Goodnight, Saigon

~Willie’s Bar Los Angeles January 17, 1973 – 2100 Hours~

William eyed the last dregs of whiskey in his glass and tossed it back, not even flinching when the fiery liquid seared his throat and burned a path to his empty stomach. Refilling the tumbler, he let his eyes wander around the quiet, smoky bar.

The Mamas and the Papas were warbling from the worn out jukebox in the corner while a fuzzy black and white television sputtered near the ceiling above it. A few GI’s were looking to get lucky with a couple of scantily clad floozies at the shiny mahogany bar while two old men eyed them suspiciously. Vets from WWII, no doubt, mumbling in their beards about how ‘wrong’ this particular war was.

Not that Will didn’t agree with them. He did. Just not for the same reasons. War was ‘wrong’ no matter who was doing the fighting for whatever zealous reason.

And yet he was going back for his third tour of duty.

Only this time, he wasn’t planning on coming back.

He was so bloody tired of it all. What Vietnam hadn’t sucked out of him with the soddin’ jungles and endless nightmares of blood and gore and death, his beautiful, traitorous wife had finished off. There was nothing inside of him. Drusilla had killed what was left as sure as if she had held the gun to his heart and pulled the trigger herself.

Everything had been carefully thought out, his plans already set in motion by signing up for this third tour. All he had to do was show up and…not care. His job as a tunnel rat was notorious for suicide missions among the troops. Just slip down into the darkness and never come back out. A ready-made grave, courtesy of the Viet-cong.

It was a brilliant plan, really. One last hurrah before eternal damnation. Not that he intended for it to be the coward’s way out that so many considered suicide to be. He would go down, but he fully intended on taking out as many of those vicious little buggers as he could before they overcame him. They could send his Purple Heart to Dru; maybe it would bleed enough to satisfy her.

He barely heard it at first. The shrill giggles of the barflys nearly drowned out the soft sobs of the girl huddled in the dark corner booth. Will stared at her, barely able to make out her small face amidst the masses of long golden hair that fell around her shaking shoulders.

‘It’s a tough old world, baby girl. Better get used to it,’ he thought sardonically as he emptied his glass once more. He noticed the crumpled paper lying in front of her. Probably from the brass, telling her that her husband, or her father, or her brother had laid down his life for democracy.

He fully intended on minding his own business but something, some last small scrap of the William he had been wouldn’t allow it. Almost against his will, he found his feet moving through the stygian darkness towards her. His bottle and glass thumped onto the table, causing her to give a start of fright, big green eyes watching him warily as he slid into the bench across from her.

Pain. Endless amounts of it pouring from the depths of forest green that stared back at him. Her trembling chin lifted defiantly.

“E-excuse me, but I’d like to be alone if you don’t mind.”

“Actually, pet, I do mind. All that soddin’ blubberin’ is really getting on my nerves.” Red-rimmed eyes widened indignantly. Oh, well, tact was never one of his virtues. “‘Sides, you keep it up and one of those gits at the bar will be over here trying to cheer you up. Trust me, you’re better off with me than one of them.”

“And why is that?” she asked, mopping her wet face with a scratchy napkin from the dispenser on the table.

“’Coz I’m not gonna try to get in your knickers. They will.” He waved a hand at the crumpled letter. “May I?”

Her eyes filled again, but she nodded resignedly.

Will smoothed it out and began to read. ‘PFC Riley Finn,’ ‘Regret to inform you,’ blah blah ‘service of this great country,’ blah. Yup, just as he thought. Just another one left behind to mourn.

“Husband?” he asked, handing the paper back to her. He lit up a fag and watched the smoke curl around their heads. He offered her the pack but she shook her head distractedly.

“M-my boyfriend. Fiancée, actually.” She caught his pointed look at her left hand and curled it into a protective fist on the tabletop. “H-he asked me just before he left this time. There wasn’t time to pick out a ring.” Her voice hitched and her eyes were still wet, but the sobbing hadn’t resumed. Will was glad. Those soft whimpers had been driving him slowly insane, showing him that he wasn’t as dead inside as he’d thought. “I-I told him the ring could wait; that we could go ahead and get married before he had to go, but Riley thought it would be better to wait.” she informed him solemnly.

A faint, bitter smile curved his lips. Poor lost little lamb. So young and innocent. She might think her life was over right now, but she had a whole future ahead of her. In time, her Riley would fade to a bittersweet memory. She would move on, find someone new to love and have a family with the lucky sod.

“What’re you drinking?” he asked off-handedly.

She held up a familiar, curvy green bottle. It was empty. “Coke, why?”

Without a word, he picked up his bottle and poured a healthy shot of liquor into her coke, ignoring her indignant sputtering.

“Hey! I don’t want that, why did you-” Finally a little bit of fire flashed in her beautiful eyes. Good.

“Sweetheart, trust me. You’re whole body is quivering and you can barely breathe. You’re about ten seconds from a bloody nervous breakdown. Drink it,” he ordered.

“Trust you?” Her tone was aghast. “I don’t even know you!”

Where were his manners? His poor gran would be horrified. William stuck a hand across the table and clasped her tiny hand in his. “Captain William Pratt, 25^th Infantry, Cu Chi Base, Vietnam. And you are?”

Her hand lay lax in his. Apparently, his uniform hadn’t registered with her before now. She eyed him up and down and then narrowed her eyes at him. “But your accent… Aren’t you British?”

“William James Pratt, born in New Jersey in 1946. Mum was a war bride. I came along a few years later. When I was still a baby, my father died during a test flight so she moved back to England. I came back after she died, met my wife, and stayed.” He smirked at her sardonically. “Kept the devastating accent.”

“Wife?” Now it was her turn to glance at his left hand, noting the faint white line left by his wedding ring; a ring that was now residing somewhere at the bottom of the Pacific rather than on his finger where it belonged.

He flexed his left hand, opening the scabs on his knuckles left there by the teeth of the latest unfortunate cuckold Dru had lured into their bed. He had known of her faithlessness. Of course he had. But being confronted with living, breathing proof after enduring endless hours of travel to see her again had been all he could take.

“Recently separated, you might say.” Will kept his face expressionless and his voice flat, but the pain tore at him inside with teeth and claws. “Caught her with one of her lovers, plowed the git in the kisser, and left. Got all my papers in order and I’m headed back for tour number three in twenty-four hours.”

She was staring at him, her pretty mouth hanging open in quiet amazement. William had to question the wisdom of using someone of her tender years as a sounding board for the train wreck his life had become, but then shrugged it off. He’d never see the chit again and she would be pleasant company before he ventured back into hell for the last time. He folded his arms on the scarred Formica table and gave her what he hoped was a friendly smile and not the death’s head grimace that it felt like.

“You never did tell me your name, pet.”

“Oh!” She laughed self-consciously, clasping her hands over her reddened cheeks. “I’m sorry. Buffy. My name is Buffy Summers.”

William accepted the small hand she thrust at him, uncomfortably aware of his body’s reaction to the warmth of her palm from where it had rested against her face. ‘Down boy,’ he sternly lectured his rising cock. ‘She’s just a baby and you’re a used-up, shadow of a man.’

