Epilogue
A man in my shoes runs a light
And all the papers lied tonight
But falling over you
Is the news of the day
Angels fall like rain
And love is all of heaven away
Inside you the time moves
And she don't fade
The ghost in you
She don't fade
Inside you the time moves
And she don't fade
A race is on I'm on your side
And hearing you my engines die
I'm in a mood for you
For running away
Stars come down in you
And love...you can't give it away
Inside you the time moves
And she don't fade
The ghost in you
She don't fade
Inside you the time moves
And she don't fade
Don't you go
It makes no sense
When all your talking supermen
Just take away the time
And get in the way
Ain't it just like rain
And love...is only heaven away
Inside you the time moves
And she don't fade
The ghost in you
She don't fade
Inside you the time moves
And she don't fade
The wind whipped the water, driving it heavily against the piers, creating whitecaps. It was bitterly, bitingly cold, and wet and there was more than a hint of snow in the air. Bright lights blinked and glistened, contributing to the cold, rather than warming it.
One more Christmas season come and gone. One more year spent wandering and alone. William raised the collar on his coat, cursing the bitter northerly winds. He could barely feel his fingers and his ears were frozen chunks of flesh hanging from his head. His nose, no doubt, must surely rival Rudolph’s. His side ached and breathing hurt.
There was no good reason for him to be out. None at all. He’d stopped drinking two years ago, when it became evident he was hiding behind the bottle, trying to drown his guilt and insecurities in the amber depths of Jack Daniels and various other strong liquids. Coming to grips with what he’d done and what he’d been unable to do gave him a fine appreciation for atonement. Except he didn’t allow himself to believe that all the good he’d tried to do outweighed his failures. They were far too spectacular to recover from.
Although the four years since his colossal fall from grace hadn’t been entirely wasted. While he was no longer on loan to the NYPD, he’d risen through the ranks of MI6, an irony that wasn’t lost on him.
It still ate at him – the guilt over Nikki’s death haunted him and he still blamed himself for her murder. Even the fact he’d been cleared of all misconduct hadn’t eased his own self-recrimination. Added to that colossal failure had been the sorrow of watching Gunn’s family implode over the whole Reilly fiasco. Gunn’s career with the NYPD had very nearly ended and only the glowing recommendations from both Giles and to a lesser extent himself had managed to save the other man’s career. Charles now was on loan to MI6 as their liaison. The irony was not lost on him.
He’d failed them – all of them. But mostly he’d failed Nikki and Buffy.
Oh, blast it. First time I’ve thought of her today.
He tried to stop his mind from focusing on her. It’s been nearly . . . Will looked down at his boots, then sniffled hard. ‘S been three years, seven months, and forty-eight days since the last time I saw her.
Twice after the trial he’d tried to see her and both times he’d been refused. Social Services had custody of her while they sorted out the situation. It was only because of his persistence that he’d finally discovered that she’d been sent to live with her father, who had relocated to Spain. He’d lost track of her after that. He wondered many times over the last three years, whether she’d recovered completely from her ordeal. Whether she remembered him. . . whether she even wanted to remember.
He, on the other hand, couldn’t forget her. Couldn’t shake the sight of her big hazel eyes staring at him with complete trust. Couldn’t forget the way she’d curled up into his arms those nights she’d been too scared to be alone. Couldn’t forget the lost and frightened girl who’d carved out a piece of his heart and taken it with her.
Will supposed it was his curse. His penance for failing, that when he couldn’t sleep, it was her eyes that haunted him.
It could well be why he was here, after all this time.
The dark silhouette of the Cloisters rose up against the late winter sky, the clouds almost touching the tiled roof. Every year, in the four years since then, he’d come here on this day and roam the exhibits. He remembered the look on her face when they’d walked into the first chapel, the wonder, the awe, the peace that had gleamed in her vivid eyes. It was the only thing he’d managed to do correctly. He’d given her those moments. That peace.
