Our hopes and expectations
Black holes and revelations
Hold you in my arms
I just wanted to hold you in my arms -Muse-
Chapter 15
My Elizabeth is in my arms, and the world is a perfect place.
William’s first thought upon waking was ridiculously sentimental, he knew, but he smiled secretly to himself and held onto it all the same. He twined his fingers in her hair, gently, so as not to wake her. Then he stopped, froze, remembered.
Not my Elizabeth, my Buffy. And not mine really. Not yet.
His careful fingers caught in her hair. He stilled his movements and recalled the previous night’s events: the flurry of activity over the creature in the hold and Buffy’s insistence in securing the safety of the ship, the fire in her eyes as she set about her mission, his relief that she’d begun to find herself again. And then later when they were together in bed, she’d seen him in that ridiculous device and tended to him with the gentlest touch. There was something there, something like compassion, like love.
She’d kissed him. Wonder of wonders, she’d pressed her lips against his and sighed. And when he’d held her in his arms, she had allowed it, welcomed it even.
In those moments he could see his Elizabeth shining through her Buffy skin. In her memory, she was seven years younger than the woman he’d known and wed. But he could see the woman that she would become - buzzing just beneath the surface.
She made a soft, cooing sound in her sleep and her fingers flexed briefly against his chest, then relaxed. His toes curled up in response and he bit his lip to assure his silence. The standard morning erection he’d woken with had turned into something far more substantial, from sandstone to granite. He inhaled slowly, luxuriating in the scent of her, willing his body to obedience. He had to remain still, to prolong this moment with her in his arms, for what would happen upon her waking was bound to be less pleasant than this.
He suddenly remembered something from childhood – sitting on a stool in the kitchen while the cook, Mrs. MacLaughlin, baked gingerbread men. Buffy smelled a bit like that, the slightest hint of ginger. Perhaps that was what had brought on the memory. Like now, his hunger and impatience growing as he waited. As a boy, he knew not to taste the biscuits before they were finished. Burnt fingers and tongue would be his only reward for that. But he’d known her in her future – with her battles won, the woman had finally emerged. As the man who had known what the finished treat tasted like, it was an exquisite torture to wait for the baking.
Run, run, fast as you can. You can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man.
Buffy’s breathing slowly became shallower, and she shifted position again, rubbing her leg against his. She nuzzled the tip of her nose just under his jaw, and he held back a groan as his erection went from granite to something far harder. Was diamond harder than granite? Dear god, the effect this woman had on him, to cause him to consider himself with a diamond cock.
He felt his cheeks warm and was grateful she remained asleep.
He lay there, halfway between agony and bliss, as the moments spun out, and he soaked them up gratefully.
Suddenly her soft body hardened, and her breathing stopped for a moment. She was awake then, and knew who she was, knew who he was. The moment, golden as it had been, was just about to take a turn.
He waited for it, willed himself to breathe steadily as if asleep. He could feel her lashes flutter against his chest as she blinked a few times and then closed her eyes. She made a soft “mmm” sound and rolled on her side, away from him. She was such a dreadful actress that he couldn’t suppress a grin.
And it was quite as he expected, really.
Run, run, fast as you can. You can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man.
With her back to him, he had the luxury to watch her at least. He opened his eyes to see her hair falling across his shoulder. The green chemise she wore looked beautiful with her eyes, he knew, remembering the long afternoon in which she’d tried them on in their hotel. He had determined they’d have a proper afternoon tea, and she’d insisted that he attend her private fashion show. The result was the most decadent tea he’d ever imagined, and he would never again be able to taste clotted cream without also tasting her.
What if he was to shift ‘in his sleep’ much the way Buffy had? Lie on his side and casually allow his groin to brush against her bottom. If he let her feel his erection, the fantastic attraction he had to her, would she be repulsed? Frightened? Elizabeth, he knew, while Buffy remained hidden.
Still, there was last night. And not just the way she touched him and her kiss. There was the way she looked at him when she thought he couldn’t see, little glances that lingered just a bit too long. It wasn’t what she used to feel for him, but it was something. It was a start.
