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Author's Chapter Notes:
Hi! Sorry this is a wee bit late. I cannot lie - real life has been treating me like a baby treats a diaper. But...! Just kept pushing and voila! Chapter 10! Thanks to betas: DoriansKitten, Capella42 and Lutamira, without whom this chapter would contain a lot more suck. And current suck is my bad, and my inability to leave it the hell alone once they're done with it. The lovely banner is by Amy.

It won't take me so long to update next because of less suck in real life! (She says, hoping not to jinx it!)

Chapter 10

He sat by Elizabeth’s side on a hill overlooking Hampstead Heath, a blanket and picnic spread before them. The noon sun warmed his face, and as a slight breeze stirred her hair, he smiled at her.

He knew it was a dream. They’d never picnicked on the heath nor would they now that they were half a world away. Though it wasn’t reality, it was a balm to him and he would do nothing to disturb it. He reached out to tuck a stray strand of Elizabeth’s hair behind her ear.

She smiled shyly at him, plucked a grape from the cluster packed in their picnic basket and placed it gently against his lips. As she slid the fruit into his mouth, she allowed her fingertip to linger. Boldly, he pressed the tip of his tongue against her finger pad and she bit her lip, her green eyes sparkling at him wickedly before withdrawing her finger. She traced her hand down the length of his arm before she entwined her fingers with his.

He found himself without speech, afraid that words might break the spell and he would lose her again. He was too weak a man to risk waking and sending her away. If a dream version of her was all he could have, he’d hold onto it – a drowning man grasping at a straw.

The wind picked up, bringing with it the scent of newly turned earth. The breeze whispered through her hair and rustled her skirts as she stood; he rose with her. She squinted at the horizon, just below the row of trees, her expression taking on a look of sadness.

“Time is coming for me, William,” she said.

He squeezed her fingers tightly, keeping her anchored to him through force of will.

“Time moves like a river and I’m never the same me in the stream.” She looked at him mournfully.

“Stay here with me then, darling.”

“Can’t, William. You know that. This is only borrowed, a memory. Time is throwing us forward, like it or not. William, Spike, Buffy, Elizabeth – who we are isn’t up to us. It’s up to time.” Her expression was growing more serious by the second, and he looked to the horizon, to see what it was she was looking at.

Big Ben loomed over the line of trees in the distance, though it belonged at the Palace of Westminster and not Hampstead Heath. The moment he laid eyes upon it, the giant clock’s hands struck twelve, and it began to bong out the time. He quickly shifted his gaze back to Elizabeth to find an unnerving sight. Each time the bell rang, her image would shimmer and divide. It was as if she were a reflection on the water, splitting with each ripple of time.

By the time the clock had chimed twelve, her image has solidified into two distinct versions of Elizabeth – identical to one another. He still held the hand of the Elizabeth at his side; the other version stood next to her and both of them looked at him, full of regret.

“I’m sorry, William,” they intoned together, eerily.

“Sorry?” he stammered.

The Elizabeth who was the furthest away from him gestured toward the hill where the clock had been. The hill was now covered with a swarming mass of what looked to be humans. They were oddly white, however, from head to toe. Their movements were insect-like in nature, massing into clusters before moving apart again. They were making a steady progress toward where he and Elizabeth picnicked at the top of the hill..

“Buffy should have been the one to fight the white demons. How did I end up being the one who’s got to do it? I made my choice to be with you. She’s the Slayer.” The Elizabeth who was the furthest away from him looked at her twin grimly.

“Buffy?” William asked, looking down at the woman whose hand remained clasped in his.

She looked at him skeptically and asked, “Who the hell are you?” Her voice was measured and she sounded exactly like the ‘Buffy’ he had been getting to know in recent days.

The furthest Elizabeth reached down and pulled a butter knife from the picnic basket. She glanced down the hill at the steady march of massing ‘white demons’ before turning to look at William and her twin self. “The odds don’t look so good for me in this fight. For any of us. I think you’ve got the wrong girl.”

‘Buffy’ said, “You’ve got that right.”

Elizabeth looked at William, smiling before intoning solemnly, “Goodbye, my William.”

“Elizabeth, no,” he cried. Though his left hand remained clasped with Buffy’s, he reached out with his right to grasp Elizabeth’s hand, to stop her from moving toward the mob that was now swarming up the hill. The instant he touched Elizabeth’s hand, however, both versions of her looked at him, shimmered and then vanished in a burst of flame and smoke, leaving him with a small fistful of ashes in each hand.

He woke.

