Rating: R/NC-17.
Spoilers: A little bit of `Crush' and a little of `A Fool for Love'.
Distribution: Near Her Always, Like the amazon...anyone else, just ask :-).
Pairing: Willow/Spike.
Feedback: Yes. Very yes...Please?
Disclaimer: Of course I own them. They live in my closet and act out episodes whenever I like (note the sarcasm).
Warnings: Some torture...basically just evil stuff.
Summary: A heartbroken Spike forces Willow to go back in time to prevent his turning, but inevitably, nothing goes as planned...
Dedication: To my best friend, Boj, who told me I rocked even when I sucked. And to the bestest beta Sylver, whose honesty, dedication and knowledge made this fic possible.
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~Part: 1~
Willow, once again, tried to struggle against the ropes, but that only served to cut deeper into her skin and she grimaced. She looked around the room, flinching as the vampires, all in game face, grinned at her leeringly. She moved her gaze up to Spike, who was pacing and ranting, tears evident in his voice.
"The only chance you had with me was when I was unconscious, " he mimicked, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his duster. "Stupid bitch, she really has no idea—"
"If you ask me, you're the stupid one for falling in love with a slayer, Spike, " one of the stupider vampires jeered. The others quieted and stood rock still. The vampire, realising his mistake, backed up with his hands held out in front of his chest. Without warning, Spike stalked over to him and ripped out his throat. Willow winced at the gruesome sight before the vamp turned to dust.
"That's master to you, mate." He looked around. "Anyone else wanna dish out another oh-so-funny insult?" Silence met his question. "I thought so."
He wandered over to Willow so he was standing over her. He reached for the corner of the tape covering her mouth, she shook her head violently but he just smiled and tore it off. He yelled in unison with her cry, clutching at his head. "Damn this chip!" he roared, punching the wall. She tried muttering a simple untying knot spell, and she was shocked to find the knots stayed just as tight.
Spike gave her a lopsided grin. "Magically protected. Don't you just looove magic sometimes?"
"What do you want with me, Spike?" Willow demanded, her voice quavering. "I thought you were good now."
"No!" he shouted, "This chip does not equal goodness!" He settled down a bit. "A spell, luv, I want a spell" he said grimly, looking away from her.
"Another l-love spell? I-I can do that—"
"No, a time travel spell," he said calmly. "I need to go back in time, to stop myself being turned. I'm a heartbroken vamp, witch, I don't want to feel like this any more. I'm sick of Buffy playing me for a fool, I'm sick of every woman playing me for a fool. "
There was a collective murmuring around the room.
"Shut up, you bunch of prats!" The talking stopped immediately and Spike turned to Willow. "Listen witch, tell me now so I can save the pain and…well, pain of givin' you to the fellas, can you do it?"
"I-I..." she swallowed, looking into his eyes. "Yes." He smiled, satisfied as she continued. "B-But it doesn't work with um, vampiric life forms... only humans can—"
"What?!" He yelled angrily, indicating to a large vampire who smiled evilly before advancing on Willow and smacking her hard across the jaw. He raised his arm to do it again, but Spike held up his hand to stop him. "Enough. Why not?"
"I-I don't know, vampires aren't really a part of time, they don't age and a-are technically dead…they c-can't penetrate it..."
He crouched in front of Willow, tilting up her quivering chin with his forefinger. She jerked her head away from him and he laughed. "Spirit. I like that." He grabbed her chin in a vice-like grip, all trace of humour gone. "Well what are we going to do then luv? I'd hate to have to—"
"I'll do it," she whispered. "I-I can go back."
He grinned. "Why should I trust you? How do I know you won't," he waved his arm about "mojo yourself out of here, run get the slayer, hmmm?" Willow bit her lip thoughtfully, trying to ignore his calculating stare.
"A pendant, " she whispered.
"What?" Spike snapped in an irritated voice. She looked at him sharply.
"O-Or a necklace, a ring maybe. Some piece of jewellery, I can, " she paused, "bind myself, against all magic except for that spell. I need something th-that's easy to carry, to curse, " she finished. Spike regarded her blankly for a moment before his face broke into a huge smirk.
