was time to leave altogether and so we took up what little we had and moved here. It seemed the move was just what he needed for he was nabbed almost immediately here by a gallery. His prints are sold in a catalogue they put out, the originals now being in the London branch of the gallery he started out at here. When I started college, he moved back, setting me up financially from the money my mother had and the money he had earned from his work."

"Did he encourage you to be an attorney?"

"He did. He didn't want the same struggles for me that he had."

"When did you start painting?"

"While I was in law school."

She smiled, "You waited a long time huh?"

He chuckled, "I did. And when I started, I found it to be a release."

"Has your father seen your work?"

"He has seen a few the few times he's come up."

"What does he say about them?"

"He likes them. He tries to tell me that I could make it just like he did, but I but I guess I'm too chicken to try it. Plus, it's not important to me to be successful in my art. I do it for the release and the fun of it."

"So you really like being an attorney then?"

"I like it better than I did in the beginning," he said thoughtfully. "It took a lot of hard work to get where I am now. I'm in a good place now."

"So tell me about this rebel phase."

He grinned, "You won't let that go will you?"

"I'm like a dog with a bone, Will," she said and grinned cheekily.

He sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp. "I'll do better than tell you. I have some photos." And he got up from the bed and went to his closet. Buffy sat up against the head board excitedly, pulling the covers up to her waist and waiting patiently for William to return.

When he returned with a thick black plain photo album, she grabbed for it immediately.


He swatted at her hands playfully, "Just hold on Grabby."

She giggled, "I'm excited. I want to see what you were like!"

He laughed and scooted in next to her, placing the album between their close knit bodies so that it rested on both their laps. He opened it and pointed to a photo of a bunch of teenagers wearing all black. Some had safety pins adorned on them somewhere, all of them wore black eyeliner and most wore leather as part of their black attire.

She stared at the picture, taking it in, thinking that she would probably run the other way if she saw a group of them in a dark alley. She quickly berated herself for being so close-minded, but basing it on looks alone, they did look menacing. In that particular picture they were poised outside on a park bench. Some poised on the bench seat, others on the back and a couple on the ground. None smiled.

"Where are you ---" then she stopped, having finally found him. She wouldn't have guessed his hair would be a slicked back shocking platinum blond. She gaped at him and brought the album closer, studying him. Black leather pants, black t-shirt, black duster and a silver necklace with black eyeliner.

"Will?"

"Yeah?" he sounded almost nervous. She looked up at him and was surprised to find him actually really nervous about her reaction. She grinned. "You're freaking hot, Will."

"Back then it was Spike."

"Spike?"

"It was a nickname I got."

"How?"

"Not sure exactly. Could have been my affinity for sharp objects."

She laughed, "Not at all scary. Do you still have that affinity?"

He shook his head, "No. After I got this," he pointed to the scar on his eyebrow, "I gave up playing with knives."

"Did you get in a knife fight?"

"Yeah, got in a fight with a friend who was at the time, drunk off his ass. I tried to take his keys and he swiped my own knife from me. He was a violent drunk. I tried to take it from him, we toppled to the ground and," he pointed to the scar again. "I decided after that I didn't need to carry one with me anymore."

"I don't know. . . you ever walk through Southie at night?"

William laughed, "All the time when I was in my rebel phase."

She smiled up at him, "So what can I do to get you to do your hair like that again?"

"You like that?" he balked.

"Yep, I do. Not that I don't love the way it is now though. . . Spike."

He grinned saucily. "Have to maintain appearances, luv. Not a punk anymore. I'm an upscale attorney now."

Buffy pouted, knowing it made him melt.

"Don't you start, little girl," he reprimanded her lightly, pointing at her. Then,

"How about I dress up for you some night instead and we go out? I still have the duster and still own mostly black."

She grinned, "Could you? I'll even dress up too. You can take me to your old haunts."

"I'd like that," he said softly, beaming at her.

"Now tell me about your friends. Have you kept in touch with any of them?"

"I haven't."

"Tell me about them and the kinds of things you did."

William launched into story telling of his past and Buffy listened intently, sucking up everything he told her. She'd learned from listening to his stories that he was quite a loyal friend. There was a sense of longing in his voice as he talked of his old friends and Buffy found herself encouraging him to look them up and reconnect. When the album had been gone through and put to the side of the bed, they snuggled back under the covers. Buffy's eyelids were heavy as William cradled her close in his arms, running a hand up and down her back.

"I like it when you tell me things," Buffy murmured sleepily, her eyes shutting.

"I'll tell you anything you want to know, Princess."

She smiled weakly, "Good. I want to know everything."

"I want to know everything about you too, Buffy."

"You already know everything."

"Not all of it. I want more."

"Okay. Not now. Sleep now."

"Good night, Buffy."

"Good night, Spike."

She heard him chuckle as she started to fade out fast, and she could have sworn she heard him whisper ‘I love you' just as she completely lost consciousness, but she wasn't sure.





You must login (register) to review.