Unlike the others in his platoon, he refused to make use of the many Vietnamese women that followed along behind the troops. Not only out of a skewed sense of loyalty to his wife, but because he’d had no desire to catch something there wasn’t a cure for yet. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed a good hard shag. His few days at home hadn’t been conducive to lovemaking. Not that Dru hadn’t tried to entice him into fucking her; she just couldn’t seem to accept the fact that just looking at her made him want to heave.

She was the quintessential California Girl; masses of shiny gold hair and toasty tanned skin, as different from Drusilla as day was from night. Maybe that was why he was so drawn to her. Or maybe it was just the girl herself. ‘Ah, no, Will, my boy. That way madness lies.’

Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

William refilled his glass and took a healthy swallow. “So, Buffy Summers, tell me about yourself. How did you and Riley meet?” It was a long shot, but maybe the story of her life would be just the diversion he needed to banish the memory of his traitorous bitch of a wife.

She played with her glass, running her fingers nervously through the condensation on the sides before picking it up to take a fortifying gulp. Obviously, she had forgotten the whiskey he’d added. She swallowed the drink, her eyes going wide for an instant before her face screwed up adorably.

“Blargh!” she uttered, giving an all-over shudder. “How can you drink that stuff? It’s awful!”

He laughed at her expression. “It’s definitely an acquired taste, luv. You might consider sipping it instead.”

She nodded and braved a tiny sip. “Hmm. Much better. Or maybe it just burned away my taste buds?” Her quirky smile charmed him further. “Okay, you wanted to hear the Story of Buffy Summers. I hope you brought a pillow, because it’s gonna get pretty dull for you!”

~*~*~*~*~

~Willie’s Bar Los Angeles January 17, 1973 – 2300 Hours~

Buffy Anne Summers was quite a talker, but entertaining with it, spicing her story with amusing little anecdotes about her friends and family. Her life growing up was far different from his; the kind of childhood he had dreamed of for himself. She’d lived her whole life in a little town north of Los Angeles called Sunnydale with her parents and baby sister.

‘It’s very small and very boring. One of these days, it’ll fall into a huge crater and no one will even notice,’ she giggled.

She had met Riley during her freshman year at UCLA, where he was in his junior year. They dated exclusively from the night they met at a rush party held by his fraternity. She proudly showed William a picture and he wisely kept his opinion to himself. Probably a nice enough bloke, but a little goofy looking in Will’s opinion. Still, no sense in ridiculing the dead, and it would no doubt hurt Buffy’s feelings if he said so. She asked to see a photo of Drusilla, but he flat refused, confessing that he’d had a nice bonfire of all her pictures and letters back at his motel room. She didn’t ask about Dru after that.

The letter had come to her parent’s home three days ago. She had taken the semester off and moved back home to start planning a traditional spring wedding with her mother. Then one morning she had answered the door to find a sharply dressed military messenger.

“I never got the chance to meet his parents. He’s from Iowa, so they had to fly here to p-pick up h-his b-body. They asked me to come here to their hotel so they could meet Riley’s ‘bride’.” She was crying again and Will didn’t hesitate to join her on her side of the booth, nudging her over and pulling her into a comforting hug. He cursed himself for his weakness, but what kind of man would let a woman cry like her heart was breaking without trying to comfort her? Not him, that’s for sure. So, he held her gently and mopped her face with a fresh napkin until she was ready to go on.

“When I got there, they were horrible!” she burst out. “Especially his mother. She showed me this letter he wrote to her. See, Riley and me… We had a fight before he left. I begged him, you know?”

“To get married, you mean?” His hand found her back and rubbed firm circles of commiseration, feeling her warmth even through the layers of her dress and the damp trench coat she wore.

She nodded, perfect white teeth worrying at her lower lip. “Yeah, that too, but it was something else we fought about. I… I begged him to-” She broke off abruptly, cheeks fiery red and looking anywhere but at him as she rushed the next bit out. “It seems so silly now, but I wanted to try for a baby. To me it was like a-a talisman. Something that meant he would have to come home to me.”

Her eyes were locked with his, pleading for understanding. From him. From a man she’d only just met. Did he think her drastic plan was silly? No. Impetuous and impractical maybe, but then weren’t most matters when it came to the heart? She was young and in love, naturally she wanted something tangible to remember that love.

“He got mad at me, of course. Told me I was being spoiled and selfish, not to mention irresponsible. And he told his mother everything in this letter, so she blamed me. Said my childish behavior distracted him from doing his duty. She told me it was my fault that he died.”

Buffy buried her face in Will’s wrinkled fatigues. “I thought we made up before he even left, and I was always really careful to write only cheerful stuff, so how was it me that distracted him? I wouldn’t do that, I loved him!”

“Shh,” Will soothed her, offering her a sip from his glass since hers was long empty. “Wasn’t your fault, luv. Trust me; I know better than anyone what it’s like over there. It doesn’t take a distraction. All it takes is one second and a sniper pinning you down in a rice paddy. The old tart just needed to blame someone for her son’s death and you were convenient.”

Buffy nodded, wiping at her wet cheeks with a trembling sigh. “It wasn’t very mature of me, but I just needed to get away from them, from her, so I ran away. I walked for a long time before I saw this place and came in to get out of the rain.”

The same rain that had driven him to seek shelter. It was raining still, great weeping torrents that washed against the grimy windows and blurred the lights of the passing cars. The sibilant hiss of tires on wet pavement was soothing and hypnotic. 

This time it was Buffy that refilled the glass. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me about William Pratt with the ‘devastating’ English accent.”

Her gentle teasing dredged a half-hearted smile from him, but he sat there with his arm around her narrow shoulders and told her his story. It wasn’t the watered down version, either. She had been honest and open with him, so he felt he owed her the same.

He told her about growing up in London with a mother that had to work so hard to support the two of them that she had no energy left for the small, curly-haired son who waited so patiently for her to come home at night. About living with his sweet gran, who had tried her best to make up for his mother’s lack of attention, and how he’d cried when gran died quietly in her sleep one night. Without her firm guidance and no other adult supervision, he’d run wild with a pack of other children whose parents had no time for them. He’d barely managed to scrape through school, but he had graduated. He was barely eighteen when his mum walked in front of a bus one night after working an exhausting double shift. There was no way of knowing if the poor woman had done it deliberately. That she died instantly was a small comfort to the son who’d barely known her.

Fed up with his hand to mouth existence in London, William had taken the small amount of cash left after burying his mum and bought a one-way ticket to the States. He’d had a half-assed plan to look up his father’s family, but that was forgotten the instant he gazed into Drusilla Bennett’s seductive blue eyes.

He’d been working in a club, tending bar for cash under the table while his citizenship papers were cleared up. Dru had shown up with a group of friends and ensnared him from the start with her talk of dark knights and pixies and burning baby fish. At first, Will thought the girl was completely sack of hammers, but she had a way about her, a neediness that called to him. No one had ever really needed him before. She was several years older than him; twenty-six to his eighteen years, but that didn’t matter to Will.

