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Maine

27-year-old Buffy Summers O'Connor stood looking out the bank of floor to ceiling windows rubbing her arms pensively. The turbulent sea and gray skies was a fitting backdrop for her torn heart and unyielding pain.


*God, was it just a year ago that Angel and I stood here wrapped in each other's arms planning a family? *


A silent tear slid down her drawn face as she thought of her high school sweetheart/husband who had succumbed to the ravages of lymphatic cancer not 8 months before.



*My beautiful Angel. * She thought to herself remembering the valiant battle he had put up against the disease.


She had sat by his side from the very day he had been diagnosed, held his hand through the radiation, then the chemotherapy, and finally through his dying days. His once strong body becoming thin and frail, his once twinkling dark eyes fading in front of her, his only living family, his only living link to the world he was leaving behind. He had made her promise that she would move on and live life for him, find someone new, start a family, "27 is too young and you my love are too beautiful to pine away for someone who is gone. Someday we'll be together but not for a very long time. Promise me Buffy."

So she had promised and Angel had passed to the next world quietly in his sleep the very next evening.

The funeral had been small; only close friends had been on hand to help Buffy release his ashes to his beloved sea. The lawyers had brought her in to discuss the will he had drawn up when he had first found out about the cancer and after all the legal red tape and bills had been cleared up and paid off Buffy was astounded to find that Angel had left her with a little less than 20 million dollars.


Turning from the windows with a deep sigh, she walked to the entryway of the beach house she had shared with Angel, picked up her leather travel bag, slung it over her shoulder and with a last quiet murmur, "Goodbye Angel" She walked out of the door and locked her past behind her just as she had promised.






Sunnydale California 8:35 am the next week


"Ya da."
"Ya."
"I got it." *Bleedin' worrywart. *
"I got it. She'll be here today, young, alone, widow, pretty, leave her alone, ya."
"Ya, everythin' s'done."
"Mmmm hmmm."
"Ya."
"Love you too, love to Anya, bye."

Heaving a sigh of relief 19-year-old William "Spike" Giles clicked off the hand held and shook his bleached blond head ruefully as a smile graced his handsome face. His father Rupert Giles and his second wife had moved more than a year ago, to an entirely different country no less, and he still called to check up on his son everyday. Today had been no exception. The usual pleasantries, followed by a thorough run through of his responsibilities as the sole face in the good ol' U.S. of Giles Sanderson realty and how it applied to his newest neighbor and former house buyer. Rolling his eyes as he padded down the oak floored hallway to the master bedroom, he tossed the phone onto the deep forest green duvet before walking to the set of double French doors on one side of the room. Pushing the doors open to let in the early morning breeze, he unbuttoned his faded jeans as he walked to the deep cerulean blue tiled pool, pausing for a moment to let them drop, he then dove into the cool depths.





2 hours later

Buffy pulled her black jeep up to 1630 Revello drive and parked under one of the huge sycamores that lined the pretty block. Resting her slim hands on the steering wheel for a moment she gazed at what would in a few minutes be her new home.

Warm beige graced the siding of the house, with a deeper brown for the trim, setting off the pretty green yard. The house was cozy and inviting.

*I wish you were here Angel; you'd love it here. *

Shaking away the sad thoughts Buffy reached up to tilt her rear view mirror so she could assess the damage the last leg of the journey had done to her hair. With a tsking sound she reached across the passenger side into her purse on the floor for her brush. Pulling the leather hair tie out of the messy mane she proceeded to do what she could. After a minute or so of fussing she gave up and pulled the golden locks back into a messy bun leaving stray strands to frame her lovely face.

*Good enough. Mister Giles certainly won't notice the slovenly waif on his doorstep so why should I bother? Mister....hmmm...now what did Anya say her stepson's name was? Ward? Warren? William....that's it. *

Buffy nodded her head to herself knowingly before glancing at the carrier that sat in the passenger seat.

"See Louie? Told you your mama was a smart cookie," the large black cat merely blinked its gold eyes sleepily at her. "Well, wish me luck," she said before opening the door to the car and starting up the brick walk of the neighboring house.

The house of her new neighbors was exquisitely landscaped and maintained. Crème paint was accented with deep plum trim, the porch that ran the length of the front of the house was also bricked in used brick for a more homey feel, while an oak swing moved slightly in the breeze to the right of the door. Plants of all shapes and colors festooned the porch in colorful pots and spilled over into the flowerbeds creating a riot of color and symmetry.

*I'm going to have to ask who does the landscaping." Buffy thought before raising her hand to knock on the front door.

"'Old on." A distinctive male voice could be heard through the door. British she'd guess pondering for a moment if her real estate agent had also been British. She didn't think so but with the move and the tying up of last minute details, who could be sure. Mentally shrugging her shoulders she again turned to the lovely view of the yard.

*Yep, definitely asking about the landscaper. *

"Buffy Summers?" A rich baritone caressed over her like a warm summer breeze.

Turning around at the voice Buffy's heart went into a spin as her lips went dry at her first sight of the 19-year-old William.




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