William knew he was torturing himself. Knew it and yet, here he was, once more mourning the loss of a girl he’d never really had. He didn’t fool himself into thinking that she still thought of him, that she, like he, was haunted by that short time. No, William knew better. Buffy had moved on, forgotten him.
It was marginally warmer inside the walls of the museum, but the bitter cold still penetrated the small chapels. The cold was only offset by the atmosphere, with the holly and mulled wine smells permeating the air. William sat in one of the chairs, contemplating the ancient altar in front of him. These stones had seen so much, heard so many prayers. Sometimes in the quiet, he wondered if this was more than just a museum, if the walls and floors were still hallowed, despite the many feet trampling through each day. Did the many visitors detract from the holy atmosphere, or did they enhance it? He supposed he would never know and he doubted that any god heard his prayers.
He settled in, shoving his hands back into his pockets and closed his eyes.
The shuffle of feet and whispered voices faded away and he was lost in his own thoughts, his memories of not just Buffy, but everything he’d left behind. He was still a few years shy of forty, but he felt every bit as worn and ancient as the stone walls sheltering him. Every dream he’d once had, every hope for love and family had been shattered, in one way or another. Drusilla had left him. Nikki had opted to stay with her family. . . and then she’d had her life shattered. Buffy – Buffy had never really been his to begin with, but he’d loved her too.
He’d dated, here and there, in the years since, but none of the women had lasted more than six months. Most barely lasted a couple of weeks. Will realized he was too tired, too angry, and too broken to do right by anyone – sometimes even himself.
Sunlight flared, making the stained glass windows glow in the late afternoon sunshine and William felt it warm him. A bittersweet smile twitched about his lips and he opened his eyes, watching the play of light over the brilliant glass. It was breathtakingly glorious and it lifted some weight from him, some indefinable sin had been expiated by this moment and he let it wash over him. His smile widened and he leaned back against the chair, his feet stretched out in front of him.
Peace, elusive and ephemeral, settled into his bones and Will felt the pain in his chest ease.
He could almost pretend that Buffy was wandering the chapel behind him, her eyes wide and awed by the windows. He could practically hear the tones of her excited chatter and the feel of her lips on his.
Will didn’t understand why this girl, of all the women he’d ever known, and some he’d loved, why she haunted him. Why her ghost wouldn’t let him go. Why, even all this time later, he could still see her face, feel her. . . why her?
A deep sigh shook him and once more he closed his eyes. ‘M wallowing, an’ it’s not doing me a damn bit of good.
He resisted the urge to jump to his feet. Instead he watched the light play over the windows and forced his mind to blankness.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep and now he was disoriented and out of sorts. One of the museum security guards had woken him up, gently but firmly reminding him the Cloisters was closed. It was well after five and darkness had descended upon the city. It was colder than it had been earlier and finally tiny snowflakes danced in the air. Spike hunched his shoulders and groggily made his way down the stone steps to the busy street below.
Fatigue made his steps slow, lethargy overcoming the cold. A shiver fought its way down his spine and he sighed, looking over the steep hills leading away from the Cloisters. If he tried hard enough, he could trace his steps from that night, four years in the past and find the spot where he’d left her. An ironic chuckle caught in this throat. He knew exactly where he left her. He knew where she still was, even if she didn’t. Something about Buffy had captured his soul and he couldn’t free himself from her hold. Spike wasn’t even sure anymore if he wanted to be free. She’d left an indelible mark and he’d carry the thought of her with him to the grave. Regrets and recriminations were what flayed his thoughts, things he should have done and didn’t. . . things he should have admitted to her, but at the time it had seemed wiser to hold his tongue.
Second-guessing himself hadn’t helped then and it did worse now. The truth of it was, she had been untouchable. Too hurt, to damaged by life, and far too young for him. He couldn’t allow himself to give in to the emotions he had felt. It wouldn’t have been fair to her and would have complicated everything.
But the truth was still there. Still harbored in the depths of his old, broken heart. He’d fallen in love with the girl and he had let her go. He’d had to. She was too young. And while their age difference wouldn’t have mattered at this point. . . it had then. Though now, four years later, he still carried her with him, Spike doubted that she even remembered his name. . . or spared him a thought.