"Well done witch! You've successfully avoided pain, well, some of it anyway. Mike!" he summoned a particularly evil looking vampire. "Bring me the pendant of that necklace I have upstairs and my lighter, I have an idea. " He pointed to a group of five vamps. "You. Ask little Red what she needs for the time travel spell and the other binding spell, oh, and don't hesitate to knock her around a bit if she gets wordy. "
*~*~*~*~*~*
"And let the spell be done, " she finished, watching in mild interest as the pendant glowed gold for a few moments before turning back to normal in her palm. Spike nodded to the vamps that surrounded her, and they pounced. She let out a strangled cry as the wind was knocked out of her, struggling in vain as one took the ring from her clenched fist.
"Get off me!" she yelled, watching in horror as the one who had taken the pendant was now wearing a pair of thick fire-proof gloves and holding it with a pair of tweezers and using a lighter to heat it up.
"Now, luv, " Spike tutted "I don't think you're in any place to be making demands. "
She rocked side to side uselessly, transfixed with the plain metal pendant that was now red hot and slightly smoking. "No, no, no, " she chanted, trying to search her mind for a spell, any spell. But she couldn't keep her mind, or her eyes, off the glowing piece of metal slowly being moved towards her.
They ripped the front of her shirt and all coyness was forgotten in favour of hot, searing pain as he pressed the metal in the centre of her chest. She arched up and screamed, ignoring the hands that landed across her cheeks repeatedly, just concentrating on the gloved thumb that pushed the heated metal deeper into her burning flesh. Her cries stopped because of her dry throat, but she still thrashed and moaned after the pushing had stopped. The pain was still fresh and tight in her chest, but they mad her sit up and she looked questioningly at Spike, who just smirked. "Well, we didn't want you to lose it, did we?" A bolt of pain shot through her as she moved the still-fresh wound and she gasped, falling unconscious.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Willow reached across the bed to snuggle close to Tara, but she wasn't there. Her eyes flew open and she sat up, only to be faced with a very annoyed Spike.
"We are way off schedule, fainting was not part of the arrangement, " he snapped, moving across the room to get something. Willow began to get up angrily, but as the sheet slid off, she realised she wasn't wearing anything. She made a noise of shock and hugged the sheet around her for dear life, her face a deep crimson. She tried a clothing spell, but it didn't work and she growled in frustration.
Spike turned back to her, a folded pile of old-fashioned clothing in his arms and a sardonic smile on his face. "You're neutered too, remember?" he set the clothes down on the edge of the bed "I want you ready for the spell, and dressed, in ten minutes" he made his way out the door "Oh, the spell stuff is on the table. Hurry up!" he called over his shoulder.
She gave his back a dirty look before he slammed the door. Willow sighed, getting out of bed rather self-consciously and making her way over to the clothes, her nose crinkled in distaste "God, even I wear better clothes than these!" she said to herself, surprisingly calm.
*~*~*~*~*~*
"Ready luv?" Spike asked, eyeing the witch who was kneeled in the pentangle of salt, wearing a large dress that spread yards of green material around her. She held a slender finger to her pouted lips in a `be quiet' gesture as she lit each candle with a match, mumbling a Latin word as the wick caught fire.
She turned dark eyes to his. "Yes."
He stood back as she began to chant the words of the spell she memorised.
"Abandon laws of space and time, " she sprinkled some foul smelling herb on each candle, they flickered but they didn't go out. Spike watched in awe as she continued. "Bring me to the date I seek to find, and as I quote the verse of three, drag me there...and mote it be...Abrogo...Fidius...fluctuatio...Abrogo...Fidius...fluctuatio... Abrogo...Fidius...FLUCTUATIO!"
Willow resisted screaming but she gasped as the world swirled around her. She raised her arms, her now black eyes turning to the sky. "So mote it be." Willow repeated in a louder voice.
