When William awoke she was gone. The house was empty. He had a splitting headache and downed an aspirin. He knew he would have to tell her. Tonight, he decided. He'd tell her tonight. And let the chips fall as they may. He at least owed her the truth. He went to work as usual, glancing at his phone from time to time. She remained incommunicado. It wasn't unusual. The only time they'd ever talked anymore was at home. Awkard half conversations. Stilted. It had never been this way.
Finally, at around 10 pm, he could take no more.
“Where are you?” he texted her.
“Out with the old college gang. Crash at Cordys.”
William scrunched up his nose. Cordelia Chase? He hated that bint, mainly because she was old money and had always thought Buffy was too good for him. William began texting Buffy back, but then changed his mind and decided to call her. The phone just rang and rang and rang. Just when he was about to give up, she answered the phone.
“Hey,” he heard Buffy say.
“Hey,” William said. “I just wanted to say.... Hi.”
She said nothing.
“I know things have been.....” William began. But words failed him.
“I'm sorry Buffy.”
“It's okay,” she said finally. But William knew there was a false ring to her tone.
“I'm going to try,” William said. “To get past.....things. To move on. To let go. I owe you.....the truth.”
“Truth?” Buffy said. He could hear a slight catch in her voice. “What truth?”
Face to face. William thought. Not over the phone.
“The truth is,” William said.
God. He wanted to tell her. So much. But not like this.
He could hear her on the other end of the line. Waiting. For
something.
“The truth is I love you,” he said. “More than anything.”
“I know,” Buffy said finally. “Me too. Bye”
And with that she hung up the phone. William just stared at the
cellphone in his hand.
Tomorrow, he thought. The truth. Tomorrow. Something faint prickled at the back of his neck, but before he could give it a thought, his office door had opened.
“Mr Wolfram wants to see you Mr Pratt,” a pimply-faced intern said. “And bring the Ledermen files please.”
William swore under his breath. He swept up the files with one hand and tucked them under his arm as he began revising the facts of the case, pushing everything else out his head, including Buffy.
Hours later, William arrived home, exhausted. The house was empty. He didn't even bother undressing, he just plonked down on his bed, resting his head on the pillow and shutting his eyes. William relaxed, even as he drifted off to sleep. His mind turned to Buffy and he began remembering the last conversation they had.
College gang....Cordy.....I love you.....Me too
Me too. William heard those words in his head. Again and again. Me too.
They sounded....wrong...and yet so familiar. And yet. He just couldn't place his finger on it. The words rang in his head again and again as he began losing the battle to sleep. Suddenly, William jolted upright.
“I love you,” he said, blinking. “Me too.”
And then he remembered a conversation they'd had. Years ago. Lying in bed. After they'd made love. Her head on his chest. Discussing their past.
“I love you,” Buffy said, rubbing his face against her cheek. “That's what I told him. After we had......you know....the first time.”
William had held her tight, making shushing sounds, soothing her.
“And do you know what he told me?” Buffy said. William knew it was a rhetorical question.
“He said 'me too.' ” Buffy said, with a strangled sob. “Like I wasn't worthy of his love. Like I was beneath him.”
“Hey,” William whispered, raising her chin. “You're bloody not beneath anyone.”
“I'm tired of being hurt Will,” she said, her eyes welled up with tears.
“I'd never hurt you,” William said, kissing her tears, then her cheeks, then her lips.
“Swear it,” Buffy mumbled, playing with his hair.
The lovers continued to exchange small soft kisses between their already swollen lips.
“Swear that you love me,” she said. “That you'll never hurt me.”
“I swear,” William slurred.
“Say it,” she demanded. Her eyebrows knitting. Her nose crinkling.
Petulantly. Like she was a little girl. Nibbling on his bottom lip for good measure. God he loved her more than life itself.
“I'll never hurt you,” he said, stroking her cheeks with his thumb. “I promise.”
“Good,” Buffy said. “Because if you do. I'll rip your heart out.”
That thought jerked William back to the present. Just a coincidence, he thought. It didn't mean anything. So she said 'me too.' She'd probably said that thousands of times over the years. But try as he might, William couldn't recall a single instance of that ever happening. Part of it was Buffy was such an emotional creature. Needy even. Always needing to be reassured of his love. Constantly reassuring William that she loved him.
It was the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach that made him reach for his cellphone. He dialled Buffy's number, but found it turned off. William felt his shoulders tense up a little. He searched his phone, but didn't have Cordelia's number. So he rolled out of bed and began rummaging through their drawer, swearing under his breath.
“You're overreacting mate,” William said, trying to reassure himself.
“It's prolly nothing. Gonna drive yourself crazy.”
He found Buffy's blue diary, where wrote down all the phone numbers the old fashioned way, then thumbed through it, frantically searching for Cordelia. When he found it he just stared at the number, hoping they would reveal something.
“You're being crazy,” William said, aloud. “Just.....go back to bed.”
He looked at the clock. It was 4am. He'd probably wake everyone up and Buffy would never let him hear the end of it.
Fuck it, William thought.
His fingers shook as he began dialling the numbers.
The phone rang. And rang. And rang.
“Hello,” he heard a tired voice say. An obnoxious tired voice.
“Cordelia,” he said, clearing his throat.
“Who is this?” he heard her whine. Shrill bitch, he thought.
“William,” he said.
“Who?” Cordelia said. “And do you know even what fucking time it is?”
“Buffy's husband,” William said.
“Okay,” Cordelia said.
“And?”
“Buffy....” William began, then caught himself. His mind whirred. If
Buffy staying over at Cordelia's, she would already have passed her the phone. Which meant that Buffy wasn't at Cordelia's. Which meant that Buffy had lied to him. William already knew this, but his mind wouldn't accept it. He knew how pathetic it would sound, but he couldn't stop the words from tumbling from his lips.
“She......she told me she was staying over at your place,” William said.
There was a moment of silence and then he heard a barely concealed derisive snort of laughter.
“Oh yeah,” Cordelia said, not even trying to pretend she was lying.
“She's in the guest bedroom, sleeping off a hangover. Should I go wake her up?”
“No,” William said. “I....I'll talk to her in the morning. Thanks.”
“I'm sure you two will have a lot to talk about tomorrow,” Cordelia said, unable to hide the mirth in her voice. “Night
night.”
And with that she hung up the phone. William sat down on the bed, shaking his head. Buffy lied. She'd lied to him. But why? And where was she? William looked at the clock. It was 4am. William just sat there, wondering what to do.
Earlier that evening...
“I love you,” William said.
“I know,” Buffy said, after a pause. “Me too.”
And with that she disconnected the call, turning her phone off on airplane mode, cutting off communication with the world. She took a deep breath, firing up some music on her Iphone as she placed the phone by the bedside. One of her favourite songs began blaring out of the tiny yet powerful speakers. Buffy shut her eyes, letting the lyrics wash over her. Slowly, subtly, Buffy felt her emotions shift. The heated anger she felt in the aftermath of Faith's confession had been replaced by a cold, calculating fury as she'd considered her options. In the end, she'd settled on the only one she knew would cut her husband. Right to the bone.
I'll be your light, your match, your burning sun
I'll be bright, in black, that's making you run
And we'll feel alright and we'll feel alright,
Cause we'll work it out, yeah we'll work it out
I'll be doing this, if you had a doubt
Till the love runs out
That was how Xander found her when he walked into his bedroom. The sight froze him in his tracks. Buffy was lying on his bed, strategically surrounded by comfortable pillows, in just a glossy black raincoat made of the finest silk.
“Alone at last,” Buffy said, her voice low and sultry, her eyes hooded and dark.
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