It was his fate to be alone.
His fate to yearn after a girl he could never have. Never hope to touch.
Rubbing a hand over his tired face, Spike shook his head. His footsteps weighed heavily on the thick concrete and he could hear the sounds of people rushing home all around him, but they were distant, not enough to break through his melancholy.
A brief flare of anger surged through him, warming him for a moment. Being pathetic, mate. Need to shake out of it. No sense being dog-in-the-manger when the chit doesn’t even know you still exist. ‘Specially when you haven’t seen her for four bleedin’ years. Carrying the torch just a bit too far. . .
Gotta let the girl go. . .
‘Cause she wasn’t ever yours to begin with, so let it go, old man. Let it go.
Even as he warred with himself, Spike knew it was futile. Buffy Summers was the one that got away, and he doubted he’d ever forget her. Even when he was old and gray. . .
His fingers closed on his keys, eyes squinting in the dark for the right ones. Someone was waiting in the lobby and he barely acknowledged the figure, not wanting to make pleasantries to a complete stranger. Heading straight for the elevator, he ignored the recently hired doorman, deciding against checking for mail. Spike wanted nothing more than to sit alone with his thoughts and watch old movies.
“I tried calling the NYPD, but no one would give me any information.” A small sigh escaped the person behind him, and Spike stiffened, not immediately recognizing the voice. “At first they wouldn’t even admit they knew who you were. But I kept calling.”
He froze when the figure stepped up beside him. “I even called the British Embassy. They really didn’t want to admit they knew who you were.”
Spike looked down, and found himself staring into sparkling hazel eyes.
“You really are hard to find.”
His heart thumped wildly in his chest, though he tried to school his features. “Didn’t know I was lost.”
She laughed, her whole face lighting up. “Just temporarily misplaced.”
“Really?” He turned to face her, his eyes fixed on hers. “And how did you find me?”
“Well, there was one place I remembered. One place I couldn’t forget.” She tilted her head, trying to read his expression. “So I’ve been going there, trying to jog my memories. It finally worked.”
“It did?” Feeling like a complete idiot, Spike tried not to keep repeating everything she said. But he was finding it hard to believe he wasn’t still stuck in the Cloisters, dreaming the whole encounter.
“Yup.” She popped the ‘p’ on the end and the happy tone in her voice finally reached him. A tentative smile played about his lips and he shook his head.
There was one thing he had to know, before . . . “You hungry?” Fool! William, you fool! His brain screamed at him, but all the young woman in front of him did was laugh.
“Are you gonna try and give me stale cereal again?” Her smile brightened and once again he found himself shaking his head.
“Ah, no.” Spike jingled his keys, betraying his nervousness. “We could go grab something, or. . .”
She bit her lower lip, gazing at him with a look he couldn’t decipher. “Nah. I’d rather have pancakes.”
“All right.” He gestured her into the waiting elevator. “C’mon up, kitten.”
She unwound the scarf from her throat, then stuffed her mittens into her pockets. He watched her out of the corner of his eyes, dying to ask her why she’d tried hard to find him, but afraid of her answer. He didn’t want to know if all she wanted was to thank him. Spike didn’t think he could handle that. If her feelings were platonic, then . . . This was worse than not seeing her, because now his wayward heart was running away with possibilities and he didn’t think – No, mate. Stop thinking. Just go with it, see what the lady wants.
Just before the elevator stopped at his floor, she spoke. Her head was down, her eyes trained on the tips of her boots. Buffy’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, “I wanted to see you, but they wouldn’t let me. And my dad thought it would be better if we just pretended nothing bad had happened.” She paused, closing her eyes. “My mom died last year, just before I turned eighteen. We never really made up. I didn’t forgive her.”
She turned, looking up at him. He could see the tears pooling in her eyes and he wanted to reach out and comfort her, to hold her close. “I . . . it got me really thinking. I didn’t want to lose someone else I loved. So that’s when I really started looking for you.”
