Thirteen
White are the far-off plains, and white
The fading forests grow;
The wind dies out along the height,
And denser still the snow,
A gathering weight on roof and tree,
Falls down scarce audibly.
The road before me smooths and fills
Apace, and all about
The fences dwindle, and the hills
Are blotted slowly out;
The naked trees loom spectrally
Into the dim white sky.
The meadows and far-sheeted streams
Lie still without a sound;
Like some soft minister of dreams
The snow-fall hoods me round;
In wood and water, earth and air,
A silence everywhere.
Save when at lonely intervals
Some farmer's sleigh, urged on,
With rustling runners and sharp bells,
Swings by me and is gone;
Or from the empty waste I hear
A sound remote and clear;
The barking of a dog, or call
To cattle, sharply pealed,
Borne echoing from some wayside stall
Or barnyard far afield;
Then all is silent and the snow falls
Settling soft and slow
The evening deepens and the grey
Folds closer earth and sky
The world seems shrouded, far away.
Its noises sleep, and I secret as
Yon buried streams plod dumbly on and dream.
The new snowfall was already melting, most of it gone in the early morning light. Dark shades shielded his eyes from the harsh glare, letting him hide behind the anonymity. He was glad he’d decided to cover the distinctive color of his hair, knowing it would give him away.
Reilly’s men would be looking for him. The change in looks only bought him more time. Eventually, they’d be discovered.
Spike deliberately pushed those thoughts aside, unwilling to dwell on them. Instead, he shifted gears, trying to come up with something he and Buffy could do without too much physical contact. He honestly didn’t think she’d be well enough for a walk, but it was the best he could come up with; the park was only across the street. They actually wouldn’t have to go far at all.
Paying for the rolls and pastries, he decided going out, even for a little while, would be a good idea.
And if they made it to the museum? So much the better.
Just before eleven in the morning, Will and Buffy left the apartment. Once he’d pitched her the idea of getting out, Buffy was all for it.
Like him, she wasn’t comfortable being so confined. She liked being able to come and go as she pleased, liked having no rules. This constant supervision was wearing on her and Buffy chafed at the restrictions of her own injuries.
So when he asked her about going out, Buffy agreed.
They were crossing the street, heading for the park when Will started talking. “At the top of the hill is a museum. If you’re game, we could try for it.”
He held her arm, walking at her pace, not his own. “What kind of museum?”
“The Cloisters. Medieval art ‘n whatnot.” Will paused, glancing up at the sky. “Nice place. Peaceful. ‘S one of my favorite places here.”
Buffy wasn’t big on history, wasn’t big on any schooling, but she wasn’t stupid. She shrugged, not sure it would be interesting. “I guess.”
Her less than enthusiastic response had him rethinking the idea, but Will had a feeling she might benefit from the serenity inside those stone walls. True, it wasn’t all that exciting if you weren’t a fan of medieval art or old buildings, but the building exuded peace, especially some of the side chapels.
And the garden would look enchanted in the snow.
So instead of trying to persuade her with words, Will just let their feet guide them.
Robin Wood was angry.
His mother had been murdered, gunned down by some unknown dirtbag and he wanted revenge.
He wanted someone to pay.
So when his sisters blurted out what happened the day before, he immediately knew who was partially responsible.
That English bastard, William Pratt.
And Robin was going to make him pay.
The first reporter that shoved a microphone at him got an earful.
Within minutes, the NYPD knew about it. And hours later, at a press conference, so did every television and radio station.
For once in her life, Buffy was glad she’d listened to someone else.
He’d said the place was peaceful, silly her for not believing him.
It was like being in a church, only not.
Almost like being in heaven, only not.
The steps through the park and up the hill to the museum were endless and more than once she thought about giving up, but the look on his face kept her quiet.
There was – Buffy wasn’t sure what that look was – anticipation? Expectation? In his eyes that she couldn’t turn back.
And when they finally reached the courtyard, she was glad she’d kept silent.
The museum was practically empty, only a few people braving the cold weather and snow to visit. They very nearly had it all to themselves.
A carpet of snow covered the dormant garden and the hustle of New York City was lifetimes away. This was like being transported back in time, when everything was simpler, when no pain or hurt or danger existed.
Buffy paced through the covered walkway, unable to tear her eyes away from the central monument.
Will leaned against one of the ancient pillars, his eyes on her.
Holly and ivy were laid out on nearly every flat surface, spilling over the walls, softening the stone. Winter fruit arrangements added brightness and their aromas mixed with the heady scent of beeswax candles and the mulled wine the concession stand was selling.
She’d never imagined New York could hold such a place.
It was cold, but Buffy didn’t notice.
The snow, the cold, the holiday greenery combined to create a miracle. And though she couldn’t explain it, didn’t even bother to try, somehow she knew everything was going to be okay.
