Chapter 13
Buffy flittered nervously around her cabin, unable to settle on any activity for long. What was taking William so long? He'd left the room for his bath nearly fifty minutes ago. She paced the length of the floor with long strides, channeling her anxiety into twirling the broken umbrella handle ninja-style.
When William finally, mercifully, came through the door, she sat down at the small table. He flashed a quick glance her way before putting his clothes away in the wardrobe. It was uncomfortable to see him so stand-offish; he usually tried so hard. The tension of the situation with Dru must be getting to him as well.
"Perhaps we could go down to the storage hold," she suggested to William's back. "I'll sleep better when I see that door securely barred."
He nodded in agreement, but said nothing. His curls were still damp and clinging to his neck and cheeks. He looked so vulnerable, fresh from his bath. It suited his modest nature to have dressed in the bathing room. He wore a grey suit which made the blue of his eyes look like a spot of calm sea in a storm.
His new, strangely silent attitude was beginning to get on her nerves. She felt a bizarre need to apologize, ask him if she'd done something wrong, even though she didn't do things like that. The touchy-feeling stuff was way out of her league. She bit her tongue and turned toward the door.
He moved aside and, in his quaint old-fashioned way, held out his arm to her as they stepped out of the room.
They heard the clanging of the workmen before they'd descended the first set of stairs. By the time they reached the bottom of the stairwell, the ringing was absolutely deafening. Captain Parsell himself stood off to the side, conferring with a steward about something or other, their voices raised to almost shouting levels, but still indistinguishable over the din. Several burly workmen were pounding away at the door with impressively large hammers. They were in the process of securing the door with wide metal bars, which spanned the width of the large doorway and were secured on either end with thick bolts that connected to the frame of the ship. There were six bars in total, from the top to the bottom of the door frame, leaving no more than five inches space between them.
Knowing what she did about vampires and the limits of their preternatural strength, she was quite certain that Dru wouldn't be able to leave the room. She gave William's arm a little squeeze in celebration, and he glanced at her with a grin. Success.
The captain acknowledged them with a nod and stepped over to greet them. Unable to say much due to the cacophony of sound, Captain Parsell looked at William with a smile and raised his brows in question. William returned the captain's smile and reached out to shake his hand. When the captain turned to nod at Buffy, she gave him a quick salute, and his shoulders shook with laughter.
With nothing left to do, she tugged gently on William's arm. They turned toward the stairs and the comfort of their cabin.
As soon as the door latched behind them, she couldn't help but gush. "Did you see that door?"
"I did, indeed."
"I don't know what I expected, but not that. I thought the captain would half-ass it with a couple of locks, and we'd have to have another talk. But that ..." She shook her head in admiration.
William looked at her, sincerity shining from his blue eyes, before glancing at the floor; he nervously shoved a hand in his pocket and began fidgeting with something. "You're confident this Druella couldn't break through the bonds?"
"Yeah, she won't be getting out." Buffy was unsure of so many things in this strange world, but this felt like a certainty.
"That's a great relief to us all," he mumbled, peering at her through lowered lashes. He moved to the rear of the room and rooted around the bottom of the wardrobe before fishing out his beloved travel guide. After adjusting the brightness of the oil lamp on the wall, he settled into a chair and began flipping through the pages.
Without conscious thought, his hand stole to his pocket and fiddled with something before he cast a guilty glance her way and snatched his hand away as though he’d touched something hot.
"Are you like ... mad at me or something?" Buffy couldn't help but blurt.
God, this new jittery attitude of his was unnerving.
"Not angry at you, no," he replied, his eyes never leaving the surface of the page.
"Why'd you go all Easter Island statue on me then? All silent and serious?"
He closed his eyes, his lips thinning to a line before speaking. "I don't mean to be. I suppose I'm simply unsettled by the ... situation. I'm not accustomed to such matters. I assure you, everything is fine."
But he did not open his eyes, avoiding her. If 'bad liar" were an Olympic Event, William would win the gold, hands down.
She moved towards him in one fell swoop, snatching the travel guide from his hands and smacking it down on the table top.
“Not fooling me. Not even fooling yourself. What’s up, William?”
His startled blue eyes met hers, as his hands began to nervously comb through his hair.
"Nothing. Nothing whatsoever.” And still, he did not meet her eyes.
She moved toward him, positioning herself between him and the table, hands on his shoulders, forcing it.
“And again, I ask. 'Sup, William?”
He dashed a hand into his pocket, toying with the something there before pulling it out as if scalded. Could he be any more transparent? It was almost sad ‘besting’ him at this game.
She leaned over and slid her hand into his trouser pocket. His hips rocked up at her touch, but her other hand held him securely enough in the chair that he didn’t leave.
“What have you got, Master William? Something you can share with the class?” she teased.
He slid sideways in the chair, but her grip held him tight as she wriggled her hands into his trouser pocket. She could just sense a … something. A pouch? A type of purse? Her eager fingers snatched it and drew it into the light.
A small, black velvet pouch. Curious, she stood up and rapidly back-peddled from him.
“So what’s this?”
“It’s private. It’s none of your concern.” His voice was urgent as he pursued her across the floor.
