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MAKE HER OWN WAY


Chapter 5: ‘Captains of Industry’


In her three years together with Will, Buffy had never been to New York City, other then a stop over a year ago. That was when Will and her had gone to England to meet and visit with his parents. This time, when they landed at La Guardia Airport, a limo was waiting to whisk them to the Hilton and a waiting suite. Buffy was so excited to be here in ‘The Big Apple’ that she forgot to be nervous about going back to England to see Will’s folks, his sister Drusilla and her husband Ethan Rayne. She liked them, really, all of them, even poor, odd Drusilla, and especially Will’s mother, Jenny. Yes, she even liked Rupert Giles, his dad, but she found the man to be more then indimitating and she hated the fact that he held so much sway over William. It was Rupert who had molded his son and who had influenced Will’s career alter ego, Spike, into the ruthless business man he was today. Though Buffy was fully aware that the elder Mr. Giles adored her, she found his control over his only son quite frightening. That and the fact that she was sure Will’s dad was encouraging him to marry Buffy and immediately start shelling out little heirs for the Giles family name. Add that all up, and no amount of his money, breeding and true English charm could keep Buffy from fearing Rupert Giles. If not for the gentler influence of Jenny, Will’s mother, Rupert would have become even more of an unstoppable tyrant then he already was. The sad truth was, Buffy wouldn’t, actually she couldn’t marry Will as long as he continued to be a clone of his father, at least in business matters. And, Spike, showed no signs of veering off that course, so she would never marry him, period. No matter how much she loved William Giles.

Right now, she was so stoked (dating myself here!) about being at the New York Hilton’s finest suite, that she couldn’t help but run from room to room looking at everything. Especially the decorating scheme, and the view! “Oh Will,” she practically skipped out onto the balcony, “you’ve got to come see this! Right now!” She scanned the huge, very plush front living room area to find Will on his cell phone, pacing about in front of the expensive coffee table. The tone in his voice and scowl on his face alerted her to the fact that he’d already broken his promise of no business on this vacation. This was ‘Spike’ all the way, his phone voice rising by the second, rambling on about some shakey deal at home. “Look Charles,” she heard him growl, “the fact is, I’m not there, so for Christ’s sake, improvise something. I sure as hell pay you and your sidekicks, Robin Wood and that ponce Wesly what’s his name enough to handle things while I’m gone home to England for a while!” He caught sight of Buffy staring at him, her arms folded across her chest, that ‘you promised me, Will’ frown on her face. “Just handle it!” he shouted, a little less loudly this time, clicked it off and tossed it on the Hotel couch. “Sorry, Princess,” he mumbled, “I swear to God I can’t take a piss without some major upheaval at my work!” She refused to stop the scowl thing until he came over to her and wrapped his arms about her. “What did you want me to see, luv?” he asked softly, kissing her forehead lovingly.

“The view,” she sighed and pointed out over the balcony they both now stood on, “it’s breathtaking Will, isn’t it?” Spike stared out at the scenery before them, “yes it’s breathtaking Buffy,” he assured her. Although, the fact was that he really just saw New York City as another big, noisy and dirty city, much like his own London; just set on another continent. Not nearly as beautiful as the view from their own apartment in Sunnydale. But, if Buffy wanted ‘breathtaking’ then breathtaking it would be for them both. It scared him sometimes, the fact that he loved her so bloody much that it hurt to be away from her for any time at all. This instinctive self preservation of his was what was driving him to take such drastic measures to keep her, no matter what the cost might be later. “Okay,” he broke out of his thoughts quickly, “what shall we do today? It’s only just 4:00 PM eastern time on a Friday, so we’ve got the whole evening ahead of us. What do you want to do, baby, get all dressed up and go out to eat? See a show first? Anything you want?”