~*~

The dreams came every night. They were simultaneously comforting and heartbreaking. It was wonderful to see her look at him with eyes of love, to feel the warmth of her hand in his, to know the trust implicit in her smile. But those moments were always bought and paid for with her leaving him. Sometimes the white demons tore her away. In other dreams, a yellow-eyed female demon would pull them apart. By one method or another, he ended up with the cold finality of empty arms.

Upon waking, he could never return to sleep, and so he took to reading or wandering about the deck until sunrise. He’d done this for the past three days, finding a comfort in the routine of it. After a long stroll in the wee hours of the morning, he would spend the next few hours in the lounge nearest his cabin. He always propped a book before his eyes, occasionally he would even bother to read the thing. He found that when other passengers assumed he was reading, they would leave him in peace, to the mutual delight of all parties. Fellow gentlemen seemed awkward in his presence, and the ladies cast him pitying glances that he could well do without.

Afternoons were spent in the makeshift gym that the boiler workers had set up adjacent to their sleeping quarters. George had shown him the small but well-equipped area and introduced him to some of the men who used it. They’d welcomed him, no questions asked, no prying glances. He’d spend pleasant hours lifting weights, jumping rope and generally exhausting his body. It was mindless, body-punishing and terrifically therapeutic.

Evenings were the most uncomfortable. With the natural cycle of passengers and crew, there was no place for him to be evenings other than his cabin, having dinner with his wife. They spent a few hours together in near silence each day. What little communication passed between them was stilted and awkward, as though they were both generals overlooking a battlefield, each unsure if the other was enemy or ally.

Shortly after dinner, he would step outside while she readied for bed. When he reentered the room, he would dim the lights and they would fall asleep, she in her bed, he on his cot – feet apart and yet more than a hundred years between them.

She no longer seemed angry at him, nor did she appear to be as sad as she’d been initially. There was a distance to her nonetheless. It was as if she’d erected a wall, not merely between her and him, but between her and the rest of the world. She watched a great deal and she was polite, but she remained practically mute. Although she seemed, for lack of a better word, sane, Elizabeth was simply not there, and the new resident, Buffy, seemed to be barely there as well.

She always fell asleep first. Even as she slept, he could feel the pull of her, drawing him to her side, like the sea tugging at the shoreline. It had been that way since she’d first lain with him. She had transformed him and he found sleep almost impossible if she wasn’t lying in his arms. Deep in slumber now, he could hear her breathing become rhythmic; occasionally she would mumble aloud. These were the best times of his day - simply being with her, while she was at peace.

As he lay in the dark, his mind traveled down various pathways. Usually he would wonder about what she’d done during her day while he meandered about the ship. She appeared to have read a great deal, judging by the stack of books piled at the foot of the bed. Her interests were varied and somewhat gruesome, truth be told. She also seemed to dedicate a good portion of her time exercising. Whenever he inquired about her day, or made efforts to reach her, she would erect her wall anew. By day three he’d stopped asking all together.

After his disturbing dream of two Elizabeths and white demons on Hampstead Heath, he’d given up the idea of falling asleep again. As it was nearing half past four in the morning, he decided to spend some time in solitude in the lounge.

William slipped down the hall and into the dark room. It was well-appointed, with thick gold carpeting and plush armchairs set intermittently along the wall. He lit the small gas lamp in the corner before selecting a well-worn volume and settling into a chair. Though the room was visible to the public, with large glass windows facing the hallway, it felt quite secluded.

Since he’d been feeling rather maudlin he’d chosen a dark poet who was not his usual taste, but then, precious little about his life was usual these days. After settling in an armchair in the corner, he began to read. Strangely, though the poet wrote despairingly of lost love, his words brought a kind of comfort to William, and it wasn’t long before he found himself soothed almost to the point of drowsiness.

As he nodded, nearly falling into sleep, a faint sound disrupted him. An indistinct tap tap tap came from the direction of the door and he stood to greet the visitor, placing his book on the side table.

He could see through the glass that his visitor was a beautiful woman, raven-haired and with large blue eyes. He’d not seen her aboard the ship, which was surprising because he’d spent his days wandering about The Adriatic and was therefore well acquainted with all his fellow passengers. As she stared at him through the window, he felt a growing discomfort; he decided to simply wish her a good evening and return to his cabin to wait for the dawn.

He opened the door.

The woman didn’t move into the room, however, nor did she step aside to let him pass. She simply watched him, a small smile began growing on her lips, reminding him very much of a cat he knew in childhood. Though the cat had been an excellent mouser, she had also been exceptionally cruel to her prey.

“Like looking at a sweet in a shop window, you are,” the woman said, unnervingly.