She cried out as the world was pulled out from under her and she fell through what felt like a huge gaping hole in the earth. Unable to stop herself now, she screamed, long and loud. Her lungs felt like they were about to explode but she kept screaming. The high-pitched sound of terror was lost in the swirling mass of colour and light, echoing around her as if a million voices were using that exact scream at once. Finally, the scenery became organised into what looked like an empty warehouse.
She didn't have long to study it, however, because her body landed heavily with an echoing `thump' on an unfamiliar dusty floor. The fine dirt clouded around her and she coughed. Willow sat up, blinking as inky blackness deprived her of sight momentarily. It looked more like barn, now, more than a warehouse. There were old stacks of hay, spread erratically on the floor, but the boarded-up windows and musky scent caused Willow to suspect that it has been unused for quite some time. She made her way to a haystack to rest momentarily and winced as she sat.
"Maybe I shouldn't have asked it to drag me there. Here," she added correctively, now beginning to wonder if here was actually where she had wanted to go. The interior of the barn proved nothing, so she stood up even though her body made numerous protests. Willow shuffled awkwardly towards what she thought was the way out, stumbling painfully over the long dress and lace up boots that she was not yet used to. She made a move to casually open the door, when she realised it was locked, she tried a more violent approach
"Waaaaargh!" She had moved back a few meters and was now hobbling as fast as her half-dead buttocks and numb legs could carry her. Sadly, that was not fast enough and she bounced off the surprisingly solid wooden door, landing flat on her back. She gasped for air and sat up with a new resolve, determined more than ever to get through the door that was now her new worst enemy. Ten minutes later, Willow sat with her back against the door and panted, occasionally banging it with her sore fist.
`I must look a mess,' she thought, wiping away strands of sweat- soaked hair from her face. She bit her lip, trying not to cry. `It won't help,' she reminded herself, cursing the lone tear that made it's way down her cheek. Willow wiped it away stubbornly and punched the door one last time for good measure, when her ears, now more attuned because of the silence, picked up a rustling noise outside. She pressed the side of her head to the warm wood and listened hard.
"Woman of darkness, your beauty is...no, no, no...Maiden of-of sunlight!" The voice cleared his throat. "Maiden of sunlight, your beauty is...effulgent."
Despite her predicament, Willow let out a snort of laughter. She heard the footsteps stop and she strained to hear something.
"H-Hello?" The voice said timidly. "I have...a quill! A very sharp quill, and you shall fear your life if you come closer!"
She rolled her eyes before banging on the door, she heard a startled `Oh my.'
She was about to yell out, tell him to get her to get the hell out of here when Spike's voice ran through her head. "Remember to talk good and proper, " he had reminded her. "I don't want you burned at the stake before you get a chance to do your job."
"Begging your pardon, sir," Willow said in her best nineteenth century English voice, surprised she could pull it off so easily. "But I appear to be...uh, stuck in this...barn." She kept trying to think of other old-fashioned words to describe her situation, but came up empty.
"Can you get out?" He asked nervously.
"If I were able to get out, do you not think I might have already?" She snapped, biting her lip in instant regret.
"Quite," he mumbled. "Stand back ma'am, I'm going to...er...open the door."
"Thank you kindly," she breathed, getting up as quickly as she could. It wasn't quick enough, the man kicked in the door with relative ease, but it made contact with her forehead and she fell backwards. When she landed, her head hit the floor with a thump and she saw spots.
"Ma'am? I am profoundly sorry!" He stuttered, running up to kneel beside her.
She studied his face and frowned in recognition. "Spike," she murmured, before promptly passing out.
~Part: 2~
She heard mumbling soft in her ears, she couldn't understand a word being said but it aroused her from her deep slumber.
"Tara, honey, could you take the phone somewhere else? I'm trying to—"
"Ma'am?"
Her eyes snapped open and she looked in the direction of the voice. He was standing with an older woman, while he was staring at her with some contempt, the woman smiled and looked at the confused girl fondly.
"Hello," Willow said uncertainly "Where am I?" She looked at both their faces for an answer, and her gaze rested on the gentleman's. Willow knew she had seen him somewhere before, but she just couldn't place him.
The woman waved her hand in his general direction "Oh, pay no attention to William, he's an insufferable prig."
