Chapter 36

On a farm, just outside of Modesto, California, three a.m.

The musty scent of rain filled the air.  Somewhere behind the darkened farmhouse, water sluiced off the roof and onto a sheet of metal with a pling-pling-pling.  On the front porch, a creature sat in a rocking chair.  She remained absolutely still.  If not for her yellow eyes gleaming in the moonlight, she would have appeared as if carved from wood.

Two corpses lay in the doorway, an untidy pile.  Dru hadn’t even needed to ask for an invitation from the pair.  All she’d needed was to give them a pathetic look.  One look at her rain-drenched condition, and they’d stepped across the threshold without a question.  Foolish cattle.  They deserved to be dined on.

Though Dru’s appetite for blood was sated, another hunger had been growing, gnawing on her for days, since they’d dusted her dark prince.  She longed for something else.  For someone.

Without her William, she was terribly lonely.  Rudderless.  Life tasted bitter without someone to share it with.  She remembered those torturous hours in the crate aboard The Adriatic.  Too much time on her hands meant too much thinking, too much remembering.  Too much time for the voices – of her sister, her mother, Miss Edith – to come back around to say so many confusing things inside her head. 

(Just tell the sons of bitches to take a long ride if they bother you, Dru.  You’re in charge, after all.)

“William?!”  Dru blinked and immediately shifted into her human face.

(Yup.)

“You’re not … dusted?  You’re real?”

(Real enough to you – and that’s what matters, don’t it?)

Dru smiled, contentedly.  Of all the people who had set up camp inside her head, her cowboy seemed to be the most promising, the kindest.

(Now look at you, grinnin’ like a jaybird.  You wasn’t meant to play a lone hand, Dru.)

“I wasn’t, my prince.  That nasty sunshine and her boy – they took you from me.”

(I reckon they did.  Question is, what do you aim to do about it?)

“Kill the slayer.  Kill him.  The William who dusted you.”

(By your lonesome?  That might be biting off a notch more’n you can chew.  Take them on by yourself, you’re only aiming to get yourself dusted.)

Dru said nothing.  Her smile melted, and her eyes stared blankly ahead.

(What about that Shining Man?)

Dru felt a wave of revulsion at the mention of him.

(Power in numbers, Dru.  He’s plannin’ some kind of shindig down there at the hellmouth.  I reckon if you make tracks there and join up with him you two could lay a nice little ambush for the slayer and her pet.)

“I don’t care for the way he talks to me, though, my William.  I don’t like him.”

(I know, querida.  He’s mean enough to steal flies from a blind spider.  Truth is, though, you need him.  And he needs you.)

“The Shining Man needs me?”

(Too god-damned right he does.  You got a power he don’t have.)

“What’s that?”

(You’re real.  That Shining Man – he’s got no real presence in the world.  He can influence those white demons of his, but he couldn’t drive a railroad spike into a snowbank if he wanted to.  You’re different.  You got a real body and the power to make more just like you.  That’s a hell of a thing, if you think on it.)

“But what if he gets cross with me?”

(He won’t get to play trail boss this time around.  You’ve got power, and you’ve got me on your side.  This time around, he won’t turn you into a boot-licker.  You’ll be Warren’s equal.)

“The Shining Man is … ‘Warren’?”  Dru couldn’t help but giggle.

(Ah, only the beginning of the secrets I’ve got, darlin’.  Let me fill you in …)

And Dru began to rock in the chair, laughing.  To anyone walking past the darkened house she would appear as a gibbering mad thing.   Stupid cattle.  They had no idea. 

Her conversation lasted until the eastern sky began to lighten.  Then, gently kicking her meal from the front stoop, she moved the bodies aside and found a nice, dark place to sleep with a contented smile on her lips.

~*~

Oscar, William and Buffy stood in front of the large building, sprawling across a block of Sacramento’s K Street.  The Capital Hotel read the script on the awning.

Oscar gave William a knowing grin.  “Ah, those charming Americans.  Since this hotel is located at California’s capitol, I expected a different spelling.”

William chuckled.  “Perhaps the proprietors are referring to the quality of the establishment.  It’s likely a capital place to stay.”

“Since the entire first floor is filled with lounges and bars, I suppose it is,” Oscar said.

“Oh geez, what’s the difference?”  Buffy asked.  “Capital?  Capitol?  You’re just repeating the same word.”

“Well,” Oscar said, “with an ‘o’ the word would indicate a seat of government, which this town most certainly is.  The other spelling is intended for …”

Buffy cut him off with a wave of her hand.  “Grammar nazi.”

Oscar raised his brows and looked over her head at William, mouthing the word ‘nazi?’

William shook his head.