“Yes, ah, very well,” William replied, nervously tugging his hair. “I was just returning to my cabin. Please feel free to avail yourself of the lounge.”

“Don’t need an invitation, but your welcome is very gentlemanly of you, my William.”

He looked at her, startled. ‘My William?’

He felt a rising need to return to his cabin, to be by Buffy’s side. Not just a need to leave this woman, but a drive to escape. An icy prickling began to tease his spine.

Since she wasn’t moving from her position and she blocked his exit, he had no choice but to step back to allow her entrance. As she walked into the room, she pressed her hand directly in the center of his chest, forcing him to take a step back.

“Poor lost lamb,” she purred. Despite the chill in the room, he felt perspiration gather on his neck and snake a dripping trail down his back. He squinted at the strange woman.

“I will take my leave of you now, madam. My wife awaits me.” He took another step backwards, and to the side, seeking to find a path around her. The woman simply followed, keeping herself between him and the door.

She smiled at him, but this time her smile had a hint of anger, sharp and bitter. “Not meant to be a husband. Not a lost lamb either. Meant to be a dark prince.” While keeping one hand on his chest, she took hold of his shoulder with the other arm, pulling him into a kind of embrace.

Fear gurgled in the pit of his stomach and began to rise.

“Ma’am, I insist you unhand me.” It sounded absolutely ridiculous to his ears and yet, apart from physically forcing her away, he knew of no other way to extricate himself from the situation.

The woman only smiled in response, her eyes twinkling at him wickedly.

He could feel his heart stuttering about madly in his chest as he fought to keep down a surging tide of fear. He stepped backwards and to the side yet again, attempting to work past her. She followed, still gripping him tightly.

“I don’t care for this dance, William. I’d like another.”

“Leave me alone, Madam.” He reached up to force her hand away from the center of his chest – it was icy cold and immovable.

He stepped back again, but not of his free will this time. Now she was moving him backwards, the pressure of her hand on his chest propelling him until his calves pressed against the back of a chair. The force of her hand increased, shoving him down into the cushions. She followed the momentum of the gesture, and hovered over him, effectively pinning him into the chair.

“Not supposed to be coy, my prince. Supposed to want your dark gift. Supposed to want me.”

“I assure you, I do not, madam. I fear you’ve managed to mistake me for another. Or possibly you’re not precisely right in the head and are in need of medical assistance.”

She shot him a look with daggers for eyes.

“It’s my dark gift to give. And it’s very, very rude to not accept a present, William. I shall be quite cross with you.”

William struggled, vainly, to rise from the chair. William knew his own strength in the boxing ring. He could easily have bested a man twice her size. Yet the woman held him in a grip that was almost inhuman.

The stranger smirked at him, and keeping one hand on the center of his chest, forced his knees apart with her other hand before settling between his legs in a kneeling position.

“Want another sort of dance, do you? All alike you are – man or demon. All want to dance.”

With her free hand, she fluttered her fingers across the crotch of William’s trousers. He felt a sudden rush of adrenaline as his body responded to her touch autonomically.

She laughed, a dusky, musical sound, and looked at him, her blue eyes sparkling. “That’s my boy. Likes pleasure with his pain, doesn’t he?” Slowly, teasingly, she undid the top button of his fly.

Although he was flooded with revulsion toward the woman, her physical manipulation through the material of his trousers caused his cock to harden, ever so slightly. Disgusted with her and with his own body, he thrashed his legs against her torso, seeking to break free from the virtual prison. She remained immovable – an iron vice.

His feet scrabbled on the floor, straining against the wood, to push the chair backwards and away from her grip. It was no use. Like the rest of the chairs on the ship, this one too had been bolted to the floor.

With both hands, he reached out to shove her backwards. Her teeth snapped at his hands, much like a dog would bite at a fly, laughing at him. Meanwhile, her free hand unbuttoned the second button of his fly.

His heart was thudding so loudly in his head, that when he first heard the crashing sound, he wasn’t sure of the direction. Instinctively, he looked toward the door to find it flung open. There, standing within the doorframe was…amazingly, impossibly, his wife.

Buffy strode into the room, looking far more like a warrior than a wife, despite being clothed in a white flannel nightgown. Fury sparked from her eyes as she spat out, “Get your mitts off my husband, you ho-bag.”




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Author's notes:

What's going to happen? Will there be a ho-down throwdown? (YES, I just made a Miley Cyrus reference!) Will Buffy have to kick some ass, even though she's human? Will Miss Edith possibly rescue Dru? Or possibly George? Could William simply try to box with Dru and she'd laugh herself to death? (Laughing yourself to death is just ahead of "fire" in things vampires dread.)






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