By the time he discovered her fickle nature, he was well and truly hooked. They were married barely a year when she took her first lover. He never had any solid proof, but it was hard to ignore the facts when she came home stinking of booze and sex, her pale body littered with bruises and bite marks.

Of course he thought about leaving; useless daydreams of finding someone who would love him as much as he loved them. Every time he nutted up and made an effort to break away, Drusilla would launch herself into a screaming fit, tearing at her long dark hair and clawing at her face and arms until he would finally relent and promise to never leave her.

Living with such a volatile and unbalanced woman would suck the life out of even the strongest of men, and Will never claimed to be that strong. He endured, hoping that one day he would be enough for her.

“What was so different this last time?” Buffy asked. Her head drooped onto his shoulder, her silky hair tickling his chin.

William shrugged lightly. “She was pretty out of it, ranting and raving like she always did when I told her this time was the last. I was this close to giving in just to get her to settle down when she let something slip. Something I just couldn’t bring myself to forgive or forget.”

One small hand covered his on the tabletop, her thumb moving in soft swishes over his scabbed knuckles. That silent show of support more than anything encouraged him to go on.

“Seems she found out she was pregnant just after I left for my second tour. She conned one of her lovers into taking her to a ‘doctor’. Just threw it away like it was a piece of garbage. It could have been mine. Odds are that it wasn’t, since I’d long ago reached the point where I could barely bring myself to touch her. Didn’t matter to her, though.”

Buffy leaned forward, her movements swift and jerky as she dashed the tears from her cheeks with shaking fingers. “How could she do that to you?” Her voice quivered as hatred for a woman she’d never meet colored her voice. “She didn’t deserve you, Will.”

He couldn’t see her face, but he heard her sniffle and smiled wryly as he imagined her wasting more tears over his sad lot in life. Yes, Drusilla’s final betrayal still hurt, but not with the soul searing intensity that it had before he made his confession. He could almost be philosophical about it. “Guess in a way, ’s for the best. Dru could barely take care of herself and her bloody dolls, let alone a real baby.”

She let out a bitter huff of laughter. “Silver linings,” she muttered, her voice soft and slurry. “Every cloud has ‘em.” Her knuckles were white as she gripped the glass and drank down the last of the whiskey.

They were the only ones left in the bar. Will glanced at his watch and was surprised to see that it was already after midnight. He released his hold on her with a final squeeze and stood up to stretch.

“Gettin’ late, luv. Why don’t I have the bartender call a cab to take you back to your hotel?” He hated to see the night end, but she had to be tired after the emotional roller-coaster she’d ridden today. He certainly was, although he knew it’d be hours yet before sleep claimed him. He’d buy himself another bottle of JD to take back to his room so he could finish drinking himself into oblivion. Maybe tonight he would dream of green eyes, sun-kissed skin, and shiny golden hair instead of Dru riding her whimpering stallion into submission.

Her gasp of horror stopped him in his tracks and had him hurrying back to her side. “What’s wrong?” he asked. Will suddenly realized that she was a little more than tipsy when she had to squint to focus on his face.

“I never got a room, Will. I-I was so upset and just ran out without getting a room.” She hiccupped and stared miserably up at him. “I don’t think I even have enough money. I was going to go home after I met Riley’s parents.” She scrabbled through her macramé purse and finally held up a bus ticket.

Will took it from her and read the departure time. “Buffy, this bus left three hours ago, luv,” he informed her, wincing as her face crumpled once more. “Hey, now! No more crying, now. You can come back to my room with me. I’ve got two big beds, so there’s no need to look at me like that, either!”

“I’m sorry, Will. You’ve been nothing but sweet to me, and I…”

“Jumped to a perfectly normal conclusion. It’s okay, Buffy. Come on, we’ll get you something to eat and another bottle for me and head back to my motel, yeah?”

She still had the hiccups, but managed to nod and allowed him to pull her from the booth. The bartender yawned as he took Will’s money and handed over his whiskey in a plain brown bag. “Be a bitch gettin’ a cab at this hour, buddy,” he offered. “You’ll be waiting an hour, at least.”

“We’re not that far. We’ll walk.” He was sure if they hung about waiting on a cab, Buffy would pass out cold from the small amount of alcohol in her system. Silly chit might have warned him that she was such a lightweight when it came to holding her liquor!

Keeping an arm around the waist of the slightly weaving girl, he led her out into the rain-drenched darkness. Her feet dragged through the puddles, but he urged her along in spite of her soft grumbles about being hungry and sleepy and why were her feet so wet? Will decided to forego getting some food into her. At this rate she was going to pass out before he got her back to his room and into bed.

She made it, but just barely. Juggling her weight and the ungainly key ring, he managed to get the door open and prop her against the wall while he pulled her wet trench coat off and hung it up with his to drip dry.

“Ooh! Bed!” she slurred happily as she ducked around him and staggered towards it.

“Hold on there, sweetheart. Need to get those wet shoes off first.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at her antics as she fought with the strappy sandals she wore. Setting his bottle safely on the table, he knelt down to help her.

Once the shoes were dispensed with, Buffy fell back against the mattress with a gusty sigh. “Oh, my, the room is spinning!” she giggled.

Indeed it was, but not for the same reasons. Will had lifted his eyes from her feet to find himself staring straight up the short skirt of her dress.

Oh, holy fuck.

~*~*~*~

~Starland Motor Lodge Los Angeles January 18, 1973 – 0100 Hours~

It nearly killed him, but somehow he managed to get her changed into one of his t-shirts. It hung on her small form, but nothing in his life had turned him on quite so much as seeing her wearing that plain white t-shirt. She was sleeping now, curled up under the blankets in the bed beside his. Every once in a while she would let out a tiny whimper, and each one tugged at his thawing heart.

His reaction to her vulnerability angered him. Not at her, specifically, but at the fates that just had to fuck with him one last time by sending an angel to tempt him from his chosen path. Why now? Hadn’t he had his fill of needy women? He’d made his peace, tied up all the loose ends and turned his back on a world that he was certain had turned its back on him long ago, and now this.

Another soft sound of protest drew his attention to the angel in question. The glow from the silent television illuminated her small form and he frowned when she began to thrash around. Apparently he wasn’t the only one whose dreams weren’t so sweet.

Setting his bottle aside, he rolled off his bed and made his way quietly over to hers. Her breathing was strained and she was clawing at the blankets around her neck, her cries of distress gaining in volume. Hoping to rouse her gently from her nightmare, Will touched her shoulder and shook her lightly. She bolted upright with a scream of terror.

“Jesus, Buffy!” he shouted. She’d scared the crap out of him. Will’s heart was pounding like a jack-hammer as he struggled to calm her down. She fought him at first, nearly hyperventilating before finally opening her eyes and staring frantically up at him.

“Will?” she gasped, her nails digging into his forearms as she clung to him like he was her lifeline. Her eyes were wide and wild as she searched his. Seeing his concern, she gave an inarticulate cry and flung herself into his arms.