“Let’s just check in,” Buffy said.  “Think positive.  Maybe the clerk will spell something without that extra ‘u’ that you English like to shove into words.  You can give him a full grammar cop beat-down.”

Registering went smoothly, without any spelling or grammar altercations.  A shy, red-headed bellboy led them to their rooms on the third floor.  While Oscar busied himself and fussed over wrinkles in his suits, Buffy and William made themselves comfortable in their room. 

As always, Oscar had led them to a hotel boasting some of the most luxurious rooms in town.  The bright blue carpet contrasted nicely with the crisp blue and white striped cotton quilt which covered the wide bed.  Blue and green floral wallpaper decorated the walls and a cozy window seat graced the bay window.

Alone at last, William felt a familiar awkwardness settle between him and Buffy.  Though it had been four days since his rescue from the vampires, he still felt an odd discomfort.  Even when he was alone, he felt a strange disquiet, but the feeling was most intense when he was in the company of his wife.  He busied himself by looking out of the window with what he hoped was a fascinated expression on his face.

Buffy plonked onto the mattress with such a force that the bedsprings groaned.

“You know, we can’t put this off for much longer,” she said.

“Put … wh-what off, exactly?”

“Our decision.”

“Which …?  I’m sorry, which decision would that be, exactly?”

“What we’re going to do.  Go on to Napa Valley and have a life or … deal with this slayer stuff.  I hate to push you, but dragging our feet isn’t fair to Oscar.  He’s missing out on his whole speaking tour thing, and if we plan to go on with our lives at the winery, we need to say so.”

“Yes, well, what would you like to do about that?”

“Talk about it,” she said, sounding incredibly weary.

“Certainly.  What would you like to say?”

“I’d like to know what you want to do.  I’d like you to talk to me, William.  Really talk to me instead of this … whatever it is we’ve been doing.”

He coughed, but words eluded him.

“It’s impossible to make a decision together since you and I haven’t been able to have a real conversation.  You know?”

“Yes, rather,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

The silence spun out between them until William couldn’t bear it any longer.

“Perhaps we could speak of this a bit later?  I feel quite weary from the train journey.  I believe I’ll just freshen up with a bath.”

When he shot her a glance, she kept her resigned gaze trained upon the carpet.

He let himself out of the room feeling every bit as defeated as she looked.  Feeling like a coward.

Having made his way down the hall, he clicked the latch and slipped into the luxurious bathing room, locking the door behind him.  Bright green tiles covered the floor and cheery yellow paint lined the walls.  The linen cupboard was stocked with thick white towels. 

The centerpiece of the room was a large claw-footed bathtub.  William reached over and twisted on the taps before sitting down on the small wooden chair in the corner.  As he unlaced his boots, the room filled with steam.  Once his shoes and socks were off, he shrugged out of his frock coat and began unbuttoning his waist coat. 

When someone tried the door handle, he jumped and very nearly ripped off a button.

“It’s occupied,” he called through the door.

“I know that.”  Buffy’s voice was unmistakable.

“I’m, erm … I’ll return to the room in a moment.  Is it urgent?”

“Yeah, I think so.  Let me in.”

He reached over and turned off the tap.

“I’ll return to our room then,” he said.

“No.”

No?

“Just … let me in.”

He stared at the door and said nothing.

“William, we’ve played this scene before.  We can have a conversation through the door, which might be kinda awkward for the other guests.  Or you can just let me in. 

He unlocked the door and swung it open, swirling the steamy air through the room.

She floated to his side, then turned around – shut and locked the door.

“Did you need something?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied.  “I thought of something that might help our communication skills.”

She smiled at him and offered no further elaboration.  She reached over and twisted the tap on.  Dipping her hand down to the partially filled tub, she tested the water.

“That’s really hot.  You didn’t used to like your baths so boiling.”

He could say nothing to that, and he felt a blush creeping up his cheeks, remembering their past erotic baths both in London and at the Liverpool hotel.

She moved to stand in front of him and began unbuttoning his waist coat.  His defensive hands came up to still hers.

“I don’t require assistance, Buffy.  I’ve been bathing myself since the incident.”

“I know that.”  Buffy nodded.  “Sometimes three or four times a day.”

Once she’d unfastened his waist coat, she slid it from his shoulders and placed it on the chair.  When she began to unbutton his shirt, he stepped back, out of her reach.

“I would prefer to do this for myself, Buffy.”

“Know that, too.”  She stepped toward him, placing her hand beneath his chin and tilting his head to look at her.  “Things are better between us, but we’re still not back to normal.  I’ve been really patient, William.  For days we’ve tried things your way, but now I’d like to try things my way.  Please?”