His Buffy smiled softly and seemed to ponder his question for a moment or two, “you know what,” she murmered as she hugged him tightly, “I’d really like to just stay around here tonight Will. I mean you know, just watch some TV, drink some wine and have room service for supper. Wouldn’t you like to eat in tonight?” He couldn’t help himself, he broke out in one of his patent smirks, quirking up his scarred left eyebrow and running his tongue over his top teeth. “Oh, yeah,” he teased, “I so would love to eat in tonight!” She rewarded him with an immediate bright red blush that shot right down from her forehead to the bottom of her sleek little neck. “Oh Will for God’s sake,” she pushed him gently, but firmly from her, trying so hard not to smile, “ is sex all you think about?” Her tone of exasperation warned him to be careful, but her own smirk and giggle told him she really didn’t mind his sexual innuendos. “Can’t help it, luv,” he clasped her close again, “it’s hard not to think sex when your lover is so damn sexy.” She looked at him with a frustrated half-smile, ‘Hmmmm’ is all she could say back. Then, “actually,” she began, “I was thinking of maybe going to see the Ground Zero Memorial site and the Empire State Building, tomorrow, though,” she added. “You don’t have to come along if you don’t want. I’ll call for a cab, early in the morning and go by myself.” That way, she explained, he could get some work done, if he really had to, with her gone.

“Buffy,” he sighed, “of course I’ll go with you. I promised I’d not work this vacation, the hell with business back in old SunnyD. I’ll go with you, we can make a whole day of it. Besides,” he continued, rather sternly, “I don’t think you should go wondering off by yourself in this berg, I’d just die if anything happened to you and you don’t know this place at all.” She bristled immediately with his last statement, “I can take of myself, William Giles,” she muttered with a pout, “I’d be fine by myself, I’m not completely helpless you know!” William looked at her, rather crest-fallen, “no sweetheart. I didn’t mean it that way,” he stammered defensively, “but this is big bad New York City, not cozy, safe Sunnydale, California. I just worry, you know?” He had a point, she had to cop to that one, this wasn’t exactly familiar turf for her, and it was miles away from being safe Sunnydale. “What do you say,” he tickled her neck gently, “we’ll go to the Memorial, The Empire and then have a late lunch later at some overrated, overpriced place downtown. Then we’ll hit Bloomingdales and max out one of my cards, what do you say, Princess?” She considered this for a moment, “might be too tired after the sites to shop, Will,” she explained. “It’s not like a I need any new clothes, gosh, I can’t even get into my own walk-in closet now it’s so packed.”

. “Well,” he laughed, “I’ll have a new walk-in closet installed. What do you say, we’ll leave for England on Sunday evening, fly over five times zones at night and land in London by Monday morning. That way we can hit Bloomingdale’s on Sunday morning and afternoon. I’ll buy you anything you want, Buffy, even a diamond from Tiffanys.” The diamond remark left her a little uneasy, but she cuddled him close to her anyway; his arms were warm and welcome when he was like this. Not that Will was a safety net, he wasn’t, but he loved her the way she needed to be loved sometimes. Times like these were a reminder to Buffy that she had not always been loved the way she needed, not likeWill loved her. The quick rap on the Hotel door broke the magic of the moment. Will strode over to the door, it seemed he was a little put out that someone was disturbing ‘their’ moment together. “What?” he barked through the oaken door. “Hotel Host, Mr. Giles,” came a male voice from the other side, “with a ‘welcome gift’ from the Hilton.” Buffy giggled when Will rolled his eyes in exasperation, but signaled him to let the poor guy in. After all, he was only trying to do his job.