She made another “mmm” sound and scooted just a bit further away from him.
Realizing that the moment had slipped away, he shifted slightly, preparing to leave the bed when two brisk knocks sounded from the door, along with a muffled, “It’s George, with breakfast.”
“One moment, George,” he called as he climbed off the end of the bed.
Buffy bolted up, covers tucked around her. “Guess I slept in!” she said to the sheets bunched in her fists, for she certainly wasn’t looking at him.
“I’ll get the door. Shall I fetch your dressing gown, Buffy?”
She nodded vigorously in response, but she still didn’t look at him.
William opened the wardrobe and fished out his own dressing gown, wrapping it around his body before finding hers and handing it up to where she sat in the middle of the bed. It only took her a moment to slip it on. Adjusting his dressing gown in a manner that would hopefully mask his raging erection, he opened the door to George.
“Good morning Mr. Pratt, Mrs. Pratt!” George was in exceptional spirits this morning, and William couldn’t help but beam a smile in return.
“Breakfast this morning is blueberry scones, smoked ham, fruit compote, and clotted cream.” The porter laid the heavy tray onto the table with a clatter.
“George, I don’t believe I could imagine a more perfect breakfast,” William said.
The boy looked up at him quickly, to see if he was in jest, but the sincerity behind William’s words must have been reflected in his eyes, for George’s grin only widened.
“George, were there any problems on the ship last night?” Buffy asked. She had been so silent around George of late that he seemed slightly taken aback.
“Problems, Ma’am?”
“Like, did anything go wrong? Anything creepy happen? You know, with the cargo hold and the … rodents.”
“Oh!” The light dawned for George. “No, Mrs. Pratt. Nothin’ a ‘tall! No overboard passengers, no problems. Not a peep!”
Buffy smiled in relief. William couldn’t help but notice a blush creeping up George’s cheeks as he returned the smile and gave a nod.
Turning to William, he announced “I’ve only two more breakfasts to bring to you after this, sir.”
“Why is that?” William asked.
“We’ll be docking in New York in two days time.”
William shook his head. “Impossible to imagine that we’ve come such a distance in so short a time. Marvels of the modern age.”
“Indeed, Mr. Pratt.” George nodded and backed out of the room, closing the door with a soft click.
As was his habit, William removed the lids from their breakfast tray and took his usual seat, facing the door, as Buffy climbed down from the bed to sit across from him. Her dressing gown was wrapped tightly around her thin frame and the look of it reminded him of a cocoon containing a moth which was quite determined upon not emerging.
He took a sip of orange juice as Buffy began to butter her scone. Her rumpled hair fell directly into her face, and she made no effort at all to brush it back.
Run, run, as fast as you can.
“Good morning,” he said in what he thought an exceptionally pleasant tone of voice.
“Huh?” Buffy mumbled. He could just make out one eye glaring at him through her tangled curtain of hair.
“Good morning. With all of George’s business, I hadn’t greeted you.”
“Oh, sure. Right back at you.” She pulled her hair back long enough to take a quick bite of scone before letting it fall back to veil her face.
He cut a few bites of ham and they continued to dine without words. Their only accompaniment was the sound of clinking silverware and the very faint calls of seagulls through the door.
“Very good news about the cargo hold, yes?” He was determined, and he could be a very patient man when required.
Buffy nodded and brushed the hair from her eyes to look at him with an unexpectedly intense expression.
“I wasn’t so sure our prison was going to hold Dru, to tell you the truth. I can’t believe I slept so well because if anything were to go wrong …”
When she trailed off, he prompted her. “If anything were to go wrong …?”
“Well, I’d feel responsible. It’s my job to protect people. It’s what I do. It may be the only thing I do well. I’m not so good with relationship things. But being the Slayer? Putting monsters in their place? That I can handle. And if I had messed that up … I don’t know if I could forgive myself.”
William was stunned into silence, staring stupidly at a piece of ham he’d speared with his fork. He didn’t know if he was more perplexed by this unexpected flurry of words or her willingness to be so honest, so vulnerable with him. And her confession that she was ‘not so good with relationships’ – was this part of what kept her at such a distance?