He could have handled an argument.  He could have stood against her anger.  But her  honest, raw look and her simple request of ‘please’ had him helpless.

She continued to unbutton his shirt, and he remained mute, his hands paralyzed by his sides.

“Now, trousers.”

He blinked at her.

“Oh, no you don’t.  You don’t get to go Victorian on me now, husband.”

Buffy leaned up and kissed his mouth so incredibly gently that for a few moments, he forgot to breathe.  How long had she been able to kiss like that?  Had he simply forgotten it during his ordeal?

She deepened the kiss and nuzzled her nose against his.  It was both sweetly innocent and terribly intimate at the same time.  He sighed into her mouth, defenseless to her.

“Mmm,” she purred, and her hands set to work on unbuttoning his trousers.  His protests had long been forgotten.  In no time at all, she’d worked the buttons free and his pants, then his underwear, pooled at his feet.

She placed her palm in the center of his chest.  The gesture made his heart gallop.  He watched her, cautiously.

“It’s okay that you’re a little thinner than you used to be, though Mrs. MacLaughlin would be pretty pissed at me for that.  You know she’d end up blaming me, somehow.  I’m going to have a wonderful time fattening you up, William.”

With a smile, she began unfastening the bodice of her dress.  When she reached the third button, she faltered, just for a moment.  She slanted a gaze at him, her green eyes asking the question before she gave words to it.

“Could you … help, William?”

He could.  Oh, god, he could.

His fingertips touched the edge of the button, tentatively.  Then he slid it through the opening.  With that task done, he methodically worked on the next button.  While his concentration was upon undressing her, she danced her fingertips along the edge of his jawline.  It was such a familiar touch and at the same time so sensual - to be so close to her again after so many days and nights of being certain he’d never see her again.  His breathing had become erratic, tremulous, and he willed it to slow.

Once he’d unfastened her bodice, she stepped out of her dress and laid it on the back of her chair.  She was wearing the ivory chemise set; it was one of his first gifts to her.  It clung to her curves tantalizingly. 

Since the tub was full, she gave the taps a twist, then graced him with a knowing smile and stepped into his arms.

“I think this tub is big enough for two, don’t you?”

He coughed and nodded.

Buffy shimmied out of her underthings in record time – an odd slayer benefit, he supposed.  She slipped her hand into his, then stepped into the hot bathwater.  He followed her.

She seated herself at one end of the tub.  The waterline just covered her breasts.  Her nipples played a maddening game of peek-a-boo as the water splashed against her body.  Since he could feel his cock harden, he sat down at the far end of the tub with no small amount of urgency.

William was reminded of a sculpture he’d seen long ago at the British Museum – of Ondine, the water nymph.  Even the other-worldly creature couldn’t hold a candle to Buffy - her skin shining with water droplets, her dampened hair clinging to the swell of her breasts.

His water goddess reached beneath the water and parted his legs with a small but insistent hand.  Once she’d made a space for herself, she turned around and scooted towards him until she was cradled between his legs, her back against his chest.  Like a numb fool, he could only sit there while she leaned her head against his chest.  After a moment, she reached under the water and lifted his arms, pulling them around her.

Dear god, this was pleasant.

“I’ve missed you, William.”

“I’ve … missed you, too.  Terribly.”

“Then we should totally knock off the missing.  Don’t you think?”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“William, will you talk to me?  Please?”

“I try, Buffy.  I really do.  I just … what if I’m never able to talk about the ordeal?”

“It would be okay if you’re not able to talk about it, William.  Thing is, I’m not sure that ‘not talking about it’ is helping you.”  She paused, as if steeling herself for something big.  “Listen, if they did things to you … sexual things …”

“No, that’s not it at all.”  

She said nothing.  She simply lay in his arms, her head cradled against his chest.  Normally, she worked so hard to fill in these kinds of moments that the silence unnerved him, forced him to a level of honesty that he felt entirely unprepared for.

“It has to do with what I saw them do.  Seeing them kill people, kill children – while I did nothing to stop them.  I just remained an impotent observer.  I feel culpable in it.”

“You know better than that, William.  You against two of them?  There was nothing you could have done.  You know that.” 

“It’s not just that though, Buffy.  I’ve changed.  The things I’ve seen alter a person. The truth is that it’s difficult to talk to you because I’m afraid that I’m not the man I was.  I’m not the man you knew.”

“Well, you know all about that, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry.   I don’t follow.”

Gently, she lifted one of his fingertips up to her necklace, tracing the stake necklace he’d purchased for her in New York City.  “You know what it’s like to love a person who isn’t who they used to be.  You wed Elizabeth, honeymooned with Buffy and are now in a marriage with the slayer.  I think you pretty much wrote the book on loving someone who goes through changes.” 