Trying to get Faith to open up wasn’t easy, especially once Internal Affairs had gotten involved. He knew she was hiding something, thought Gunn couldn’t put his finger on what exactly it might be. His first and most persistent thought was that Faith had been sleeping with one or the other of Reilly’s lieutenants, but she clammed up when he’d tried broaching the subject.
Some lucky patrol officer had found the Escalade in a parking garage not far from the hotel and Faith’s prints were on the passenger door, along with prints from both Harris and MacDonald.
Which wasn’t necessarily definitive since Faith was trying to gain access to Reilly’s organization through MacDonald. Though it didn’t look good.
Forensics results were also trickling in from the original crime scene and Gunn was able to get a look at those before anyone else. As he read the first report, Gunn’s understanding of William’s reasoning became clearer, as well as belief in the witness. The girl wasn’t lying.
There had been another female in that hotel room.
DNA was still trying to find a match, but Gunn was confident they’d get one soon.
Everything was coming together.
Peace settled around him like a warm, comforting blanket and the taut tenseness of his muscles eased.
This building had a magical effect, no matter what the season. Perhaps it was all the prayers that had been said between the walls. Will didn’t know. But as he watched the slight form of his charge drift through the semi-enclosed walkway, he could almost see the peace descending on her.
She’d been a real trooper, hardly complaining at all as he dragged her from one place to the next. No doubt she was in a considerable amount of pain, even with her age and the resiliency of youth, there was no way all of her injuries were healed. He wondered if some of them ever would be.
Even after their long talks where she’d managed to share a little bit of her story, she hadn’t once asked to get in touch with either of her parents. That struck him as both odd and sad, because if ever a girl needed someone to just stand by as support, Buffy was it.
He leaned against the stone pillar, his gaze following her slow progress around the enclosed garden. Unlike other museums in the States, the building itself was the most important piece of the collection. And equally unlike most other museums, touching the ancient stones and walls wasn’t forbidden, unless it was covered in artwork. Buffy’s fingers trailed across the stones and pillars and every so often she would stop to smell the decorations. She was beautiful, all bundled up against the cold, the sunlight bringing out the hidden gold depths in her hair beneath the newly dyed light brown color, her eyes picking up every stray sunbeam and reflecting them back.
She turned to look at him and his breath caught in his throat. Buffy was luminously backlit by the winter sunlight. She was beautiful and he could see the woman she was becoming. His heart thumped wildly in his chest and Will finally admitted to himself what he’d been fighting since the moment he’d set eyes on her.
He loved her.
Buffy could admit, at least to herself, when she was wrong. She didn’t like to, though, so she avoided it whenever possible.
But she’d been wrong about this place.
Really, really wrong.
The steep stairs had seemed endless, whatever meager strength almost faltering more than once. Yet every labored step had been worth it.
Will had been right.
This place wasn’t just about the art or the piece of jewelry or the tapestries. It was everything – all of it. From the stone and brick walls to the snow on the ground, covering the garden.
Peace had settled into her bones almost the instant they’d stepped inside the walls. It had only grown the longer they stayed. Buffy hadn’t ever thought of anything connected to the ancient past remotely interesting. Until today.
Maybe it was the Christmas decorations, but Buffy didn’t think so. And it honestly didn’t matter any more. Because this place was magical.
Buffy felt better than, well, since before she’d run away. Actually, it was even longer than that. Since her parents had split up.
Buffy trailed her fingers across the stone, ignoring the cold. The snow was blindingly white, drawing all the sunlight. She had to blink continuously, shielding her eyes from the intense light.
The air was sweet, smelling like Christmas and Buffy realized she’d completely missed the holiday. She’d spent the day hiding in her room, pretending she was okay. It hadn’t been easy and she’d very nearly gone home that day, but something had held her back, kept her huddled in that dark, dank room.
She inhaled deeply, drawing in more peace as she did. Her feet paced the old stones, following a path thousands before her had walked. Two turns around the inner courtyard and she was facing Will, who was leaning against a column, hands in his pockets. A slight smile played about his lips and his eyes were twinkling. The bright blue stood out sharply, doing funny things to Buffy’s insides.
“What?” She bit her lip, ducking her head to avoid his pointed gaze.
“Nothin’, pet. Just watchin’ you.” His grin widened. “So what do you think?”
Buffy looked around, her eyes drinking in everything. “I’m really glad we came. This place –“ She hesitated, looking around again. “This place – you were right. It’s great. And I see why you love it.”
He nodded, slipping his hands out of his pockets. “You should see the garden in spring. An’ it’s even better in the summer.”
Two steps brought her right in front of him. Buffy looked right up into his eyes. “Thank you.”
She rose up and brushed her lips over his.
I know, it's been a really long time. I'm really, really sorry. Work has been completely hellacious. Life with a teenager is hellacious. I can't express how sorry I am. Please let me know I'm forgiven. Next week is another chapter of this. I promise, because it's all ready to go. Thank you all for your patience.