He didn’t hesitate to gather her onto his lap, one hand buried in her silky hair and the other stroking up and down her trembling back. “Shh,” he whispered soothingly. “What’s got you so upset, hmm?”

“Dark.” She burrowed closer with a shudder. “God, it was so dark; the kind of dark that hurts your eyes, and I couldn’t breathe! I couldn’t move, Will. It felt like I was choking to death on the smell of dirt and smoke, and all I could hear was my breathing and my heart pounding.”

Will’s hand on her back stilled at her words, his belly clenching sickeningly. She had just described in perfect detail what it was like in the tunnels beneath Cu Chi. She had just described his impending death.

He fought the swiftly rising tide of panic, railing inwardly at the fates that weren’t content to simply muck about with his mind; they had to drag this innocent girl into it, too.

Buffy was slowly calming down and becoming aware of their position. She tensed the slightest bit and pulled back, her eyes dark and troubled as she stared at him solemnly.

“So much pain,” she whispered. One small hand lifted hesitantly to smooth over his taut face, lingering on the scar that slashed through his left eyebrow before sweeping down his cheekbone to trace delicately over his full bottom lip. Her gaze settled there, eyes darkening even further before her thick lashes drifted closed and she leaned forward, brushing her lips against his in a feather light caress.

He thought about pushing her away. Once they crossed the line, once he tasted her, there would be no going back. He held himself completely still, letting her decide how far she wanted to take it. Only his hands moved, sliding up to grip her waist tightly.

She moved slowly, shifting around to throw one slim leg over his lap until she was straddling him. Before lying down earlier, he had stripped to his boxers and now those and her lacy panties were the only barriers between them. A harsh gasp scratched at his throat as she moved deliberately until he was cradled between the lips of her sex, dampness seeping through the thin layers of cotton to bathe his cock in her heat.

Right now, he was feeling every second of his past year of abstinence. It took everything he had to keep from throwing her down and pounding her into the mattress. Instead, his fingers sank into her hips, holding her quiescent above him.

“Buffy...” He had to clear his throat to dispel an unmanly squeak as she lowered her head and began to drop moist kisses along his collarbone. “Luv, what’re you doing?”

One arm wound around his shoulders, her hand combing through the short hair at his nape while the other trailed over his pecs and down his  taut stomach. She raised her head, green eyes sparkling with a hint of amusement. “I know you said you wouldn’t try to get in my ‘knickers’,” she said the word with a droll smile. “But I never said I wouldn’t try to get into yours.” A moment’s hesitation and then her slender fingers dipped under the waistband of his boxers and wrapped around his fully engorged cock.

She took advantage of his mouth falling open to suck in much-needed air to kiss him again. Really kiss him, not just a quick brush of the lips this time, but a full-blown, sensual duel of lips, teeth, and tongue that had them both trembling when she lifted her head and smiled tremulously down at him.

Will shuddered, more from the wealth of emotion in those gorgeous eyes than from the demanding touch of her hand on his throbbing prick. He could lose himself in this girl, he realized with a sudden flash of pure terror. He was already drowning in her sweet, girly scent and the softness of her pliant body curving so trustingly against his. Logically, he knew he was too far gone already to refuse her anything she asked of him, but he felt compelled to make one last desperate attempt to avoid certain heartbreak for the both of them.

He reached down and caught her hand in a firm grip, gritting his teeth with a strained hiss when her fingers tightened in protest.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. I never expected…”

“Shh.” Gentle fingers covered his lips, stealing the last of his good intentions away. “It’s alright. I want this. Want you.” She let go of his cock and turned her hand to twine her fingers with his, guiding him under her borrowed shirt until his knuckles brushed the underside of her breasts. “Touch me, William,” she pleaded, stealing another kiss from him. “Help me make it through tonight, please?”

“I’m not him, Buffy,” he warned her with a touch of anger. “’M not your bloody Prince Charming.”

“I didn’t ask you to be.” She smiled sadly, brushing the backs of her fingers over his cheekbone once more. “And I’m not Drusilla.”

He gave a bark of bitter laughter at that. No, she would never be Dru. Truer words were never spoken. “Didn’t ask you to be.”

Buffy leaned back, her needy hands pulling him along until she was fully reclined with Will lying halfway across her body, his hard flesh resting heavy and twitching on her thigh. Done with denial, he unleashed all of his pent up hunger and passion in a kiss that was a little rough, a little less than tender, but rife with the promise of endless delights.

She was gasping when his mouth left hers. Will blazed a hot, moist path down her arched neck to her chest, growling in frustration when her shirt blocked his access to her firm little breasts. He urged her silently to lift her arms and skinned the white cotton up her torso and over her head to fly away forgotten into the darkened room. Her miniscule bikini panties and his boxers soon followed.

“Don’t,” he rasped when she made as if to cover herself in a sudden fit of timidity. “Need to see you.” He grabbed her hands and pinned them to the mattress above her head with one of his while the other slid up her heaving ribs to cup one quivering mound. He brought his mouth to suckle voraciously at the pebbled rose tip, drawing it into the heat of his mouth and lashing it with his tongue.

She cried out his name, her voice raw and scratchy as she arched her back, pushing more of her breast into his mouth. He grunted his approval and moved to lavish its twin with the same greedy veneration.

His free hand never stilled, stroking up and down the curve of her waist before smoothing over her taut belly to delve into the sparse nest of silky curls. He groaned, his fingers gentling as they explored her folds and found her wet and slippery and ready for him. Will took his time pleasuring her, finding her hard little clit and tormenting it with his thumb while he slid two fingers into her tight, grasping channel.

Releasing his hold on her wrists, he propped himself up on his forearm and moved to cover her, his body undulating over hers as he ground his pulsing length into her hip. She caught his rhythm and moved restlessly with him. He finally left her breasts and leaned up to kiss her hungrily, sucking and nipping at her panting mouth.

“God, the way you are,” he murmured his adulation, consumed by a fresh surge of lust when he noted her submissive posture, her arms still raised over her head and her legs spread to accommodate his hips between her tanned thighs. Her face was flushed and rosy, her eyes slumberous as she gazed up at him through the tangled curtain of her hair. The sound of his voice had her clamping down hard on his fingers and so he continued to whisper little nasties to her, deliberately roughening his accent to drive her to a feverish pitch.

“Mmm, so tight and wet and all for me. I’m gonna love slidin’ into that hot l’il cunny of yours, baby,” he rumbled passionately into her ear. She clenched around his fingers again and he felt her muscles fluttering. “Almost there, aren’t you? Feels so good. So sweet. Come for me, Buffy. Just let it go.”

She came hard; a long, keening cry and then shuddering sighs as she exploded from within, coming apart under his talented ministrations.

“That’s my good little girl,” he praised. He eased his dripping fingers from her still thrumming flesh and smoothed his hand out over the inside oh her thigh, spreading her wider to accept him. “Need to be inside you, sweet darlin’. Let me in.”

She nodded her head jerkily, eyes still a little dazed at the heights he’d been able to coax her to. She finally lifted her arms to wrap them around his shoulders, her mouth hot and eager beneath his.