Buffy looked so scared, so tentative, that his heart clenched for her. He started to speak, but his voice choked up, so he cleared his throat, and said, “I asked to see you, too, kitten.”
Spike was done. He couldn’t resist her any longer. His finger traced the line of her jaw, brushing her wispy hair away from her face. He took a step closer, then slid his hand around her neck, holding her in place. “I missed you too, sweetheart. Pro’lly more than I had a right too.”
Her eyes stared up into his. “You did?”
“Yeah.” They were separated by barely an inch. “I’m gonna kiss you now, kitten.”
“Kay.” She leaned into his embrace, their lips crossing the scant distance.
He didn’t remember picking her up.
Barely remembered losing his keys in front of his door.
He remembered laughing, when Buffy innocently asked, while she watched him fumble to open the door, “You’re not married, are you?”
Spike didn’t remember pulling her into his flat, or getting their coats off, or asking her about food. . . all he could remember was the feel of her lips on his, the scent of her filling his senses. He remembered staring at her briefly as they sat on the couch. . .
Which was why, he supposed, he was so surprised now. They were lying on his bed, half undressed, both of them panting for breath. “Kitten?”
“Spike?”
He couldn’t formulate any more than that. Words had escaped him. Rational thought was beyond his capabilities. He could only stare at her, moonlight obscuring her features. Spike switched on the dim bedside lamp, his eyes drinking in the sight of her, bare, except for her sweater. “Kitten?”
A smile broke out on her face, and she traced her fingers over his bare skin. “I wanted. . . I . . . you should know, I fell in love with you, back then.”
“Really?” He slid his hand under the heavy wool, gripping her waist, his thumb sweeping over the soft skin of her belly. “Have a confession of my own, pet.”
“Do you?” Her eyes had gone soft and dreamy, and he kissed her, just because.
His voice was low, growly and deep as he whispered against her throat. “Fell for you then, too.”
Buffy eased back, looking at him. “Would you have looked for me?”
“Didn’t think I had the right. Thought it . . .” Spike gathered his courage and confessed his insecurities to her. “Didn’t think you felt the same, an’ if you didn’t, then what right did I have walking back into your life? Figured you deserved a chance to find happiness.”
She rolled them over, her legs trapping him beneath her. “You’re such a dope. Couldn’t you, like tell that I was all googly-eyed?” When he started to speak, she placed her fingers over his mouth, forestalling his comment. “You so could’ve kidnapped me then and I wouldn’t have minded.”
Buffy pulled the sweater over her head, baring her tanned skin to his gaze. “I’ve been waiting four years for this, William.”
“Oh hell, kitten.” Spike wasted no more time on words. He rose to her, his mouth on her breasts before she could blink. “Christ. ‘M not letting you go.”
She threaded her fingers through his curls. “That’s the plan.”
He flipped them over, barely undoing his jeans before he was thrusting into her. “You’re not going anywhere, kitten.”
Buffy laughed, holding him close. “If that’s a proposal, it sucks.”
He laughed along with her, then thrust hard, causing her to gasp. “Wait ‘til later. ‘Ll do it right then.”
“Kay.” She shivered. “Don’t let me go.”
He stopped moving, his free hand cupping the side of her face. Spike could see the pooled tears in her eyes, making them sparkle and glisten in the low light. She was beautiful. And now that she’d found him, he wasn’t going to ever let her go. “Don’t plan on it. Gonna keep you here til you’re tired of me, and even longer than that.”
She was trembling, slight tremors wracking her slim frame. “How ‘bout if we keep each other? How’s that?”
“Like that plan, kitten.” He kissed her, brief, barely touching her lips, then rained gentle kisses over her features, murmuring softly, “Love you, Buffy. Love you.”
So, there you have it. My heartfelt thanks to everyone who read, reviewed and emailed me about this story. . . you are all wonderful people. Hopefully, I'll have something else for you soon. Slainte, Nia