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MAKE HER OWN WAY


Chapter 10: ‘I’d Be Bloody Lost’


Buffy and Will entered their apartment, hand in hand and exhausted from their two week trip to England. Mr. Gordo literally leapt from his usual post on the sofa into Buffy’s arms, gleefully purring his happiness at their return. “See, Princess,” Will chuckled, “told you Mr. Gordo would remember you and that Mrs. Walsh (the cleaning lady) would take good care of your precious feline.” She grinned happily at him, “you care for Mr. Gordo as much as I do, Will and you know it!” He smiled tenderly at Buffy and relieved her of the fifteen pound tabby, “go play in traffic, Gordo,” he mumbled, jokingly, to the cat, putting him on the floor.

“I’ll miss your homeland Will,” Buffy sighed wistfully, “but I’m glad to be home. I start classes with Tara next week and I can’t wait!” She half- skipped into their bedroom, more then ready to bathe and nap for a few hours. “You feel like a nap, Willie?” she sing-songed from the bedroom happily, “I’m ready to sleep for a month, jet lag I guess.” Will didn’t answer right away, so Buffy slipped back out into the front room to find him staring out of their sliding glass door, out at the Pacific Ocean. “What’s wrong, Will?” she asked softly, “miss England already?”

Spike shook his head, slowly, “no, don’t miss it at all, Princess,” he sighed, wrapping his left arm around her slim shoulders, “just miss the look you get when we’re there. You look like a kid at Christmas, all happy and excited every minute that we’re there. I just want you to be happy Buffy, it’s all I ever wanted you know.” Buffy clasped Will’s left hand with her own tiny hand, “I’m pretty happy Will,” she murmered, laying her head against his chest, “with classes starting next week and all, can’t ask for much more.” Spike wanted to believe her, needed to believe that his Princess would be content to go to a few classes and be fulfilled. However, the part deep inside of him, the one that knew her best, realized that Buffy was ‘missing’ something in her life, something he might be able to give her that he hadn’t yet. He just needed to find out what it was.


Flashback Spike’s POV


Spike drove slowly, for him anyway, up to the La Tratorria Restaurant, the one Harris had suggested. He was really beginning to count on Xander Harris, at least to enlighten him on the likes and dislikes of the little blond sitting next to him in his Porshe, Buffy Summers. This restaraunt was supposed to be great and more then that, the Maitre’D was a personal friend of Xanders, therefore, Buffy and Spike would get nothing but first rate service. Everything was supposed to be arranged, perfectly tonight; Spike and Buffy would arrive, be seated at the best table and offered unlimited amounts of Champagne. Of course, both Buffy and Spike would drink too much, at least he’d let her think that way and they’d have to stay at the lovely Blue Whale Inn he’d been told about, right next to the La Tratorria. No one would want Spike to drive such a precious cargo like Buffy Summers home, close to an hour’s drive, if they thought Mr. Giles was even slightly ‘buzzed’ from alcohol.

“I’ve never been here,” Buffy was saying casually, next to him. “I’ve never been here either, luv,” he responded honestly. “Hope Harris is right, it’s supposed to be good, huh?” Buffy shot him an unsure kind of look, “it’s a bit far from home, huh, William?” she asked uneasily, “are you going to drink?” Spike gave her a very reassuring smile, “yeah, but I won’t over do, luv, just enough to lighten up. You know how uptight I can be, right?” She just looked at him and rolled her eyes, never said a word one way or the other. True to his word, Xander had steered them right, the place was downright beautiful, in a rustic old world kind of way. And Tony, the Maitre’d was more then prepared for them; seating Buffy, pouring iced Champagne, everything was ‘Mr. Giles, Ms. Summers.’ ‘Perfect,’ Spike mused, ‘even more so if I can talk her into the Blue Whale Inn later.’

No one could hold any kind of alcohol like Spike could, except maybe his old man, Rupert. Buffy on the other hand was ‘gone’ after two glasses of Champagne, well not gone, really, but buzzed, surely. “Better slow down, Princess,” Spike whispered with a smile, “don’t want to over do, remember?” She gave him that adorable pout of hers, “I’m fine, Will, really! I love Champagne, besides, once I finish eating, it’ll be like I never had a drop, promise!” Spike raised his left brow in question, but just shrugged his shoulders and poured her another glass. By the time they’d finished their dinner, Spike had out drank Buffy by a mile, but ‘she’ was the one that was more then buzzed.