Her sudden tension when he aligned himself with her entrance should have warned him, but he was so lost in the feel of wet flesh gloving around him for the first time in forever that it didn’t register. Will penetrated with a strong surge of his hips, sliding heedlessly into her tight sheath until he felt something give around him and slid in to the hilt. He groaned, realizing what he had stolen from her when she muffled a sharp cry of pain against his shoulder and sank her nails into his sweaty back.

Shock couldn’t even begin to cover what he was feeling. Of course the signs were all there, now, since he was thinking with his head and not his dick. Her passive demeanor in the face of his aggressive lovemaking, the extreme snugness of her pussy, and the unfettered look of awe on her face after her climax should have clued him in to her virginal state.

Sure, the whole world might be in the midst of a sexual revolution, but he knew better than anyone that not everything was as it seemed. Girls like Buffy didn’t sleep with every Tom, Dick, and Harry that traipsed through their lives. Girls like Buffy saved themselves for their wedding night. Only…her wedding night had died in a country she probably hadn’t even heard of until five years ago, and her virginity had been squandered on a man with no soul that she’d known for all of five hours.

Will fought the urge to yell at her; to chastise her for being so capricious with something that she’d obviously held precious until tonight. He might have been oblivious right up until he tore through her hymen, but she had not. Had he known, he would have shown some restraint instead of just plowing into her like some inconsiderate dog mounting any bitch in heat.

“Christ, Buffy.” He shifted his hips a fraction and she whimpered, the kittenish sound of pain slicing through him and increasing his guilt ten-fold. His sigh of regret rumbled through the both of them.

“I’m so, so sorry, baby.” Will lifted his head and stared down into her glistening eyes, his fingers sifting tenderly through the damp hair at her temples. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. If you’d told me-”

“If I’d told you, we wouldn’t be here right now. Your sense of chivalry wouldn’t allow it,” she interrupted, her voice achingly hushed. Turning her head, she nuzzled the hand that cupped her cheek. A tiny smile quirked her lips as she studied the guilt that shadowed his blue eyes. “I meant it when I said I wanted this. I wanted it to be you.”

Will was humbled by the naked trust in her eyes. In his entire life, in nearly thirty years, no one had ever looked at him quite that way. Not his mother and most certainly not Drusilla. It took a perfect stranger only a few hours to make him feel that he mattered.

“D’you want to stop?” It was one of the hardest things he’d ever said, but he felt he needed to give her an out. “We can, you know.”

“Kinda late, don’t you think?” That little smile that made his heart skip was back and her hands were roaming restlessly, mapping the muscles in his back with her fingertips in a way that raised delicious shivers across his skin.

“Yeah, kinda,” he agreed with a snort of amusement at her choice of words. Yes, it was most definitely ‘kinda’ late. Especially for him. “Still hurt?”

She gave an experimental squeeze of her inner muscles and winced. His eyes crossed and he grunted in surprise. Girl had a helluva grip down there. Felt like a velvet glove clamping around his dick.

“Little bit.”

“Tell you what; let’s do a bit more snoggin’, yeah?” he suggested.

“Snoggin’?” she giggled. “I hope that’s a good thing, ‘cause it sounds kinda iffy.”

Once again, her pithy sense of humor had him smiling like a fool. “Snoggin’ is kissing, luv. Or making out, as you Yanks are so fond of calling it.”

Buffy smiled brightly. “Ohhh, okay. I’m good at making out!”

“That you are, sweetheart.” Was it wrong of him to feel more than a twinge of jealousy when he thought of her with someone else? She was a beautiful girl; it would be crazy to think that she hadn’t at least exchanged kisses and heavy petting with her beloved Riley. Well at least he had been the first when it really counted, he reassured himself smugly. She might kiss a hundred more men in her life, but she would always remember her first time with him. He intended to make sure of it.

He kissed her, loving the feel of her smile beneath his mouth. Her arms curled around his shoulders, sharp little nails scratching lightly across his skin and threading through his rumpled hair.

She was good at this, he mused. Her little pink tongue slipped boldly past his lips to dance with his, then retreated with a coaxing curl that enticed his own to follow. Something he was more than happy to do, plunging deep into the moist cavern of her mouth, devouring her sweetness like a starving man.

He felt like he was hoarding every little nuance of this miracle, storing intangibles like her scent, the silky sheen of sweat that coated her lithe limbs, the little sound she made deep in her throat when his fingers traced circles around her taut nipple. He drew them in and buried them deep, so that sometime in the future, when the stench of death stung his nostrils and the cacophony of screams and gunfire rang around him, he could lie back under the smoke-filled Asian sky and have her once again.

The rain still lashed at the windows and the lighting flickered like a strobe against the walls of the room. He’d grown to hate rain since his time in Vietnam, but tonight he had a new appreciation for the elements as they became just one more thing he would associate with Buffy.

She was starting to move unconsciously beneath him, rolling her hips back and forth to create some friction. He slipped a hand between their heaving bellies and combed through her pubic hair, lightly tugging on the short, wiry curls and dragging a harsh, gasping moan from her throat.

“Oh, God. Will…”

“Good, baby?” He left off littering her neck with love bites to press his forehead to hers.

“God, yes! S-so Good. Mmm…” she purred as his questing fingers parted her wet folds and circled slow, sensuous laps from her throbbing button down to where they were so intimately joined.

Buffy was thoroughly distracted by his talented ministrations, so Will

chanced an almost imperceptible thrust, watching her face cautiously for any sign of discomfort. Withdrew carefully and thrust again. And again.

“Yes! Oh! Oh, please, more!” she cried, her head tossing fitfully and her hands sliding over the clenching muscles of his backside and kneading urgently.

Will finally let go, his mouth hungrily seeking hers in a bruising clash of lips and tongues. His hips found a steady rhythm and he stayed with it. A growl ripped through him as she wound her legs around him, her knees digging into his sides as she matched his pace. The sting of her nails cutting into his ass incited him to drive deeper, lunge harder.

The storm outside rose in intensity, almost as if it was trying to outmatch the one rocking the bed inside. Will could feel that same delicious tremor of her muscles that he’d felt earlier around his fingers, this time sweeping up and down the length of his cock buried inside her.

“Bloody perfect, ‘s what you are,” he lauded her, burying his face ardently in her fragrant hair. “An angel. Oh, God…jus’ like that. Fuck me back, sweet baby...fuck me good…”

Her head snapped back and she arched so hard she lifted both of their bodies from the mattress. The fluttering walls of her pussy clamped down on him as her orgasm slammed into her. Her eyes flew open wide and a choked scream tore from her throat.

“Fuck, Buffy!” he roared, slamming into her one last time and grinding into her quivering flesh as his own released exploded through him. His body jerked in an all-over shudder that rocked him. It seemed to go on and on, an endless maelstrom of bliss, until he finally collapsed on top of her, the last of his seed overflowing between them.

They both struggled for breath, panting into each others throats as they wallowed in residual rapture. Rolling to the side so he wasn’t crushing her, Will pulled her along until her entire slight frame rested on top of him. With hands that still trembled, he smoothed her hair out of her face and pressed a tender, satiated kiss against her forehead.