Willow smiled, liking the old woman instantly. She looked at William… Where had she heard that name before…'Oh my god' she thought to herself, studying his curly brown hair `William the Bloody! That's Spike!' Willow felt a cold rush of fear then a sudden insane urge to laugh. He was such a...snob! God, if she got out of this alive, she was going make his life a living hell…after she set Buffy on him, of course.
Thankfully, he didn't notice her wide smile; instead William turned to the woman, a cold frown on his face. "I could easily have you replaced, Marie, there are plenty of—"
"Oh hush!" she said playfully, then she added in a dramatic voice. "Alas, not a day goes by without at least one threat relating to my job!" she ruffled his hair and Willow suppressed a giggle at his look of indignation, then his reluctant smile.
"Perhaps if you did not act so unconventionally—"
"Stop using such big words, I'm a maid, for goodness sake! Now," she turned back to Willow and began walking towards her slowly, as if she were afraid she might run away. "Dear, you've had us all in a bit of a tizzy, William said he found you—"
"Ha!" Willow covered her mouth with her hand. It probably wasn't appropriate to make sudden noises of mirth, but Marie chuckled understandingly.
"I knew he was fibbing!" she said triumphantly "William was never the `knight in shining armour' type"
"Oh no, no, no" she amended "He did find me but..."
"Yes?" Marie said eagerly. "What happened?"
Her mouth twisted in a smirk and she directed it at William "Do you mean before, or after he threatened to impale me on his quill and knocked me unconscious?"
She clapped her hands in glee "Oh William!" she said in mock disapproval, "You really are a lady killer!" They both shared a laugh at that, and Willow clutched at her head as it began to pound. Marie immediately pushed her shoulders down gently so she was lying back again.
"How stupid of me! Lie down...er, what is your name dear?" Marie asked, tucking the quilt around her frame while watching her curiously.
"Willow," she breathed, a sudden rush of fatigue making her eyes drift shut "the Bloody" she finished without thinking. She fell asleep; unaware of the worried glances the two other people in room were sharing.
*~*~*~*~*~*
There was no confusion when she woke up this time, she knew exactly where she was. `And when' she added mentally, looking gloomily around the well-furnished room. She made a noise of anger and swung her feet around so they landed flat on the cold floor, determined to get around Spike and his thorough…thoroughness! She looked down and realised she was only in her underwear, which was pretty much a camisole, a pair of baggy linen pants, and a few petticoats.
Her hand glided tentatively over the front of her chest, and she located the cool metal of the pendant still securely buried in her skin. It still stung and she bit her lip as she tried to pick it out, but electrifying pain webbed out over her torso and she whimpered, and then her face crumpled and her whimper became a sob. She buried her face in her hands and cried, hot tears dripped through her fingers and she winced as her fingers brushed a fresh bruise, and that just made her cry harder.
God, she had never felt so alone and helpless in her entire life. She wasn't just lost on the other side of the world; she was lost in a completely different time frame. No one would notice she was gone, and if she didn't succeed she'd either be killed, tortured, or worse, stuck in this stupid time, never aging, just living for fucking ever.
"I miss Tara," she whispered to no one in particular, sobbing harder at the thought of her lover who she may never see again. "And Buffy, and Xander, and Dawnie, even Anya...and Giles." She moved her hands up to grip her hair, rocking back and forth to try contain her grief.
"Why are you crying?" A voice asked curiously.
She looked up quickly. Her vision a little blurred from tears, she wiped them away.
"What are you doing here?" she snapped, embarrassed to be caught crying. William shifted the tray in his arms uncomfortably, he wasn't used to see women openly display their emotions in front of him, and he just didn't know how to react.
"I-I brought you some...food," he said, asking silent permission. They both heard her stomach rumble in the silence, she nodded and he made his way over. "Here you go," he said, setting it gently on her lap.
"Thanks" she said half-gratefully, half-apologetic for her earlier behaviour.
