I just want to feel safe in my own skin,
I just want to be happy again
I just want to feel deep in my own world
But I'm so lonely
I don't even want to be with myself anymore
On a different day,
if I was safe in my own skin,
then I wouldn't feel lost and
so frightened
But this is today and I'm lost in my own skin
And I'm so lonely
I don't even want to be with myself anymore
I just want to feel safe in my own skin,
I just want to be happy again.
London, present day
For nearly two years they lived in Kent. Hiding from the world, all of them healing and learning to live again.
Not so oddly, the baby was the first to recover.
But through him, they both did.
Spike learned how to love, how to trust . . . How to be vulnerable and just how strong he could be.
Buffy learned to trust and how to forgive.
Together, they learned how to fall in love.
To touch without pain, without anger. . . to love.
Neither of them saw the photographer.
They had picked a lovely, sunny day to visit his mother’s grave.
Warm weather brought everyone outdoors. It seemed like all of London was out and about; people were everywhere.
In the destructive years after his first flight from Sunnydale, Will had gone down a dark, dangerous path.
Alcohol.
Drugs.
Partying until dawn. For days.
He’d partied with the infamous, his name and title drawing unwelcome attention. For a while, he’d been the fodder for tabloids.
And then, his mother died, leaving him alone with his demons.
Weeks after she was gone, he’d checked himself into rehab and changed his life.
The only remnants were his preference for black clothing and bleached hair.
And Spike.
He’d disappeared from the public eye, living anonymously between Kent and New York.
Until his therapist sent him on a quest to make peace with his past.
He’d done so –
And found his future.
It had been a wonderful day. Even with the angst of visiting his mother’s grave, Will wouldn’t have traded the day for a host of others.
Even when Connor had been fretting and whiny because his nap was delayed, it had been good.
So good that he wasn’t as vigilant as he should have been.
Will stared at the grainy photos, unable to truly comprehend what he was looking at. The caption barely fazed him – it was the pictures drawing his disbelief.
Six years he’d been out of the spotlight. How had they even found me?
Why were they still interested?
Buffy looked up from the blanket spread out on the grass, eyes shaded from the unusual bright sunshine. “Whatcha got there?”
He sighed, knowing he couldn’t keep this from her. “Newspaper, kitten.”
“Yeah? What’s so interesting?”
Without speaking Will held it out to her, not hiding the picture.
“It’s not a bad picture.” Buffy scrunched her nose, perusing the photo critically. “At least we’re both smiling.”
She knew he wasn’t entirely thrilled with the clipping. Displeasure was rolling off him in waves.
Before he could say something scathing, she held up a hand. “You knew – we talked about it, right? So why make with the grouchies?”
Will stared at her for long moments, getting lost in the sunlight playing in the golden lights of her hair and eyes, forgetting why he was slightly aggravated.
“I’m old enough now. They can’t really do anything, can they?”
She had such trust in him. Will didn’t want to say or do anything to change that. Not now. Not ever. “Not sure, pet. There’s still the boy.”
“But I’m his only living relative. Why would they take him away?”
Why would they? Would they? Or would they leave us be, deciding we’ve both been through enough.
Would they?
Will was going to bet their future on it.
Perhaps it was time to emerge from the shadows.
Sunnydale, present day
For a normally intelligent woman, his girlfriend transformed into another person whenever there was new, juicy gossip. Especially of the obscure kind. She knew more about the lives of the two English princes than any ten American women.
But Gunn loved her. So he just watched when she indulged in reading imported newspapers. And he mostly ignored her. Let her do her thing.
Tonight, though, she was running later than usual. So he was stuck, waiting for her.
There was nothing on the television. Needing something to do with his hands and time, Gunn grabbed the first newspaper on the table.
Seemed like any other paper, rife with news – some good, but most of it bad. He never really paid attention to the gossip pages, so he thumbed over them.
Until a picture caught his eye.
He read the caption under the photo.
Reclusive lord finally emerges from his self-imposed exile with new family in tow. No wonder the Earl of Camden has been hiding for the past two years – his lovely and oh-so very young WAG – and their bouncing baby boy. Looks like she might be sporting a new bump. Who is she though? No one seems to know. And anyone that does isn’t talking. Not even the Earl.
Gunn would’ve recognized that shock of white-blond hair anywhere.
The words finally registered. Two years? Two years. Gunn looked at the picture again, this time really looking.
Shit. Holy shit.
She was there, with him. Smiling up at him. There was no mistaking the love in her eyes, nor the expression on his face. Gunn dragged his eyes away from their images to look at the toddler. Hard to tell from this angle, but he had every reason to believe it was the baby, only a bit older.
A smile broke out on his face, and try as he might, he couldn’t wipe it away.
She made it. She was safe.
She was alive and safe.
Gunn laughed.
I cannot thank all of you enough for reading and taking a chance on this story. Slainte, Nia.