“There are no words…” she sighed, one fingertip reverently stroking over his heartbeat. “None.”

William rumbled his agreement, smiling as she tried to smother a yawn behind one delicate hand. “Sleep, sweetheart,” he murmured.

His hands continued to stroke leisurely down to her shapely derrière and back up to her neck in an endless, soothing loop. He felt complete, utterly content to lie here with her like this for as long as she would let him. He waited until he felt her relax completely on top of him before he finally gave in himself and slipped into the first restful sleep he’d had in ages.

~*~*~*~*~

~Starland Motor Lodge Los Angeles January 18, 1973 – 0900 Hours~

They woke to sunshine; buttery soft light that dappled the tangled sheets and warmed their clinging limbs. Her ‘good morning’ was every bit as delicious as he’d dreamed, her lush mouth sharing the smile from her lips with his as she kissed him.

William promptly flipped her under him and proceeded to show her his version of ‘good morning’. The only moment of uncertainty came when he rolled over onto his back once more and she ended up sitting astride his cock.

Her eyes, bright as emeralds in the sunlight, blinked down at him in confusion as if to say, ‘what now?’ Will folded his arms behind his head and smirked complacently up at her, arching an eyebrow as if to reply, ‘you figure it out.’

It took her a few false starts, but she caught on fast. Finding the perfect rhythm, she added those exceptional muscles, squeezing him mercilessly. Will’s smug look was quickly replaced by slack-jawed amazement as she rode him to a toe-curling climax. He was gasping like a winded horse by the time she sank down on his chest with a blissful smile.

Hunger drove them in search of a diner, but not before another hour was wasted while Will showed her the decadent pleasures of coed showering.

After a meal neither of them tasted, they hurried back to his room and locked the world outside once more. They lay on the bed and talked, exchanging little snippets of their lives. When Buffy fell asleep. Will curled himself around her back. With his arm draped over her waist and his face buried in her hair, he lay quietly, just breathing her in until he too drifted off.

~*~*~*~

~Starland Motor Lodge Los Angeles January 18, 1973 – 1600 Hours~

They woke after four, using their last few precious hours to slowly explore each others bodies. Buffy’s hands twisted in the sheets, nearly ripping them to shreds as Will drove her insane with his wicked tongue. This time when he crawled up her quivering body and surged inside her for what she knew was the last time, Buffy cried.

Finally they could put it off no longer. Will planned to go with her to the bus station and see her safely on her way back to her parent’s home before reporting to El Toro at 1900 hours.

He let her shower alone this time, cracking open the bottle of JD from last night and lying back on one of the beds. He lay there, smoking a fag and staring up at the spotty ceiling while indulging in foolish daydreams of a future with Buffy.

The bathroom door opened and she came out, hair still damp and once again wearing her wrinkled dress. It was obvious from her freshly made up face that she had made an attempt to repair the damage inflicted by her latest bout of tears. He couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes lit up when he set aside his glass and rolled to his feet.

“All ready to go, luv?” he asked, feeling a tremor in his own limbs when she sucked in a deep, steadying breath and nodded.

“I guess I am. I swear, I’m gonna burn this dress when I get home,” she joked. “How about you? All packed?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he assured her.

“Can I…Can I keep this?” She was holding the plain cotton t-shirt he had worn yesterday. The one she had slept in was already tucked away in his duffle. He watched as she stroked it lightly before holding it to her face, breathing deep of his scent that clung to the fabric.

He smiled, knowing she was a breath away from crying again but trying so hard to be brave about it. “Sure, sweetheart.” He pulled the miniscule scrap of lace from his back pocket and showed her. “’S only fair since I stole your knickers.”

She gasped at his audacity, then laughed, and finally gave in to the tears that always seemed to be threatening.

“Gonna ruin that pretty paint job of yours,” he teased, moving closer as she ducked her head and dabbed at her streaming eyes. Eyeliner and mascara smeared the tissue but he could tell she didn’t care.

“Can’t he-help it,” she sniffled, voice gone high and squeaky as she struggled with her heightened emotions. “I’m never going to see you again, am I?”

He studied her intently, his head tilted slightly as he considered the past few hours and all that had passed between them. Meeting her might have him questioning his beliefs, but even if he chose not to act on his self-imposed suicide mission, there were so many other ways to die in Vietnam. It would be so easy to lie; one little fib to make their parting just a little bit easier, but he couldn’t do that to her.

Instead, he dug in his front pocket and pulled out his dog-tags. He held up the silver ball chain wordlessly, smiling as she dipped her head and allowed it to slip over her head and settle between her breasts. Will caught the shiny metal between his fingers, pressing it under her chin to lift her face to his.

“Think you can hang on to these for me?” His eyes searched hers, hoping that she’d understood the significance of his gesture. Her wobbly smile told him that she had. She wrapped her hand around the hand holding the tag under her chin and squeezed it tightly.

“There’s something I want you to do for me,” Buffy ventured hesitantly. Her free hand smoothed the front of his fatigues and came to rest over his heart, picking nervously at a loose thread around the name tag over his breast pocket. “If…If s-something happens…If…I want…No, I need…I just need to know, okay?”

Will stiffened and pulled away from her, striding with angry steps over to pick up his duffle. She followed him, standing diffidently behind him and twisting her hands in front of her.

“Please, Will?” she begged.

He stopped fumbling with the bag and let his shoulders slump in defeat. “Buffy, I saw how much getting that letter about Riley tore you up. ‘S why we’re bloody here in the first place!”

“It’s not!” In spite of the sharpness of her voice, her hand was gentle as she ran it down his back. “It’s different. Riley was my fairytale. This…being here with you…it was real.”

He shook his head sadly. “Don’t ask me to do this.”

“I have to.” She was crying again.

‘Do it now,’ his inner voice was screaming. ‘Tell her no. Take back the tags and cut her loose. Let her have a normal life instead of waiting for something that might never come to pass.’

But, of course, in the end he was too weak.

“Write everything down. I’ll turn it in with my paperwork before I leave.” He sighed as small arms slipped around his waist from behind and squeezed the breath from him. Dropping his duffle, he whipped around to grab her arms and haul her up to meet his descending mouth. The kiss was totally lacking in finesse, wet and messy and flavored with the salt of her tears, but he felt it to the depths of his soul.

When they finally parted, both were trembling. Will pressed his forehead to hers, squeezing his eyes tightly shut against the clock that mocked him from the far wall.

“It’s time,” she whispered raggedly.

“Yeah.” He let her go and shouldered his duffle bag, taking one last look around the room while she wrote down her name and address on a scrap of paper. When she was done, she tucked it into his pocket and carefully buttoned the flap.

“There!” She smiled bravely and took his hand. “Ready?”

No, he really wasn’t, but this he could lie about. “Let’s go.”

~*~*~*~

~Greyhound Bus Terminal Los Angeles January 18, 1973 1800 Hours~

The ticket master gave them no problem over switching Buffy’s ticket and soon Will was walking her to the bus. He helped her find a seat by the window and they sat together, just holding each other until the driver called out that they were ready to leave.