Unfastening the button easily, her fingers rapidly came into contact with … fine strands. Well, that was weird. Grasping it quickly, she fished it out to find a lock of blonde hair, tightly bound with a black velvet ribbon.
He looked up at her, and a bright red blush stained his sharp cheekbones. He lowered his gaze to the floor as he held out his hand.
“It’s nothing. It’s … it’s mine. ‘Twas given to me. Please return it.”
Realization hit her like a wet bag of sand. “It’s my hair?”
“Yes,” he said, simply, still not meeting her gaze.
“I gave this to you?”
His only response was a nod.
She wove her fingers through her hair, searching for the one spot this might have come from. It wasn’t even hard. Near the nape of her neck, nearly at the base, she could find a rough patch of stubble that had beer sheered off nearly at the root.
And with that discovery, she had to take a moment.
“Why?”
He looked up at her through lowered lashes. “Why what? Why did you give it to me? Why do I have it now?”
“How about you answer the first one? Why’d I give it to you?”
“You gave it to me when my mother died.” He didn’t offer further explanations. He didn’t need to.
She nodded.
When the silence between them stretched and yawned, she took a deep breath and steadied herself.
“And the reason you have it now …?” She was patient. Oh, she knew people thought she was an impatient bitch, but look at her temperance now, her ability to let him hang himself.
He remained as mute as stone.
“And the reason you have it now …” she continued, “is that you’re a ginormous dumbass.”
He looked at her, brows raised.
“You’re going to take Dru on yourself, aren’t you? Going to slay that dragon and save your damsel. Good god, William. Saran Wrap called, and even they think you’re too transparent.”
He tugged absently at his hair, but remained silent.
Folding her arms across her chest, she sighed, still struggling to wring a confession from him. “In your day planner for tonight, would you or would you not have penciled in ‘Kill a Vampire’?”
Still, he said nothing.
“William, I’m not oblivious here. You were going to try to kill Dru. It’s why you have the little token thingie. It’s why you’re being all avoidy.”
He jerked his chin toward her. “And what if I am? “
“If you am? You am being fantastically clueless, that’s what. You face Dru you’ll either die or be turned into a monster. I’m not about to let you do that.”
He shook his head, hard. Strangely, it reminded her of the way a wet dog might shake his head, thoroughly and completely, as if to rid himself of all thought.
He stared at the floor for a long while and remained still. So still it was eerie. He was completely and utterly silent. After a long, long while he spoke with a gravity that startled her.
His words were simple, direct, and to the point. His gaze was so intense it seemed capable of searing an after-image on her vision. Buffy was half certain that when she closed her eyes she'd see the ghost of his face. She didn’t close her eyes, however, but met his gaze unblinking, as he asked, “Who is Dru after?”
“You,” she blurted, before she’d thought to frame it cleverly and to her advantage.
He smiled a hangman’s smile. “Exactly”
“NO!” she shouted.
“Why not?” he asked, simply.
“Because she’ll kill you,” she replied, simpler still.
He smiled wryly at the floor and shook his head. “I’m not about to put the innocents on this ship at risk, put you at risk, when I’m the one she’s after.”
“But she’s not getting out of that hold. You saw it for yourself. The captain has sealed it up tight.” She folded her arms across her chest.
“Then you’ve nothing to concern yourself with,” he responded with a ‘checkmate’ tone of voice, folding his arms across his chest in response.
“I’m not letting you leave this room, William. If I have to stay awake all night, I’ll do that. Fine by me.”
“Fine,” he grumped, and shaking his head, he slumped himself into the corner chair without another word.
~1:30 a.m.~
Buffy sat in bed, her back against the wall. She was exhausted. Her eyelids felt as thick and wooly as her thoughts. William remained in his corner chair, chin resting on his hand; his eyes closed. He looked far more like a tired little boy than a dragon slayer at the moment.
She struggled against sleep, giving her heavy lids brief rests. She would close her eyes for a few beats, then drag them open again to see the same familiar sight of her slouching husband. The blessed moments of darkness, with closed eyes, were becoming longer and longer. She was just falling down into slumber, when an image of Dru flashed through her mind, and she snapped her head up, smacking it painfully against the wall.
Exercise. That’s what she needed. Getting the blood flowing would be just the thing to keep her perky for the next hour or two.
She climbed off the bed and hesitated a moment before unbuttoning her dress. Though she felt slightly uncomfortable exercising in her ‘underwear,’ she could hardly get anything done with yards of cloth trapping her legs. Besides, bloomers and a chemise covered way more skin than her standard summer wear of a tank top and short skirt.
After hanging up her dress, she began a series of stretching exercises, but silently, so as not to wake William. No easy feat in the confines of their cabin. She’d just begun to count out crunches in a whisper, when she caught the sound of William, groaning softly. Stopping mid-crunch, she looked up at him. His face wore an uncomfortable expression.
“I … thought you were sleeping,” she mumbled, not knowing what else to say. “Are you sick or something?”
He shook his head. The look on his face shifted subtly, changing from one of discomfort to one of defeat.
“Would you mind, terribly much, not doing that?” he asked.
“Not doing what? Crunches?”