“I’m Andrew Whedon, official Welcome Host of the New York Hilton, Mr. Giles,” claimed the young man, rolling in a large cart of various goodies. He was a really young man, closer to Buffy’s age then Williams and just maybe a bit on the sensitive side. Buffy was glad she’d guided Will into allowing the guy in and with somewhat of a cordial attitude. “The Hilton welcomes you and your lovely lady and offers this as a small token of our esteem.” The cart held champagne, strawberries and cream and at least two dozen red and white roses that were beyond beautiful. “Thank you, Andrew,” Buffy gushed gleefully, smelling the gorgeous flowers. “Yeah, thanks a bunch,” William mumbled. She noticed William handed the guy a fifty dollar bill for a tip and was pleased when young Andrew saluted him with thanks, graciously. “Enjoy your stay,” he chortled, even as he dissapeared out the door. “Thank you Will,” she echoed to her lover, “I think that’s just one of things I love about you, your English sense of decorum.” Will walked over to her, slowly, but with purpose, “you always do bring out the gentleman in me, Buffy,” he whispered in her ear. “Those roses,” he continued with a warm smile, “remind you of something?”


‘Flashback: Spike’s POV’


Buffy went with him, okay, actually, she followed him, in her rather homely little 1970 lime green Mustang to the café that he’d asked her to. But, at least she’d showed up, just minutes after they’d left the parking lot of that lousy club she worked at. She seemed shy, Spike had to admit, somewhat at a loss for what to do in this situation. Certainly a pleasant change from the more obvious women he was used to. When they’d walked into the rather generic café, Buffy seemed nervous to him and he felt bad, like he’d forced her to come or something. The hostess was generic, just like the café, a bored, overworked woman in her forties, probably unhappy to be at work at this time of day. They sat in a corner booth, he on one side, her on the other, she’d certainly have it no other way, at least not for now, he chuckled to himself. Spike noticed Buffy eyed the other patrons tables with interest, their meals seemed to attract her attention. “Hungry, luv?” he asked her. “Oh,” she squeaked “no, I mean, not really. Well, okay, yeah, a little,” she finally admitted, embarrassed. “Let’s order then, shall we? I’ll treat.” He stated this more then asked and this little angel looked horrified. “No!” she cried out, desperately scanning the café to make sure no one had heard. “I mean, I couldn’t, shouldn’t let you treat. That would seem to much like a date, you know? Like I said, I’ve got a boyfriend and it wouldn’t be right for me to accept your offer of breakfast.” He chuckled and shook his head, “okay. I get that, you don’t want to disrespect your guy. What do you say, I’ll buy breakfast, you leave the tip? That acceptable to you Buffy?” She sat, quietly, considering this new proposal of his, “okay, William. I’d like that, that would be fine. And I’ll leave a real good tip. I know how important tips and things are to them. Did you know that most of these women, even the swing shift workers, are single mothers; living on minimum wage, making it on tips?”

‘Oh, Buffy Summers,’ he’d thought right then, ‘you my little angel are definitely going to be the mother of my children!’ “I know it’s hard for them, Buffy,” he said instead, “probably no picnic for you either.” She blushed shyly, “I do okay, William,” she murmered, “I’m just a college student, not a single mother.” He shot her, what he hoped, was a dazzling smile, “education isn’t a simple thing either Buffy. I know, I attended some of the most posh, but roughest boarding schools in London.” The little blond angel glanced up at him, a look of sympathy in her beautiful green eyes, “not exactly the best of times?” she asked. “No,” he responded, “that’s how I got this rather angry scar above my left eyebrow.” The waitress, a heavy-set bitter looking brunette interrupted them to take their order. “I’ll have blueberry pancakes, sausage, a side of bacon and oh, yeah, a slice of apple pie for dessert,” Buffy ordered. Spike had to smile at the tiny girls request. Either she only ate like this sporadically, or she was one of those lucky birds, the ones that could eat like truck drivers and still stay slim. “I’ll have biscuits and gravy,” he stated, “and keep the coffee coming, please.” Buffy looked around the café, it appeared she was trying to kill time until their orders came, trying not to talk too much to him. “What’s your major?” he finally asked.