He stood on the sidewalk, staring up at her window, and when she pressed one small hand to the glass, he reached up and did the same. One last connection.

The bus revved up, belching fumes all around him but he didn’t move, didn’t pull away, until the bus itself began to inch away from the curb. She turned to stare behind her, desperate to keep him in her sight as long as she could. Will waved, hoping she could see him, until the bus turned the corner and she was gone.

Stepping back, he wearily shouldered his duffle and went to find a cab that would take him to El Toro. By the time Buffy got home tonight, he would be halfway to Hawaii, and then from there to Guam and finally Saigon. A world away.

A cab screeched to a halt in front of him and he tossed his duffle in. He gave the empty corner one last look before climbing in and turning resolutely forward as they pulled away.

Thankfully the cabbie wasn’t the chatty sort. Will lay his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, his mind a swirling maelstrom of if only’s and what if’s.

Buffy.

Logic told him that it was impossible to fall in love so completely in just twenty-four hours, but his aching heart told him different. She’d dragged him from the pit of despair and shown him that there was hope for the future. A future with her.

All he had to do was make it through hell one last time.  

~*~*~*~

~Sunnydale, California July 4, 1973 1700 Hours~

Will pulled up to the curb in front of the comfortable looking house and checked the address against the one written on the dog-eared scrap of paper he held.

1630 Revello Drive.

Yes, this was the place. He stared at the house, finding it exactly as he’d pictured it when she’d described it to him months ago, right down to the big tree growing in the side yard, its fat branches leading up to what had be her bedroom window. Geraniums bloomed in cheerful profusion on the front porch, and the windows and front door were flung open to catch the coolness of the late afternoon breezes. As he watched, a tall, gangly teen with waist-length brown hair came out of the house with a watering can and began to tend the flowers.

He leaned his head back against the seat and pressed a hand to his stomach in a fruitless attempt to calm the butterflies dive-bombing around inside. It had been a long and difficult road to get here, and while he was scared as hell, he had to know.

With a twist of his wrist he killed the engine and stepped out. Careful to bear his weight on his uninjured leg and using the cane for much-needed support, he slammed the door and made his painfully slow way up the sidewalk.

The girl on the porch had looked up at the sound of the car door and was staring at him as he limped towards her. Her blue eyes were huge and her mouth hung open in stunned disbelief. He couldn’t help but smile at her antics as she dropped the watering can and began to hop up and down in one spot, flapping her hands excitedly.

“’Lo. I’m looking for Buffy.” No sense beating around the bush. The chit obviously knew who he was. Judging from her reaction, someone had been talking about him in pretty descriptive terms.

“Ohhmygawdddd!” she squealed. “You…you’re…” Hand held to her chest, she began to back towards the front door, stumbling, almost getting tangled up in her long, coltish legs. “Uh Bu…uh Bu…” she babbled comically before finally reaching the door and jerking it open with a girlish shriek. “Buffy!”

He could faintly hear her feet pounding through the house over the ringing in his ears from her enthusiastic screeching. “Well, that was one hell of a welcome,” he muttered, feeling a little more hopeful of his reception.

More footsteps echoed from inside. Two sets this time. Both came to a crashing halt just inside the door and he heard voices whispering furiously.

“So help me God, Dawnie,” an achingly familiar voice hissed threateningly. “If you come out this door, I swear I’ll tell Mom and Dad everything that you and Andrew have been doing in his parents’ garage!”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Watch me! Now, go. Away!”

The muttering and very unladylike cursing that followed had him turning away to hide his mirth. Behind him, the latch clicked and the door squeaked open. Will held his breath for a long, endless moment and then snapped around to face her.

Buffy.

She stood there, wringing her hands together nervously and not saying a word. His eyes devoured her, taking in the small differences since he’d seen her last; the blonde hair that was a few shades lighter and her tanned face that was just a little bit thinner than he remembered. He smiled when he caught sight of his dog-tags hanging from her neck.

She was dressed in a pretty flowered smock over ragged cut-offs, and as he watched, the fitful summer breeze flirted with the ruffled edge of the smock and then blew it back against her body, clearly outlining the unexpected roundness of her stomach.

Will suddenly found it impossible to breathe. His eyes widened at the picture she made and he could barely form a coherent thought. He hardly dared to blink, afraid that his eyes were playing tricks on him. In their short time together, they’d made love a handful of times and not once had they spared a thought for birth control. Perhaps, subconsciously, they’d both hoped for this.

Buffy. Full of baby. Buffy full of his baby. Their baby.

“Will?” she finally whimpered, her voice fraught with uncertainty as he continued to stare in shock at her rounded belly. His eyes flew up to meet hers and a sharp pain tugged at his heart when he saw what his lack of reaction was doing to her.

Of all times for his leg to act up, it had to be now. While he’d been standing there gawking at her like an utter git, it had stiffened up as it was wont to do after long periods on his feet. When he started towards her, he stumbled and fell to his knees, hissing against the pain that shot up his leg. She cried out and rushed forward to help him, but his hands coming up to frame her stomach stopped her cold.

His face was a study in impassioned reverence as he pushed up her blouse to view her lush fullness without impediment. His trembling fingers traced delicate circles on the tight silk of her skin and he finally tore his eyes away to look up at her.

“Mine. This…this is mine.”  There wasn’t a shred of doubt that this baby was his. None whatsoever, because Buffy wasn’t Dru.

She choked back a sob and nodded, silvery tears overflowing and streaking her cheeks.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice soft and bemused. “I didn’t think it was possible to love you more than I already did. I was wrong.” He pressed a fervent kiss above the tiny protrusion of her belly button and then nuzzled his face against her with a sigh of utter contentment. “Thank you.”

Buffy was crying unrestrainedly now, her fingers tunneling greedily through his hair as she held him against her. “I waited so long, Will. Everyone else was coming home, but y-you never came, and I was afraid…so afraid I’d never see you again. That you didn’t want me.” Her hands came down to cover his on the hard curve of her tummy, her tear-filled voice dropping to a whisper. “That you wouldn’t want us.”

William pulled her down onto his lap, ignoring the pain in his leg. “Never,” he breathed, burying his face in her neck. “I could never not want you. You…you’re everything I ever dreamed of.” He leaned back to lose himself in the glistening emerald of her eyes, his own suspiciously bright. “Love you so, so much, Buffy.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so Buffy settled for both, throwing her arms around his neck. “God, Will! I love you, too! She cried. “Never leave me again. Never, ever. Promise me?”

“Promise.” He held her tight, glorying in the feel of her in his arms and the aggressive nudge of her swollen belly against his.

As if on cue, the baby made its presence known with several strong kicks aimed at its father’s stomach. Will reared back in amazement, his hands stroking avidly. “My God! Is that her?” he laughed.

“Her?” Buffy asked, arching an eyebrow coyly. Even with her eyes swollen and her face blotchy from crying, she was the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen.

He couldn’t help the quick surge of masculine pride he felt, or the cocky grin that split his face. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and curled his tongue behind his front teeth. “Look what we did!” he chortled gleefully.