Not knowing what to say in response to this flood, he could only look at her, feeling absolutely helpless.
Her green eyes looked back into his and offered no mercy. She didn’t shyly lower her gaze nor hide behind her golden veil of hair. She just looked at him with a gaze that offered her total honesty.
“I think you did a splendid job in securing the hold, Buffy. There’s nothing to worry about.”
She nodded and took a sip of tea.
“Have I told you how much I miss coffee?”
He chucked. “Nearly every morning, darling.” Damn. He’d let another endearment slip. He glanced over to her quickly, but she was occupied scowling at her teacup.
Working to deflect attention from his last utterance, he asked, “Did you hear George earlier? He said we’d be in New York City the day after tomorrow.”
Buffy nodded absently and dipped the tip of her spoon in the clotted cream, muttering, “What the hell is this stuff?”
William cleared his throat and attempted to keep his voice calm and conversational. “We’re to spend three nights in the city before we begin our rail journey west.”
Mercifully, that caught her attention and she looked at him with interest. “How long will the trip to California take?”
“We have at least one, possibly two train changes to make, but the trip should take approximately three weeks.”
She dropped her eyes to her plate, and he remained her patient husband who watched silently while so many questions skittered and bounced around his mind. Had she considered just slipping away once they arrived to New York? Did she want to go to California with him? Was the trip to her former home the only reason she stayed with him?
She remained hidden from him behind a wall of her own thoughts and her curtain of tangled hair.
Remembering the feeling of her in his arms this morning, the way his heart had jumped about in his chest when she’d kissed him last night, his hand reached across the table to hers – almost as if the damned thing had a mind of its own. Without any permission from his brain or his pride, his fingertips brushed the back of her hand, lightly.
She looked up with a start.
He smiled. “The trip out west should be a wonder. It’s an entirely new world – I think for both of us.” The longing in his voice bordered on embarrassing. He swallowed, then slowly and deliberately removed his foolish hand from hers. She didn’t move to stop him.
“Yes,” she replied very quietly. But when he looked at her, she graced him with a slight smile that held some measure of hope.
Left to her own devices, she’d remain behind her barriers. But he’d been on the other side - knew what her walls held out and what they kept in. He understood what she was capable of and slowly, step by step, he would win her.
Even the hardest rock can be worn away with enough time. If she were stone, he would be water, steady and determined.
He considered that it really was a pity their journey west would avoid the Grand Canyon, that wonder of water over stone. The spectacle would be nothing compared to William’s wooing of his wife, but it would be something to see all the same.
Since he grew weary of forcing her through conversation, he let the silence spin out as they picked through the remnants of breakfast. Still curious about the clotted cream, Buffy dipped her fingertip into it and brought it to her lips, pink tongue darting out to taste.
William shifted uncomfortably in his seat and was saved by two quick knocks announcing that George had returned to collect the trays.
“Come in,” William called, gratefully.
The porter was in a bit of a hurry, as was usual at this time of day. After a cursory inquiry as to their enjoyment of breakfast, he quickly gathered the tray and was just leaving the room when William stopped him.
“George, we won’t be needing the cot any longer. Could you please arrange to have it collected later today?”
“Indeed, sir!” George was radiant. His smile looked as if it were electrified. Suddenly William felt very fortunate that Buffy’s back was to the spectacle that was the very delighted George. “I can certainly have that taken care of! And may I say, sir, that I’m so pleased to know that Mrs. Pratt is feeling recovered … that is to say that you and she are … oh, dear lord. Good day, sir!”
George slammed the door with a kind of frantic energy. There was only the briefest pause before the clanging of metal echoed through the door, announcing that the boy also managed to drop the tray.
William sighed and looked to his wife.
She returned his gaze – her green eyes brimming with questions.
He inhaled and did not look away, waiting for her to say something, to give some sign. She remained silent but still he held her gaze, hoping desperately that she’d see the steely determination of a husband, but fearing she’d only find the lost look of a lovestruck fool.