“Well, Liberal Arts, I guess,” she stammered back. “Arts in general. I’d like to follow in my Mom’s field and maybe work in a real gallery someday. And just what do you do, William Giles?” He smirked back at her, “I’m what you call a ‘Captain of Industry’ Princess, just like me Dad before me and his Dad before him.” For some reason, Spike felt the need to side step this part of his life with Buffy, for right now anyway. “Oh,”she replied, “so you’re like a Donald Trump or something?” Spike broke out in laughter, “well, after a fashion, I’m just a bit more aggressive then him.” Buffy scrunched up her face, momentarily, then broke out in a huge grin, “you’re playing with me right?” she asked with a giggle. “Somewhat,” he answered straightfaced. “What about you?” he asked, changing the subject, “what’s your story, Buffy Summers?” She shot him a wistful look, “well, my family lives in Los Angeles, that’s where I’m from originally. My Dad’s name is Hank, my Mom’s is Joyce and I have a little sister named Dawn. We call her Dawnie and she’s like almost twelve years younger then me..” Spike quirked up his scarred left brow, “they like you being up here, Buffy, away from them?” With a shake of her golden head she informed him that her family, the Summers of LA, did not like her up here without them. “What could I do,” Buffy pouted, “Sunnydale University was my first choice and they did offer me some small scholarships. I had no choice really.” Spike was instanly mesmerized by the pout of Buffy Summers and decided right there and then, that he’d live to see that little expression as much as he could.

Their food arrived and they at in silence for the most part. “What about you?” she finllay asked between bites of pancakes, “what’s your story William?” He proceeded to tell her as much as he could, or would anyway; about his Dad, Mum and his fragile sister Drusilla. That in itself was a small miracle. Spike never spoke much of his sister Drusilla to anyone outside of the Giles family and to speak of it, so openly to this little golden Goddess, well that truly was a miracle. “She’s special, then?” Buffy inquired, boldy. “She’s that, yes, Buffy,” he confirmed, “but she’s been married to a real solid bloke for a few years now. He’s older, a good friend of my Dad and Mum’s, and a fine man. More importantly,” he added, “Ethan Rayne takes care of poor Dru. Makes sure she’s safe and happy, makes a good home for her.” Buffy looked at him, a bit confused, then shook her head and returned to her feast. “So you’re the fair haired son, huh, William?” she asked with an arch of her perfectly plucked brow. “Yeah, that’s me, alright, Buffy,” he sighed. “Didn’t ask for it, kind of had it dropped on me by my father, Rupert.” When he dared a look at her, she stared back at him sympathetically, “must be hard to be an only son,” she mumbled, “I wouldn’t know, I’m the oldest of two girls.”

Once he’d eaten his breakfast, Spike just sat and watched Buffy finish hers. She could sure put it away for such a tiny thing and he wondered just how many meals the young woman missed a week. He wanted to light a smoke, really bad, but this being California and their laws and such, he’d have to be content with fingering an unlit cigarette in his left hand. “How much do you smoke?” she asked, matter of factly. “I’m pretty much a chain smoker, Buffy,” he answered honestly. “Although my dear old Dad considers it a weakness, unless it’s a pipe of course.” Buffy broke out in an adorable giggle, her green eyes danced with merriment, “I don’t see you as a pipe smoker, William,” she chuckled. “Neither do I,” he agreed, “therefore the cigarettes.” When she was finished with her breakfast, Spike realized she’d probably bolt for the door and leave him behind as fast as possible. Sure enough, the waitress had just cleared their table and Buffy was checking her watch, “Oh, geez, William,” she gasped, “I’ve got to get home! It’s past 3:00 AM and I need some sleep. My shift at the bronze starts at 7:00 PM tonight and I’ve a ton of things to do at my place!”