His mouth twitched in an almost smile and suddenly, his face grew a deep crimson and he turned away "I'm s-so terribly sorry, I-I didn't r-r-realise, I-I-I-I-"
`Aw, Spike had a stammer,' Willow found herself thinking. "What's wrong?" she asked aloud.
He began nervously edging his way to the door, looking at anything but her. "You-You're n-not wearing..." he trailed off, his ears a bright pink. She almost laughed at his pre-adolescent behaviour, but she kept her mouth shut, not trusting herself to not laugh. "I-I'll just leave you t-to your, er," he stopped moving and addressed the door "D-Do you need anything?"
"Actually, I—" but she was interrupted by the slamming door. "Don't need anything, but thanks for asking." She finished softly, beginning to eat her meal.
*~*~*~*~*~*
"Here you are, love." Marie said cheerily, handing her a green dress not unlike her own "We don't want you wandering around in your undergarments now, do we?" she chuckled, as if the whole idea was completely absurd.
"Thanks Marie." Willow smiled, holding out the dress and admiring it.
"Don't worry." She replied kindly, moving forward to unlace Willow's camisole.
Willow jumped back and Marie looked shocked "Sorry," she blushed, "I just usually do this thing myself."
Marie smiled understandingly but there was an awkward silence that now hung over them. Willow, who felt extremely guilty, tried to break it.
"Whose dress is this?" Marie turned around obediently as she removed her older underwear and put on the clean set the maid had given her.
"Oh, it's Chloe's. William's sister." She added in explanation. Willow tugged the dress over her head, the green satiny material was a little too tight, but not uncomfortably so.
"Oh, won't she mind me borrowing it?" Willow asked distractedly, twirling around in front of the mirror so material flowed around her.
Marie turned around, a sad smile on her face "Miss Whitam...she's passed away."
Willow spun, a faint blush on her cheeks and a guilty frown on her mouth "I-I'm sorry."
The maid made a `pfft' gesture with her hand. "Don't worry, dear, you didn't know."
Willow still felt sad. "Was it very recent?"
"No, it was when William was around eight, if I remember correctly." She said thoughtfully, pulling out a white towel from her hamper and folding it. Willow's eyes widened, poor Spike, to have his sister torn away from him at such a young age…no, not poor Spike! Mean, evil Spike!
"How did it happen?" she asked sympathetically.
Marie sighed, folding another towel as she talked "Bronchitis. I was there the whole time, her parents were going frantic, and William was oblivious, of course. Came such a shock to him when she died, although, it was probably for the best." She looked pained. "Her shoulder blades were like coat hangers, she could barely stand up. Coughing all hours of the night..." she put a hand to her chest and sat on a nearby chair, her breathing a little laboured.
Willow rushed to her side "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean t-to—"
Marie smiled a real smile. "Don't fret about little old me, I was just very close to her." She smiled faintly "When she was younger, William was only a baby but she was about...five, I think. She never looked at me as if I were a maid, Chloe didn't have many friends because...I don't know why, she was a very pleasant girl. But she always helped out, made cookies with me, helped look after William. I remember this one time—"
Willow listened patiently as she prattled on, smiling ever so slightly when the old woman giggled like a schoolgirl. Suddenly, a clock struck one somewhere in the house and both ladies jumped in surprise.
"Is that the time?" Willow said, standing up and dusting imaginary dirt off the front of her dress. "I really should be going, I need to find a job, a place to live—"
She was cut off by the woman's laughter. "Nonsense! You're staying here."
Willow's brows furrowed in confusion. "B-But, Spi-William...he—"
"He insisted on it." Marie informed her, also rising to her feet.
"But I thought..."
She smiled faintly, already knowing what she was thinking. "He's a very fickle one, our Will, but I'll say one thing: he's as chivalrous as they come. Even if he hated a woman, he would not say it or even indicate in any way that that was his opinion."
"So he hates me," she said grimly, strangely saddened by the news.
"Of course not, dear, he just finds you a tad different...you're not what he's used to."
Willow grew indignant, "Stuffy snob!" she exclaimed, "Doesn't even know me and he's labelling me!"
Marie laughed, "Well," she quietened her voice to a whisper "he did walk in on you in your...underthings." She finished with a giggle.