A few seconds dragged by, then a few seconds more. She registered neither approval nor disgust regarding their new sleeping arrangements. She merely continued to look at him, her eyes still questioning. He longed to ask “What is it that you question, my love? How you feel about me? What kind of man I am? Why I want to sleep with you? Or could I hope that you don’t understand why you want to sleep with me?”
None of those questions would be asked nor answered. Not now. She had her walls, and he had his common sense.
And so he asked a different one.
“Would you like to take a stroll on the deck?”
She paused and considered this new question briefly before responding.
“That sounds great.”
~*~
It was late evening when they returned from their second walk of the day. After dinner had been served by a giddy George, Buffy had suggested they take another stroll and William had eagerly agreed.
Though it was August, there was a slight chill in the air, rising from the frothy Atlantic. He hoped for the opportunity to place an arm about her shoulders during their walk, but she’d wrapped herself in a thick shawl and remained a far enough distance that this was not a possibility.
After a quick trip to check on the doors of the hold, they made their way to their cabin. Just as they turned down the hallway, he heard a voice from behind, calling his name quite insistently.
He turned around to see Dr. and Mrs. Crowdner hurrying down the hallway towards them.
“Oh, god,” Buffy muttered.
He reached out to squeeze her hand, then thought the better of it and carefully reached out toward the doctor instead, greeting him with a handshake.
“William and Elizabeth Pratt. How lovely to see you,” Dr. Crowdner exclaimed.
“Yes, you as well,” William said in what he hoped sounded like a congenial tone.
“Is everything … quite alright?” the doctor asked, his gaze flitting between William and his wife. The doctor’s wife, Jane, took on a very patient expression which William feared very nearly matched his own.
“Yes, quite,” William assured. “We were just enjoying the night air and were about to retire for the evening, actually.”
“Oh yes, quite.” The doctor glanced over to Elizabeth. “And your wife? She is feeling much ... recovered?”
“Yes, she is,” Buffy interjected. “And her hearing, as always, is working perfectly.”
William couldn’t help but chuckle. “Her spirits are in fine form, as you can see.”
Not seeming to know quite how to respond to that, the doctor responded with nothing at all. Jane Crowdner leaned over to nudge her husband’s arm. “Perhaps you could show me that constellation you were speaking of earlier? I fear the city lights of New York will dull the night sky and I’m quite curious about it, dear.”
Dr. Crowdner gave a quick nod to William and Buffy, wished them a good evening, and continued down the hall toward the aft end of the ship.
Once they slipped inside their cabin Buffy grumbled, but only briefly, about nosy doctors and nineteenth-century medical practices. As much as she may not want to admit it, William knew that he hadn’t lied to the doctor in the hallway. Her spirits were in as fine a form as he’d seen them, and she didn’t have a sour enough temperament to complain about the doctor for long.
She sat at the small table and began to unpin her hair. Earlier that day she’d allowed him to arrange it in a simple style – so that she was presentable during their turns on the deck. Though she’d allowed her hair to be styled without complaint, she seemed greatly relieved to be wearing it down about her shoulders. She combed her hair in silence, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
Even in this action, he could see a dim spark in her eyes. Those same questions that had hidden behind her eyes earlier in the day still lingered, peering out on quiet moments.
He remained slouched against the wall, unsure if he should prod or remain silent. He chose the latter course of action and continued to enjoy watching his wife comb her hair.
She turned to the closet, opened the door and pulled out her nightgown, the voluminous cotton dress that she’d worn the night they’d met the creature. He waited and watched. It wasn’t until he began to feel slightly dizzy that he realized he’d been holding his breath.
Carefully, dare he say stealthily, he exhaled.
She turned her head to the side and glanced over at him, pausing.
“Shall I … retire to the hallway while you dress then?” Damn him for having to ask.
She nodded her response.
He slipped out into the hall and walked the few steps to the lounge. He’d thought, perhaps, that a book might pique his interest for the last day and a half of their voyage, but the room had lost its luster. What was once a cozy refuge had been transformed into an uncomfortable space and one he couldn’t linger in.
He quickly returned to the room and, after announcing himself with a sturdy knock, strode back into the room.
Buffy lay in bed facing the ceiling, covers tucked under her chin.