Spike paid the bill and noted that Buffy left a $10.00 bill on the table as a tip, a bit high for a $20.00 dollar meal, but then again, she was a high class girl. He could tell already. Reluctantly, he followed her out of the café, the fake lights in the parking lot bathed their cars in dull light. “So he,” he mumbled, lighting that much needed smoke, “maybe we can go out sometime? A real date?” Buffy blushed bright red, another adorable habit she seemed to possess, “gee, William, I don’t think so. Again, I’m kind of tied up right now and it just wouldn’t be right, you know? I mean, I wouldn’t like it if Angel was ‘seeing’ someone else on the side.” Trying not to look too dissapointed, Spike nodded in defeat, at least visibly. Frankly, at the moment he didn’t give a rat’s arse about Angel or his feelings, his only concern was this little beauty before him. “Okay, Buffy,” he sighed, “for now anyway,” he added with a smirk. “You drive home carefully, I’d follow you, but I’ve a feeling you wouldn’t care for that too much.” She gave him a radiant smile, “goodnight William Giles,” she said, sticking out her tiny hand to shake his, “and thanks.” With a wave, she was gone from him. Spike stood and watched her drive away, feeling quite empty and alone again. “Wouldn’t be right my arse,” he grumbled pulling his cell phone from his duster pocket. A gravelly, grumpy voice answered the number he called, “Gunn?” Spike greeted.

“You’ve got to be kidding Spike,” Charles Gunn growled over the phone to his boss, “what the hell time is it?” Spike didn’t bother to check his own rolex, “I don’t pay you to keep time Charles,” he reminded his employee coolly, “I pay you to do what I tell you. And right now, I’m telling you to do this job for me.” The man on the other end of the line sighed loudly, “yes Spike, I know. So what is it you want me to do?” Gunn asked. “I want you to find out all that you can about a certain Angel O’Connor from Los Angeles, presumably. I want to know who and what this guy comes from, when he eats and sleeps. What classes he takes at Sunnydale University and who his professors are. In fact, Charlie,” Spike continued, “I want to know when this moron goes to take a piss. Oh, and find out what his drugs of choice are, he’s a singer in a band, there’s gotta’ be drugs somewhere.” Charles Gunn repeated his bosses orders back to him, “okay Spike, got it. This have something to do with little blond skirt?” he inquired. “First off, Charles,” Spike hissed, “Buffy is not a little blond skirt, secondly, it’s not for you to worry why I want you to find out, I just want to know. Oh, and Charlie,” he added, “you get all this for me, ASAP, and I’ll make sure that you and Winnefred’s baby boy will have a good trust fund set up for college, like next week.”


The next night, Saturday, Spike forced himself not to go to the Bronze and stake out the club, just to see Buffy again. Neither did he wait for her in the parking lot, instead he drank himself into a stupor at his stupid apartment and passed out before he could go and make a complete stalking idiot of himself. When he woke up the next morning, he had a hellacious hangover so he lay in a cool tub until it somewhat subsided and came up with a very brilliant plan indeed. Around noon, he called information and had them ring ‘The Chateau’ to speak to Xander Harris. “Hello, Mr. Harris. I was wondering is Buffy due in tonight?” Apparently she was and Spike decided to run his idea past Harris. “I’m going to have some roses delivered to Buffy, there, so she’ll feel more comfortable about it. I was wondering, you know her so well Mr. Harris and I thought you could tell me; red roses? White or pink?” Xander Harris hesitated a second then, “Buffy likes red, as a color I mean, and please call me Xander, Mr. Giles.” Spike smiled to himself, “call me Spike, Xander, I think we’re going to be good friends, don’t you?”