He wanted desperately to think of something to say, but when he opened his mouth to speak, he fell into a coughing fit, instead.  When he settled down, she wrapped her arms around his – cocooning them. 

“William, I’m the woman I am now, and you’re the man you are now.  Neither of us are the same people who wed one another, and I don’t think either of us would have wanted it that way.  We didn’t agree to remain frozen in time.”

“Yes, love.”

“But you can’t keep up this distance.  It will destroy us.  You cannot hide things from me ‘for my own good.’  I already learned that lesson for us – too painfully.  I want you William – changed or not.  I love you.  And I think you still love me too, don’t you?”

His wife wasn’t going to let him evade this.  And dammit, she deserved better than what he was giving her.  She deserved his courage.  Maybe bravery was more than fighting monsters and facing mobs.  Maybe a part of courage had to do with being frighteningly honest with the person you loved the most.  The person who gave you your reason.  Even though you felt dirty and scarred and unworthy.

“I love you, Buffy.  I always will – no matter, well, no matter who you are.”

“And I love you, changed man or not.  And from now on, we stop protecting each other.  We stop making decisions for the other.  No more hiding, no more protecting.”

He felt dampness on his cheeks that had nothing to do with the bathwater.  Did part of being courageous and showing your wife your true self include becoming weepy in the bath?  He was terribly afraid that it might be so.

She turned around to face him, their bodies rubbing together and making a delicious sound.  When she pressed her wonderfully slippery breasts against his chest, he couldn’t help but let out a moan.  Very slowly, she began to kiss and lick a line up his throat.  He swallowed, and she began to suckle tantalizingly where his adam’s apple had just bobbed.

He tangled his fingers in her wet hair, and she let out a cooing sigh.  His cock responded to the sound with an enthusiastic twitch.  Dear god, this woman was a wonder.

Buffy’s kisses led a trail to his ear.  Her voice was low, comforting.  “All the ‘me’s that I’ve been will always love the ‘you’s that you’ve been – and ever will be.  Just let me love you, darling.”

She rose up and centered her hips over his.  Very slowly, sensually, she traced a finger along the base of his painfully erect cock.  When she lowered herself down on him, his eyes rolled back in his head.  Her warm walls were gripping his cock so tightly, and it was such a pleasure that he found it difficult to breathe.  Sliding back home to the center of her seemed as basic, as irresistible, as gravity.

“Oh, Buffy,” he cried.  Tears began to pour from his eyes in earnest now.  Not silently and dignified, but full-on, unmanly weeping.  She rose up, lifting her hips while she leaned over and began to kiss the tears away from his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, love.  My emotions seem to …”  he faltered.

“No explaining.  No hiding.” 

She rose up in the water, then slid back down onto his length slowly, wriggling her hips slightly as she impaled herself.  Her fingertips played in his hair, tugging his curls.

He leaned up hungrily, and she met his mouth, her tongue sliding against his in an intimate dance before she suckled and nibbled his bottom lip.

When her hips rose again, it was with enough force to splash water on the floor, he noticed dimly.  His heartbeat was thundering in his ears.  Her inner walls tightened against his cock in a staccato beat, and he knew he’d not be able to resist much longer.  His balls tightened delightfully, and he felt his orgasm beginning to build.  When she swiveled her hips as she ground her pelvis against him, he could hold back no longer.  He spurted within her with a groan.  She lifted off him, just a few inches, then ground herself down on him once again, wringing another long spasm from him.

She held him tightly, flexing her inner muscles – they rippled along the length of his cock, wringing a few more delicious bursts from him.  After a prolonged squeeze, a most intimate embrace, she relaxed and rested her head on his shoulder.

Her fingertips ghosted over his shoulders, over the fading carvings on his back.  Though he braced himself for pain, her touch was soothing, healing.  He let his breath out in a shuddering sigh.

Surrounded by her warmth, her love, William didn’t know what to say.  The moment felt almost sacred, and he feared his clumsy words might defile it.

After a bit, he grew soft within her, and she leaned up to kiss the edge of his mouth.  He turned into the kiss, deepening it, tasting her, savoring his miracle of a wife.

She broke the kiss and placed her lips next to his ear.  “So, I think we’ve pretty well established that you’re not ‘impotent’ – in sex or in all the other ways you might have seen yourself.”

He grinned at her.  “Are you sure, love?  I wouldn’t be averse to proving that a little more.”

“How about we continue in our bedroom?  If we keep things up this way, it may start raining in the lobby.  Besides, there are some maneuvers I want to try with that very soft mattress.  And the chair, too, come to think of it.  Maybe, when we’re done we can do that ‘talking’ thing.”