Buffy held her own, pretty much, behaving like a perfectly sober lady, no slurring of words or loud talk, but Spike could tell; she was past buzzed and on the way to toasted. Spike paid the tab, offered Buffy is arm and led her out to his Porshe. “Pretty!” Buffy cried pointing at the moonlit ocean, “can we walk on the shore, Will?” she asked excitedly. “I think we had better, Princess,” he chuckled, leading her to the wooden stairs that led down to the beach. After they’d walked about three blocks, Buffy stopped suddenly, “I’m exhausted,” she yawned, “we better get home, Will, sorry.” He smiled down at her, she looked like an angel in moonlight, “well to tell you the truth, luv,” he purred, “I’m tired and a bit ‘gone’ myself.” Making a big production of it, he stared back at the Inn about two blocks behind them, the one with the balconies that hung over the waves of the ocean. "What do you say, Buffy,” he said casually, as if he’d ‘just’ thought of it, “let’s stay at that rather posh place back there. I’m a bit concerned about driving you back, I’m afraid I’ve had more alcohol then I should have. I wouldn’t want to have an accident or get pinched by CHP. We could stay at that Inn, you’ll take the bed, of course, and I’ll have the couch? Just like in Pismo Beach?” Buffy seemed to ponder the suggestion for a minute, then, “well, okay, Will,” she whispered a slight smirk on her lips, “but just like in Pismo, I’m not going to sleep with you, got it? I mean it Will,” she hissed, “I’m keeping an eye on you, you’ve had too much to drink!” He stifled a laugh and nodded at her, “Got it Princess.”


Present Day


Buffy loved her classes at Sunnydale U. She loved the fact that she could get her hands back in the oil paints and even the water colors she so loved, in a classroom environment. Will had insisted, long ago, that she set up a little studio of her own in the extra bedroom of their apartment, but it just wasn’t the same. She wanted to share her love of art with other students, people who loved it as much as she did and wanted to share their particular artistic talents, also. Of course Will loved her, she got that, but Buffy wanted something that was just her own. Her love of art was just her own thing, Will was only interested because she was. That and the fact that the man she loved was smothering her, albeit slowly, by inches, even if he didn’t realize it.

Spike sat at the cherry wood coffee table in their living room, looking over some proposals that were important, but fairly dull to him. Buffy was still at her Wednesday night class at Sunnydale University and Spike was missing her terribly. This ‘used’ to be one of his working nights at his own place; he’d drink too much coffee, or more likely, whiskey, smoke too many damn cigarettes and try to concentrate on his paperwork. Now, since Buffy started back to school, he’d stay at their place, which he loved, of course, and do his work there. In fact, he’d put his lonely apartment up for sublease, no need for it anymore, he was lonely enough on these nights, here, without Buffy around for hours. ‘My Princess thinks she’s in the way,’ he mused sadly, ‘she’s never in my way.’ “Fuckin’ art classes,” he muttered sourly, “wish the bloody college would burn down. Without anyone there of course,” he added quickly.

His cell phone rang and he picked it up quickly, no need to worry about any interruptions at this point. “Giles,” he answered, indifferently, noting that the caller ID didn’t show Buffy’s cell number on it. “Spike, it’s Charles, man,” came his number one employee’s voice. “What is it?” Spike mumbled, tossing the papers from his hands to the table. “Well I’m sorry to have to be the bearer of bad news but….” Spike bolted up from the floor, “Buffy!” he cried hoarsely, “what’s wrong?” Charles hesitated but then continued, “not Buffy, Spike, sorry, should have just come out and said it. Buffy’s fine, at least I’m sure she is, but this does have something to do with her.”

