Who had taken advantage of whom? Had William taken advantage of her, or was it she that had taken advantage of him? And was it possible that one had taken advantage of the other since they’d consented…at some point, they’d consented.
She hadn’t wanted it; she couldn’t have, not like that. It was why she wept. It was why she was now pushing at him and telling him to let her go.
But he wouldn’t.
He held onto her, for leaving her was what she
expected him to do. He wouldn’t let her go to deal with
this alone. She was a novice to the world of sex and all
the games lovers could play upon each other. She
didn’t even know that she’d just played one herself,
the deadliest one of them all: Making sex be love and
thinking that was enough. It wasn’t. Not for him, and
he’d be damned if he let her think that it was. He
wasn’t sure what was going on in her mind, and he
knew she wasn’t going to tell him. Not for a while
anyway. He’d get it out of her though, eventually. That
was one thing Buffy understood, but still seemed to
underestimate about him: He got what he wanted,
inevitably. No matter how long he had to wait for it. He
imagined it was the patience he had. He could wait
anyone out. Sure, he seemed the most impatient of
them all, but when it came to that which he most
desired, he could wait for an eternity for it.
And now, he wanted Buffy, and for an eternity he would
wait for her. He would hold on, just like this. Hold her,
comfort her, dry her tears, assuage her fears and
battle the demons of her mind if it meant that one day,
she’d feel whole and not less than she what she was, and if it meant that one day, she’d love him as well.
He felt dirty; sick. He should have stopped her, and he didn’t. He was weak, and now he had to be strong. For her.
“Let go of me!” she screamed, pushing with all her might at him. She was weakening though. Exhaustion was creeping in, and emotion was weakening her as well.
“No,” he said firmly.
Now she was pleading, having given up the fight. “Please, William, please let me go. Just let me go, please.”
“No,” he told her.
She was sobbing in his arms, and his only inclination
was that he needed to hold her. He wished he could
say that it was only for her that he did it, but that was
not the case. He needed to hold her for him too. Fear
ruled him. If he were to go, she would be lost to him
forever and he would not stand for that. In the short
time it took for William to fall in love with Buffy, he’d
come to need her. He needed her the way he needed blood and air, and that was saying a lot considering when he had lost Fred, he thought he’d never love again. He did love again, and it was with an intensity he was sure rivaled Heathcliff’s love for Cathy.
He’d been empty when he met Buffy, but he hadn’t known how empty. He filled his life with family and friends, but he was merely going through the motions until he found her. And yeah, if he was completely honest with himself, her need of someone – whether she knew it or admitted it – filled his need to be needed. That’s what a relationship was at its core, wasn’t it? The fulfillment of needs from another that was lacking. Sure, one could take care of themselves efficiently, but at the end of the day, the touch, care and love of another was essential for growth and progress. He was dying; she was dying; together, they were alive.
He stroked her hair, tried to reign in his own tears, and whispered loving words that she probably didn’t even really hear, but subconsciously he hoped she would.
He lifted her in his arms, swinging his arm under her knees, and drew her against him. Her body shook with tremors, left over sobs that wracked her body, but she had quieted. Carrying her upstairs, and into her bathroom, he placed her on the toilet while he drew a warm bath.
She watched him, mutely. Her expression blank. He wasn’t sure if that was more disconcerting than her tears.
When the bath was drawn, he lifted her and placed her in the tub. She sat there, not moving, and he slid in behind her. Taking the washcloth that was resting on the side; he dunked it in the water and proceeded to lather it up. He set about washing her as best he could, very sure to make sure each touch was innocent, and meant in no way sexual. When he was done washing her, he leaned back in the tub and brought her back against him, pushing her hair to the side and kissing the nape of her neck. He buried his face there and whispered. “I love you, Buffy. I love you, and I’m not going anywhere. You are not my charity case—“
He stopped when he felt the shift in her body. She froze. Okay, well, baby steps. He held her for a while longer in the tub, hoping he was helping her relax, helping her trust him at least a little. When the water started to chill, he released the plug and stood, grabbing a large fluffy towel from the bathroom closet and helping her stand and climb out, he wrapped her up in it, and then grabbed one for himself. He dried himself off quickly and then set about drying her. She was shivering slightly and he once again picked her up, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He carried her into her bedroom, laid her down on the bed and covered her. Climbing in next to her, he flicked the light out on the bedside table, and gathered her close to him. She resisted him and rolled over, away from him. Not to be put off, William sidled up close so that he was just barely spooning her. She relaxed and he slid his arm across her belly. She let him, she even relaxed into him.
He didn’t fall asleep for a long time; he wanted to make sure she was asleep before he allowed himself the luxury. He felt strung out, stressed. He was at the end of his tether and he was trying hard to be strong. How had things gotten so wrong between them? When did it happen? He thought things had been going so well. He thought it was just a matter of time…Had he wanted it so bad that he just didn’t see what was happening before him? Did he mistake it all for his own wishes? Obviously, that was the case. He’d mistook her exuberance for making love with him as love, that she was getting closer to it, that one day, she’d see it as them making love because they were in love. And what had she seen it as? Had she been using him? Or had she thought this was all he wanted? Did she think this was all she could give him?
William’s thoughts were torturing him. Pulling her closer to him, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, fended off the tears as best he could, and fell asleep.