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Tuesday morning found William making his way through the open-air farmer’s market in downtown. He selected steaks, potatoes, herbs, vegetables and lettuce for a salad, and stopped finally to peruse a selection of cut flowers. A bold bunch of sunflowers caught his eye and he added those to his purchases. He strolled home slowly, enjoying the clear summer day.

The rest of the day dragged past. William cleaned the house, organized his desk, and sat down to work on creating the syllabi for the classes he was teaching in the fall. He went for a long, punishing run. He thought about Buffy. He thought about getting a dog. He thought about Buffy. He sang all the songs off The Ramones – from memory, and loudly – to distract himself from thoughts of Buffy. He tried to write a poem because he couldn’t stop thinking about Buffy.

William crumpled up the paper he’d been scribbling his scattered thoughts upon and threw it across the room with a groan. “Stupid bloody ponce,” he cursed himself. “Love poems have never done you any good.” In frustration, he scrounged through the kitchen for his fags. He found a crumpled pack in the back of a drawer and sat on the back porch chain-smoking the battered cigarettes. He didn’t feel any better when they were gone.

***

The diner lights were still on when William walked down the street. He peered through the front window and saw Buffy wiping down tables and turning chairs up. He knocked lightly. She glanced up and smiled widely when she saw him. She held up one hand and mouthed "five minutes" at him. He nodded and waited contentedly for her to emerge.

He snuck up behind her as she was locking the door and buried his nose in the mass of loose golden curls at the nape of her neck. She jumped.

"Hey, that tickles," she protested as she turned to face him.

William slid his arms around her waist; her arms twined around his neck. Their lips met in a soft kiss that quickly turned deeper, rougher, and left them both panting for air. "Hi," William murmured, smoothing a hand down her silky hair.

"Hi," Buffy returned. "This is a nice surprise, you showing up here."

"Couldn't let my girl walk around at night by herself," William explained.

Buffy crossed her arms and stuck out her bottom lip. "I can take care of myself, you know," she informed him.

"I have no doubt, pet," William pacified her. She wiggled out of his arms and gave him a glare. The effect was somewhat muted by her still-pouty expression. William planted a light kiss on her forehead and snagged one of her hands. "Come on, love, I've got supper waiting for you at home."

***

William watched with a kind of awe as Buffy polished off her third helping of potatoes. She glanced up and caught his expression.

"Um, everything's really good," she said sheepishly. "It's been a long time since I've had a home-cooked meal. Diner food and ramen noodles get a little sickening after a while. I think," she said thoughtfully, serving herself a touch more salad, “I’m even getting sick of pizza.”

“Not a cook, then, I take it?”

“Well, I can make breakfast, as long as it’s pop-tarts or cereal. And I make a mean spaghetti. By which I mean, I can boil water and put spaghetti noodles in it for seven to ten minutes while I warm up a jar of spaghetti sauce.”

“No wonder you’re so skinny,” William commented.

“Too skinny?” Buffy questioned.

“Told ya, pet,” William reassured her, “you’re perfect. But you could stand to eat regular meals more often, couldn’ ya?”

Buffy shrugged, noncommittal on the subject, and pushed her plate away. “Are you an English teacher, William?” she asked suddenly.

He blinked at the abrupt subject change. “Yes, I am. English literature, some contemporary American lit.”

“Where are you going to be working?”

William leaned back in his chair. “You are looking at William J. Pratt, Associate Professor of English, Sunnydale University.”

Buffy laughed. “Professor Spike. I like it.”

“Should I expect you in class, then, pet?” William smiled.

She shook her head. “Have to finish high school to get into college,” she explained.

“Wanna clarify that one?”

Buffy looked at him guiltily. “I, uh, I sort of got expelled.”

William didn’t even bother to ask.

“Remember Cordelia?”

He nodded.

“I broke her nose at Homecoming, completely by accid… well, not completely by accident, because I meant to punch her, but I didn’t mean to break anything, and besides, it’s not my fault the girl has no reflexes. Also: she totally deserved it. She was being really mean to my date!”

William laughed.

“Cordy’s dad, before he got busted for tax fraud, was, like, insanely rich. So he donated a whole lot of money to the school and Principal Snyder conveniently agreed that I was a bad influence on the student body.”

William wasn’t laughing any longer. “And how, exactly, does a school get away with that?”

“Didn’t have anyone to fight it for me. If Mom had been there…” Buffy stopped and looked away from William’s intent blue gaze. She took a deep breath and continued, never looking at him. “She would have made Snyder back down, maybe suspend me at the most. It’s not like Cordy was even mad at me, but her dad was pissed he had to finally shell out for her dream nose.” She turned to him then and met his eyes. “I’m… I’m working on my GED. It’s not like I don’t want to go to college.”