He ran his fingers through his tangled hair and nodded.
“It helps me stay awake. What? You’re going all Victorian prude on me? Trust me, I look like a Little House on the Prairie refugee compared to what the rest of California wears.”
“It’s not that …” he trailed off.
“What then?”
He rubbed a hand across his face. He looked so worn at that moment that she felt a small twinge inside her chest. Then, keeping his eyes closed, he wearily raised both arms above his head in an ‘I surrender’ position.
“I win?” She rose to her feet. Despite his worn out demeanor, she couldn’t help but feel a small thrill of victory. It was her nature; she couldn’t help it.
“If you’ll stop ‘exercising,’ yes, you win. I shall remain in the room for the duration of the night.”
He stood up and shrugged out of his suit coat. As he did so, a small wooden object slid out of his coat pocket and tumbled to the floor, landing with a clatter. It was a spindle that he’d surreptitiously removed from the chair and crudely sharpened into a stake. Objectively, she had to give him props. It was a far better design than her umbrella handle version.
“You were a busy boy while I was in the bath.”
He said nothing, but wove past her, reaching out to assemble his cot from its storage spot in the corner of the room. Her hand darted out to stop him.
“Tonight, I think, you should sleep in the real bed.”
He scoffed at her. “And assign the cot to you? I wouldn’t hear of it.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant …” Buffy trailed off. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, damn them. She quickly turned her gaze to the floor as she stammered out an explanation. “It’s just that … if you’re in bed with me, I’d be able to tell if you tried to sneak out.”
“Ahh,” he murmured noncommittally. The mattress squeaked as he sat down on it, then moved to lay next to the wall, leaving Buffy the side closest to the door.
“Aren’t you going to undress?”
“No,” he blurted.
“Well why not? It’s not anything I haven’t seen before.”
He said nothing.
“I swear, William. Sometimes you’re such a prude.”
“I was a prude. Then I met you.” His stubborn façade broke at that, and he flashed her a tired grin. “Very well, since you insist. But my trousers shall remain on.” He raised a brow at her. His newfound confidence was profoundly disturbing.
He unbuttoned his shirt, then balled it up and tossed it in the corner of the room. After that, he stripped off his linen undershirt and gave it the same treatment. It was very cavalier and Spike-like of him, and she found it both terrifying and exhilarating. She’d never seen William with his shirt off before and that in itself was proving to be chock full of wonder. Due to boxing and all his recent days in the exercise room of the ship, his chest was tightly muscled, his arms sculpted with lovely ridges and planes. And his abdomen was tightly ridged with a six-pack.
She was just forcing her eyes up to the lamp above their bed, when she caught a half-formed smirk on his lips. It was so like Spike that it stopped her cold.
“How do I know you’re not going to go sneaking out once I’m asleep?” she asked.
He blinked at her, a mask of contrition rapidly replacing his smirk. “I shan’t.”
“Not good enough.”
Grumbling, she climbed out of bed, and crawled into William’s former slouching chair.
“Buffy!” He called, exasperated.
“What? You go ahead, sleep. One of us might as well. I mean it, William.”
“Buffy, this is just foolishness. I give you my word, love. I will not leave our chamber tonight.”
“Nope, nope, nope.”
“Well, then I won’t be sleeping either.” He slid out of bed and slumped into the chair across the table from her. She glared up at him, ready to begin another argument, when he cut her off with a smile.
“We’re a fine pair, aren’t we?”
She nodded.
He reached across the table and gently stroked the back of her hand. “What would it take, love, for you to rest easy tonight? For you to lie down and sleep?”
“I don’t know if I can, William. Even if you gave me your word. There’s just too much at stake. Too much to lose.”
“And there’s nothing I could say? Nothing I could do that would assure you that I’d remain here through the night?”
“Well, short of tying you up – no.”
There was only a moment of silence before he spoke. “I’d be amenable to that.”
-----------------
Author's note:
And now a word from our sponsor, Miss Cleo.
Oh children, there be amazin’ treats in store for you in da future. All paths are laid clear to me by the reading of the Tarot, you see. Dis girl and dis boy, dey fall right to sleep, day do. Dere be no hanky-panky at all. Da boy William, he be tired and be bringin’ no more surprises to his lady love dis night. And dat Buffy, she be settlin’ down right away and be decidin’ dat bein’ a quiet wife is jus’ da ting for her. Dat bad one, dat Dru? She be stewin’ in the belly of da ship for da rest of da trip and will be givin’ our young lovers no more surprises a ‘tall. I am Miss Cleo and I am never wrong about da future, my little ones. For more genuine psychic readings, just dial 1.800.244.7226! That’s 1.800.BIGSCAM!
For those who may not know Miss Cleo: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m2LR2JpIo7s&feature=related
(Her Jamaican accent wavers like the baritone of a pubescent boy.)
[Reviews - 298]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | 
Chapter or Story
Has been viewed 2084 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:
Your continued feedback helps shape the story and I never take it for granted. Thank you! Also thanks to DK, Science and Minx! They beta'ed this and they're awesome. They don't even morph into mean bitches if I don't take their suggestions! Props to Amy for the banner!