As he reached up to trim the wick of the oil lamp, he caught himself and slowly lowered his hand. No, he thought, not tonight. She might hide, but he needn’t.
With his back to her, he shrugged out of his suit coat and slid his bracers from his shoulders. Next he removed his shirt, then undershirt and placed them on the back of the chair. He sat down and took off his shoes and socks, taking care to surreptitiously sneak a look at his wife.
She was watching.
Though he’d stolen the quickest of glances, he’d seen that her face was no longer turned upwards, but was now facing him, though her eyes appeared closed.
Wearing only his trousers, he gathered up the rest of his clothing and went to the wardrobe to begin tucking the items away. Once everything had been sorted, he unfastened his trousers and let them slide to the floor.
He almost stopped there. Modesty and a sense of basic decorum flooded his senses briefly, Then he remembered that hungry look in her green eyes, when she had undressed him so long ago, back when she was his wife in deed and not just in name, back when she was his Elizabeth.
His fingers untied the drawstring, and his underwear slid to the floor.
Standing before her like this, or rather, with his backside to her like this, he could feel his cheeks burn as though he were standing in front of an oven. If it were possible for his hind cheeks to take on the furious glow that matched his front ones, she’d know for certain how difficult these bold acts were for him.
He reached over and gathered his nightshirt in one hand, willing his hand not to tremble and betray him. It did not.
In what he felt certain was a very casual manner, he slipped his nightshirt over his head, just as he turned to the side – attempting, besotted idiot that he was, to catch a hint of her expression.
His stone wall of a wife lay in bed facing the ceiling, still and stiff. Her eyes, however, were screwed tightly shut. Indeed, her entire face was bunched up in a most unusual expression.
Was it because she found him repulsive or because she was willing herself not to peek?
Either way, he cursed his foolish boldness and swiftly moved toward the lamp, twisting the wick down. The lamp guttered and spat, quickly sending the room into darkness.
He climbed into bed beside her, lifting the covers cautiously, careful not to touch her. Since the bed was rather narrow and she was lying on her back, he positioned himself on his side, facing towards her.
For a long while neither of them spoke, nor did they sleep. Her breathing was no more relaxed than his, and he could tell by her restless movements that she was a far distance from slumber. He’d just heard the ship’s bell chime ten o’clock when she said, just above a whisper, “William?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been sort of … wondering something all day.”
At last. Thank Christ. Those questions hiding behind her eyes all day. She was finally going to allow him his glance.
“What is it?”
“Well, that thing you had. That penis prison. Why did you have that thing in the first place?”
That was not what he was expecting. It was about as far away from what he was expecting as a person could manage. As Elizabeth, as Buffy, she had a way of keeping him off balance that he found simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating.
“It’s a somewhat involved story.”
“Can you give me the Cliff’s Notes version then?”
“The what?”
“The shortened version,” she explained. “I just want to understand why you’d have that to begin with. Was it some kind of punishment? Did the me-as-Elizabeth know about it?”
He was at a loss of what to say. He wouldn’t be able to explain that he’d initially purchased it to stop his impossible attraction to her. And how, once they’d become intimate, she’d insisted he bring it along on their honeymoon, with a wicked smile. This version of her had never known intimacy with Spike, nor William, and to fill her in on these details now would be something of a tricky mess.
She turned, faced him and raised her hand up as if to touch his cheek, then hesitated and settled instead upon his forearm. He blinked. If his voice had been difficult to find earlier, it was impossible now. Such a simple thing as her warm fingertips upon his arm completely unmade him.
Buffy continued, “It seems … well, kind of disturbing and I’d really like to know if …”
Just then a scream tore through their room. A woman was shrieking very loudly, and by the sounds of it, just outside their door.
William bolted up, heart thundering in his chest.
Dru.
The creature from the hold was surely the cause of such terror. He knew it with a dread certainty.
Scrambling out of bed, he put on his trousers, threw his suit coat over his nightshirt and ran towards the door.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you to Amy for the banner. Thanks to DK, Capella, Science and Lutamira for the beta. To those who are reviewing this story, thank you very much.