Spike felt that sick intuition of his bubble up from his gut and catch in his throat, making it almost impossible to breath, “what?” he asked, his voice was like gravel. “It’s Angel O’Connor, man,” Charles stammered, apparently fearing his boss’s reaction, “he got out of prison this morning, good behavior or some such shit.” Spike felt a bolt of sharp pain shoot through his forehead, it stopped, full force somewhere around the back of his head. “Where is he?” he asked Gunn with a surprisingly calm voice. “Well, I thought you’d want to know his whereabouts at all times, Spike, so I had Wesley Rhys-Smith put a tail on him immediately, and guess what?” Spike didn’t feel the need to ask ‘what,’ so he just let Gunn continue. “Spike, man, he didn’t run home to LA, to his Mommy and Daddy, he headed right back here to good old Sunnydale.”

There’s this ‘condition’ that’s known as ‘white heat.’ It’s when a person is so angry or panics so much that they can’t even see colors like red anymore; everything turns into a blinding white light. This is what Spike was experiencing right then, the minute that Charles Gunn told him that Angel, first class prick and his beloved Princess’s ex-lover was back in Sunnydale. First, Spike took a deep breath, then he swallowed hard and tried his best to control his temper and the loudness of his voice. “Make sure that this guy tailing that prick Angel is good, real good,” he ordered Gunn in a deceptively calm voice, “I want to know everything he does here in Sunnydale and everyone he sees. If that fuck goes within a ten mile radius of my Buffy, I want to know the second it happens. Understand me, Charles?” Charles Gunn understood completely.

Mr. Gordo slunk up to Spike and rubbed against the leg of his jeans, purring lowly. Spike clicked off his cell phone and set it on the table in front of him, then picked up the tubby tabby and lay him on his lap. He rubbed the cat’s head and neck, lovingly, “what am I going to do, mate?” he asked the furry creature, “I love our Buffy so much, couldn’t bear to lose her. Not now, not ever.” Gordo just purred, his eyes half closed in feline pleasure. “Do you have any idea what would happen to me if I lost her, cat?” he whispered, smiling sadly at the rather large bundle of fur on his lap, his eyes threatened tears. “I’d be lost, pure and simple, or just a thing, a bloody walking corpse, no more than that.”

Buffy hurried into the apartment complex elevator, still nervous about being alone in the parking lot after dark. Even with the security guards and gates, she still got very antsy in the desolate lot alone. “I think I know why Will worries about me so much,” she reflected, riding the elevator up to their apartment, “it’s creepy out there in the lot alone, even with guards and other residents wondering around.”
When she opened the front door of their apartment, Buffy immediately sensed the presence of ‘gloom’ about the place. “Will!” she shouted, “I’m home. Where are you?” Her first instinct was to check the balcony, thinking he’d gone out there for a cigarette, but he wasn’t there.

A sense of panic began in her tummy and moved up into her chest and throat, “why isn’t he answering me?” she wondered, beginning to worry. “Will,” she called, trying to remain calm. She searched the kitchen, then went into their bedroom, still no William. “I know he’s here somewhere,” she reasoned, she had seen his BMW in the parking lot, right next to where she parked the Corvette. The last place Buffy checked, was the place she finally found Will; he was sitting in her ‘studio’ room, staring blankly at the last project she had done. Actually, it wasn’t even half finished, Buffy had gotten too busy with school and all to complete the painting she had started. It was a portrait, a surreal genre in water colors of him, her William.

“Will?” she whispered, slightly frightened by his lack of movement. “Hello, Princess,” he sighed, finally making some motion and relieving her fears instantly. Buffy slowly walked up to her lover and sat gently down on his strong lap, he wrapped his arms about her, tenderly, “how was class?” he asked quietly, still looking at his half finished portrait. She snuggled down into his chest and glanced at the painting, “okay, well wonderful really. How are you?” He gave her a small, sad kind of smile, “okay. Missed you that’s all and I was wondering something, Princess,” he murmered in her ear. “What honey?” she asked. “I know this is a painting of me, I get that,” he began, his voice paused every other word or so, “and I guess I’m some kind of knight?” Buffy nodded slightly, not looking at him, just staring at her painting. “I was wondering,” Will asked, his voice barely audible, “shouldn’t my armour be silver or white; why is it black as night?”


A/N: Sigh, lots of metaphors in this chapter. Angel is back, but for Spuffy lovers, don’t worry, I would rather jump into the Hellmouth then have Buffy and Angel end up together! Please review, if you don’t like the story, that’s fine, I love constructive criticism. Thanks, Luv, Spuf





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