William reached for her hand. “Buffy.” She swallowed. “Buffy,” he said again, “you don’t have to apologize to me for anything about you. Certainly not that some poxy bugger got you booted outta school.”

Buffy smiled faintly. Then she stood up with the saucy grin he was seriously coming to love. “I think I made you a promise last time I was here,” she said.

William raised an eyebrow. “And what would that be?”

She blushed. “It involved a shower…”

He had wet, naked, soapy Buffy in no time flat.

***

“Buffy?”

“William?”

It was much later; they were warm and tired and curled around each other in his dark bedroom. He snaked a finger up her leg, across the curve of her hip, up her back. He pressed his hand between the sharp wings of her shoulder blades. “Buffy, when… how long ago was it your mum died?”

She stilled beneath his hand, no longer leaning into his touch, not even breathing. He looked down at her where she lay against his chest. Her big eyes turned up to his slowly.

“It was a year ago,” she said quietly. “Exactly a year the night I met you, actually.”

“Which is why you were out looking for me?”

Buffy nodded.

He pulled her closer to him, surprised such a thing was even possible, and traced the shell of her ear with his tongue. She shivered.

“I’m very glad I found you,” she whispered. Her hot mouth latched onto the spot on his neck that made him lose all ability for coherent thought.

“Unh, me… me, too, pet,” he managed to groan before his brain shorted out.

***

Two weeks of Buffy exposure had William nearly inured to her constant presence in his thoughts and in his dreams. He quickly grew accustomed to meeting her at the diner after her shift and plying her with simple, hearty, home-cooked meals. They specialized in long walks and picnics during her mornings and early afternoons off. He watched her evening routine nearly every night, and became firmly convinced that whoever thought up moisturizing was a bleeding genius and a saint. Buffy teasingly complained about her rapidly depleted lotion bottles.

This night, they lay entwined on the couch, a forgotten movie playing quietly in the background while they exchanged long, lazy kisses. William’s body pressed against hers; Buffy’s hands tangled in his hair. William propped himself up on his elbows and brushed his hands down the sides of Buffy’s face.

She smiled at him, her thousand-watt smile that shot straight to his heart. William bent back to her lips, ran his hands down her sides. His fingertips caught the hem of her shirt and tugged upwards. She trembled when his skin met hers. He pulled the shirt over Buffy’s head and tossed it aside. Then he slid his hands up her still upraised arms and encircled her wrists in his fingers. He pushed her against the cushions as he returned to trailing kisses across her skin.

She tensed up beneath him. “Get… let me go!” she gasped.

He released her immediately. Buffy pushed herself up and into the corner of the couch. She strapped her arms across her bare chest and stared at him. Her eyes were huge and scared. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I guess I didn’t like that.”

William dragged his hands through his hair. “When are you going to tell me the truth, Buffy?” he demanded suddenly.

Her chin came up, stiff and stubborn. “The truth about what?”

“D’you think I’m stupid? There’s obviously something going on, Buffy, and I…” He knelt in front of her, hands on her knees. “I can help you, pet, if you’ll just let me.”

She stared at him with sorrowful eyes. He resisted the urge to shake her. “What is it you think is going on, William?” Her voice was cool.

“Well, I don’t fuckin’ know, do I?” he yelled. “’Cause you don’t soddin’ tell me anything about yourself that isn’t ancient history, you don’t talk about your family, I don’t even know where you live!” He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “If someone’s hurtin’ you… All you need to do, Buffy, is talk to me.”

“I… Will, it’s… it’s not going to happen anymore. It isn’t happening anymore! Can we leave it at that?”

Her admission floored him momentarily. When he thought of it, since those first couple of times, he hadn’t noticed any bruises on her. Just her sad eyes when she thought he wasn’t watching her, and now those words…’it’s not going to happen anymore…’ He saw red.

“No, we bloody well cannot ‘leave it at that’!” William roared. Buffy flinched further into the couch. He pushed himself up off the floor and paced angrily across the living room. He came to a stop in front of her, chest heaving and fists clenched tightly at his sides. He got a good look at her face and sank onto the couch next to her, took her quivering form into his arms. “Explain it to me, Buffy. Make me understand what is going on with you. Talk to me.” He was pleading, tears flowing silently down his cheeks as he held her.

Buffy extricated herself from his embrace and retrieved her shirt. She slammed her feet into her shoes as William watched silently. She grabbed her bag and looked at William, her face expressionless. “Come on,” she said.

“Where are we going?” he asked as he slowly stood up. His skin felt too tight.

“My place.” She stalked out the door, not bothering to look back to see if he was following her.





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