For the next twenty minutes or so, Spike asked questions about Buffy and Xander answered them. Evidently, Xander Harris detested Angel O’Connor as much as most of the rest of Sunnydale. “He showed up about two or three months after Buffy moved up here. She was only eighteen at the time and my understanding was that this Angel knew her in High School; grew up with her in LA somewhere.” Spike pondered this for a moment, “so he’s like her High School sweetheart or somthin’?” Xander hesitated, “I guess,” he mumbled, “but right off, none of us liked him. My girlfriend, Cordelia, can’t stand him and she’s got a pretty good intuition about people, that and we did double date with them a few times. Cordy and I just didn’t like the vibes we got from the guy, he’s trouble, that’s for sure. Can’t put my finger on it, just a rough character. And there’s yesterday and all…..” Spike didn’t like the sound of that. “What about yesterday?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even. “Well Cordy called me up, all upset last night, in fact she came over to my place before work at the Bronze. Angel was waiting for Buffy when she got home from your little get together after work Friday, or should I say Saturday morning. Anyway, seems Buffy called Cordy and confided in her about this big fight Angel and her had when she got home at 4:00 AM on Saturday morning. I don’t know, and maybe Cordy was just overreacting, but let’s just say that Angel was not happy that his girlfriend showed up two hours late from work. That and Cordy says that Buffy alluded to the fact that Angel may have been ‘high’ out of control and all.”

Spike gripped his phone so tight that his knuckles began to turn white, “did he hurt her?” he asked Xander with a growl. “Maybe not physically, Spike, but he must have said something really harsh, Buffy cried for an hour over the phone to Cordy and she was late two hours to work last night. That’s just not like Buffy, to be late and all.” The platinum blond took a deep breath and considered his options silently. “Thanks mate,” he told Xander sincerely, “I’m not happy with the content of the information, but I’m glad I know some more about Buffy and this prick Angel. And don’t worry Xander,” he assured Buffy’s friend, “Angel will get just what’s coming to him. Now on a lighter note, I’m sending three dozen red and white roses to Buffy, through your restaurant; they should be there when she reports to work. I’m counting on you to make sure she gets them and make sure I know that she gets them, right?” Xander assured his new good friend that he’d let him know when the roses arrived. “Spike,” Xander began carefully, “Buffy’s a real good friend, to me, Cordy and a lot of folks around Sunnydale. More then that, she’s a good girl, sweet and kind of innocent in a lot of ways, so please, if you’re not the real thing, then please just walk away now. If you are, I give you my blessings man.”


‘Present Day’


Buffy and Will did eat supper (as Buffy called it) in the Hotel that night. They watched New York cable TV and drank the champagne the Hilton had provided, that and another one of the three bottles that Will had sent up later that evening. By the time they’d watched the ‘real time’ Dave Letterman Show, Buffy was so tipsy that she was laughing at everything anyone on Dave’s show said. “Look! Freddie Prinze Jr. looks like total crap with blond hair, Will!” she giggled hysterically pointing at Dave’s first guest on the screen. “You’d think that Freddie Prinz Sr.’s kid would be funnier, wouldn’t you? “Not my yob, man!” she quoted from ‘Chico and the Man,’ Jr.’s dad’s show on TV in the 70’s. She laughed so hard she practically fell off of the couch and would have if William hadn’t caught her first. “I think Buffy needs to hit the sack,” he purred, “too much bubbly, luv?” She nodded violently, “too much burbly, Willie,” she confirmed. “Would you put me to bed wee Willie winky?” she giggled uncontrollably. “But you’re not wee are you, Willie winky?” she became suddenly serious. “You’re not wee at all, are you my Willie?” Will arched his left brow and smirked back at her for a moment, “I think, that your Willie better get you to bed, Princess,” he murmered gently. He stood up abruptly and lifted her in his arms. “You always take good care of me, don’t you Willie?” she sighed, burying her face into his neck. “Always, baby,” he whispered.

They did everything he promised the next day. Toured the Memorial, saw the Empire State Building, even though Buffy refused to go to the top, she was terrified of heights after all. Ate at a great Italian place, her fave, downtown and even dropped by Bloomies to buy some new clothes that she so did not need, but bought anyway. All that, even after Buffy woke up with a hangover that would normally put her in bed for two days. By the time they got back to the Hilton late that afternoon, it was almost 7:00 PM. “Let’s order room service, huh, Princess?” he called to her as she drew her bath. “Okay, Will,” she sang back, happy from their exhausting day together. “But let’s order it after ‘our’ bath,” she suggested seductively, as she slinked over to him. He was on the balcony, smoking again, she was stark naked. “Come on my Captain of Industry,” she purred in his ear, let’s crawl into the water together and see what floats your boat, shall we?” William allowed himself to be led into the bathroom, shedding his own clothes as they went. ‘It’ll take an act of God or maybe Satan to allow me to let you go now, Buffy,’ he told himself as he followed her into the tub.