Buffy slapped weakly at his shoulder. “You’re such an ass!” she chided, trying hard to hold on to a pout.  His exuberance was infectious, though, and a reluctant smile teased her lips.

“Ahh, there it is,” Will whispered ardently, his gaze fixed on her pretty mouth. “God, I’ve missed this,” he rasped before covering that smile with a hungry kiss.

The initial urgency faded, leaving a slow and sensual play of lips and tongues in its wake. When they finally parted, Buffy rested her forehead against his with a heartfelt sigh.

“What took you so long, Will?” she asked plaintively. The pout was back, and while he yearned to give it the attention it was begging for, the pain is his leg was making itself known. Seeing the pain etched on his face had her leaping guiltily to her feet.

“You’re hurt! Why didn’t you tell me? God, and here I’ve been wallowing all over you!”

“Hey, I was enjoying the wallowing, thank you!” Will gritted as he struggled to his feet, sweat standing out on his forehead. He straightened the leg, hissing through his teeth at the stabbing pain. Buffy looped his arm around her neck and urged him to lean on her as she helped him over to the porch glider. Holding it steady for him, she watched anxiously as he sat down with a gusty sigh of relief.

“Ahhh,” he breathed. “That feels better already. Now, come here.” He dragged her back down onto his lap, tucking her head under his chin. “Don’t want you getting too far away from me.”

“Your leg, Will. What happened?” she asked, her voice rife with concern.

His laugh was short and bitter. “Just my rotten luck. Once they told us we were pulling out, things got pretty hectic. We had just finished loading up and had lifted off, flying low over a field, and I got popped in the leg by a sniper.” Buffy gasped in horror, her arms tightening around him. “Now, don’t get your knickers in a twist, sweetheart. ‘M fine. It’s just taking a while to heal,” he soothed her.

“So, I was stuck at the hospital in Guam for the first week, and then stateside the week after. I wanted to come here first, baby. You gotta believe that. I did. But there was something I had to do first.”

Buffy lifted her head from his shoulder and gazed at him with a trace of fear. “You went back there, didn’t you? Back to Dru.”

“Bloody well did not!” He lowered his voice, giving her a sheepish look. “Well, not to see her. Had some things I decided I wanted to keep. Pictures of my mum and gran. Clothes. My guitar and some albums. Oh, and something I got for you.” He fished around inside his jacket and handed her a folded bundle of papers.

“What’s this?” she asked curiously, weighing them in the palm of her hand.

“My divorce papers. My lawyer pushed it through, just like I asked.”

Buffy gaped at him, her eyes once again suspiciously shiny and her lower lip wobbly as she clutched the papers to her chest. “So—” She had to clear her throat before she could go on. “This means you’re a free man?”

While she’d had her family’s support from day one, once she’d started to show, the reactions of some of her former friends and a few townspeople had been more than a little cruel. She’d managed to hold her head up high and ignore them for the most part, but every day that he was gone made it that much harder. Having him around was going to make things so much easier, even if he didn’t want to get marr—

Ooh! Shiny!

William held a hand up in front of her face and wiggled his pinky. Buffy was dazzled by the flash of gold and emeralds before his voice penetrated her stupor.

“Only for as long as it takes you to say ‘yes’.” He caught her fluttering left hand and poised the ring at the tip of her third finger. His eyes were clear and calm as they gazed deep into hers and his voice was steady.

“Buffy Anne Summers, would you do me the great honor of being my wife?”

Of course, she burst into tears.

Will rolled his eyes. “Sweetheart, I’m thinkin’ a rain coat and umbrella mighta been a better investment than this sparkly little trinket,” he teased her gently.

She sniffed mightily and swiped at her wet cheeks. “Shut up and give me my ring,” she demanded with a soggy smile.

“Bossy bint, but I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” he muttered, but his fingers shook the slightest bit as he slid the ring on with the quiet reverence that such solemn occasions warranted.

They kissed, a soft exchange that quickly threatened to escalate into something more. Buffy’s fingers were wound tightly through Will’s hair and his hands were creeping slowly up her ribs and dangerously close to the newly lush bounty of her breasts when a discreet cough brought reality crashing back upon them.

Buffy’s parents stood there, their expressions politely inquiring, while a triumphant Dawn bounced like an excited puppy behind them.

Hank removed his pipe from between is teeth and waved it in their direction. “Hello, pumpkin. I guess it’s safe to assume that this is your William?” he asked drolly.

“Hank! Don’t tease them,” Joyce admonished her husband, swatting him affectionately with the dish towel she held. She stepped forward and astounded Will by bending to give him a warm hug. “I’m Joyce, and this is Hank. And of course, you’ve met our baby.” She cast her youngest a pointed look when she rolled her eyes at the endearment.

“Pleasure to finally meet you, William,” Hank rumbled. His handshake was firm and hearty, and when Will made as if to rise, he pressed a hand to his shoulder. “No, no. Relax, son. From what Dawn has told us, you’ve had a pretty serious injury.”

Joyce was staring fixedly at Buffy’s left hand, her eyes misting over at the gleam of gold she found there. Her voice hitched emotionally as she turned to her husband. “Oh, Hank! Look, they’re engaged!” she cried.

Patting his overly sentimental wife on the shoulder, Hank tipped a knowing wink at Will. “Get used to it,” he hissed sotto voce. “She gets it from her mother.”

“Got that memo,” Will muttered back, earning him a sharp pinch on the arm from his new fiancé. “Oi! Watch it, luv!”

Tired of being forced to wait, Dawn barreled through, nearly knocking her parents over in her haste to see her sister’s ring. “Wow, this is gorgeous! Bet it cost a mint, huh?”

“Dawn!” The precocious teen earned a swat of the dish towel this time and she yipped, dancing away with her hands held protectively over her butt. “Forgive her, William. We’ve tried to teach her some manners, but they just haven’t clicked. And you, young lady!” She chided Buffy. “Let this poor man up so we can go inside.”

Joyce took charge, instructing Hank to give Will a hand up and herding her daughters towards the front door. “You made it home just in time for supper, William.”

Feeling more than a little dazed by her family’s complete acceptance of his presence, Will caught Buffy’s eyes over her mother’s shoulder. She grinned happily, silently mouthing a promise for ‘later’ that warmed him from the inside out.

Hank stopped him at the door, his hand heavy on Will’s shoulder. Will turned; an icy frisson of fear raced up his spine at the serious expression on the other man’s face. They studied each other quietly for a moment before Hank suddenly grinned and stuck out his hand once again.

“You have no idea,” he whispered conspiratorially, his grip firm as he shook William’s hand. “How good it’s going to be to have another man around here!”

Will couldn’t hold back the explosion of mirth at the boundless relief on his future father-in-law’s face. They laughed long and hard, especially when the three women turned to look back, each wearing identical suspicious expressions.

Hank sobered first and the hand still resting on Will’s shoulder squeezed gently.

“Welcome home, son,” he said simply.

Looking at Buffy, basking in the radiance that was her smile, William felt like it was really true.

He was finally home.

The End

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