Sunday they decided to eat a quick breakfast and fly out of La Guardia as early as possible, even though Buffy was nervous as heck to actually arrive in England. She simply didn’t want to cross the Atlantic Ocean in the darkness of night, so, they were going to fly over in daylight. The trip was uneventful, that is if one didn’t count the sexual encounter William and her had in the middle of the Atlantic; in the back room that is. “Good thing there’s only a pilot and co-pilot on board, huh?” she had asked him anxiously as he thrust into her on the plush divan. William could only chuckle in reply as he concentrated on what he was doing. It seemed like they’d been in the air just minutes instead of nearly five hours when they landed at Heathrow Airport in London. Buffy had pulled herself together from their little mid air encounter and William had smoked almost a half pack of cigarettes. “Sorry, honey,” he’d apologized to her, “I just get antsy when I get close to home and my folks.” Boy, did Buffy understand that one. Once they landed, an obscenely large Roll’s Royce whisked them out of the city to the outskirts of the countryside, to Gile’s Manor, William’s childhood home. Buffy was more then nervous by this time, even though she had met these people before; it didn’t help that Will was playing with his silver plated lighter, the one she’d given him. He was sporadially lighting it, then snuffing out the flame with the top and relighting it. “It’s going to be okay,” she assured ‘him’ as she tightened her hold on his hand. “You’re here,” he smiled at her, “how couldn’t it be alright?”

When they arrived at the Gile’s Manor, a Tudor style structure, Spike sat upright, like a prep student scolded by a head master. “This is it, Princess,” he whispered, “show’s on now.” Buffy looked at him as if she was going to bolt out the Roll’s door and head for the moors at a sprint, but she swallowed hard and sat up next to him. “It’ll be okay, Will,” she reassured him, “I’ll make you proud.” Spike looked back at her as if she’d lost her mind temporarily, “it’s not you, Princess. You’re not the problem, you’re perfect, honestly. It’s me,” he finished weakly, “no matter what I do, I’ll never meet up to Dad’s expectations.” He fought the urge to tremble at the thought of Rupert Giles, face to face, then she did it. Buffy reached over, ran her little hand over his thigh and eventually to his crotch, “well you certainly meet up to mine,” she whispered huskily as she snuggled into his body. Spike couldn’t have been more grateful.


When they pulled up into the long circular driveway that led up to the front of the house, Buffy could see that there was now no escape for either of them. Rupert and Jenny Giles stood in front of the elaborate porch, arm in arm, virtually waiting to greet their son and his lady. The Rolls, Rupert’s pride and joy, pulled up in front of the lord and lady of the manor slowly, as if to ‘present’ their son and Buffy to them; the driver well versed in pomp and circumstance no doubt. William slowly opened the door, not waiting for the driver to escort them out and reached back in to help Buffy from the back seat. “Hey Mum, Dad,” he greeted simply as he led Buffy up to his parents. “William!” Jenny Giles cried and hugged her son warmly, “Buffy you look magnificent,” she added just as warmly with a hug for her. Rupert Giles looked his son over with a critical eye and seemed pleased enough, even after a frown at Spike’s blond hair and a quick handshake between them. Then he turned to Buffy and broke into a huge, charming smile, “Buffy dear,” he greeted her in his clipped, upper crust accent, “you’re looking simply fantastic.” He hugged her with a proper restraint, but shot his son a look over her slim shoulder, ‘seal this deal,, and fast my boy,’ he communicated to his son with just a stern glare.





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