Willow rolled her eyes, turning her back on the maid; "I suppose so. Could you lace me up please? The strings are making me itchy." Willow tucked her arm underneath her hair and held it up, making sure each strand was out of the woman's way. Without a word, Marie tugged hard at the base of the laces and Willow yelped. "Look, I'm sorry, but you don't have to—"
"What?" the maid asked, confused. "I'm just lacing you up. Is there a problem?"
Willow was glad the woman couldn't see her blush. "No, nothing…it's just a little tight."
"Well that `s how it's supposed to be, Willow. Gosh, you're acting as if you've never worn a dress before!" she laughed, not noticing Willow flinch as she tugged the laces harder.
"Yes," she muttered, reaching out to grip the wall. "How silly of me." After what seemed like hours, Marie tied a special knot at the base of Willow's skull and Willow let her hair fall back.
"Turn around and let me look at you," she said, twirling her finger in a circle.
Willow turned to face her and she gasped, covering her hand with her mouth. The dress was a deep bottle green, tight around the bodice but long and flowing from the waist down. The colour matched her hair and eyes perfectly, also complimenting her pale skin. The dress was quite plain in its design, but it flattered the young girl very much.
"You look beautiful," the Marie said, sounding a little jealous. Willow looked down at herself, blushing at the forced cleavage below her chin, before meeting the woman's eyes once more. "Really?" she asked doubtfully.
The woman nodded, all negative emotion gone from her face, "Quite. It suits you, Chloe had red hair too, but she had blue eyes."
"Like William's?" Willow asked, hands running over the material that was smooth to touch.
Marie looked at her strangely. "Yes. Like William's."
Willow smiled, "What is there to do around here? I feel like I shall die from boredom if I don't leave this room soon!" the maid smiled understandingly.
"Well, I have work to do so I can't show you around...Master Whitam said when you recovered you could do anything you wished."
"Who?"
"William. I know, it's strange thinking him as a master of anything, isn't it?" she chuckled. Willow laughed, trying not to sound knowing.
"Indeed. Um, for curiosity's sake, what is the date today?"
Marie blinked. "Why, it's November 17th, 1879. If you do not mind, I really must be—"
Willow felt faint, "Yes-Yes, of course, you should go."
The maid left quickly, shutting the door gently behind her. Willow sunk down onto the bed, her breathing shallow. `I'm almost a year off!' she thought. She calculated is in her head and realised she was exactly seven months and ten days prior to his turning, not including the four days earlier she was actually supposed to arrive.
"No more crying." She ordered, two tears slipping down her cheeks.
~Part: 3~
Willow made sure her face was free from any tear-tracks before she gamely ventured out into the long hallway. She had scowled at the mirror which had shown red, puffy, slightly bloodshot eyes, a prominent bruise on each cheek, and a small cut on her temple. But sadly, concealer hadn't been invented yet, and the only thing in the way of make-up was useless powdery stuff, which, if applied incorrectly as she had done, made you look like an eighties hooker.
The hallway was wide and brightly lit, contrasting sharply with the dull and dark room she had just stepped out of. Willow closed the door gently, but it didn't sound gentle enough and she winced at the seemingly loud `click'. It was elegantly decorated, but she could see repetitive examples where masculine and feminine tastes clashed.
The floor was made of a dark mahogany wood, but the homeliness of it didn't prevent the cold temperature that radiated off, chilling her feet to numbness. She stopped occasionally to admire a painting or a piece of artwork: all completely pretentious, of course, and she doubted the Whitams had any idea of their technical merits or their symbolic meanings and just bought them to compliment their extravagant décor.
She was surprised when one branched off hallway didn't lead to another elusive and threatening looking door, but a pair of white double doors with rectangular clouded glass letting in rays of inviting sunlight. Willow bit her lip in indecision, arguing mentally whether or not she should leave the house. But the, she felt a streak of defiance run through her, her chin jutted out and she strode to the door purposefully. `Just because he gave me permission to stay here, doesn't mean I have to stay in my room! I can come and go as I please.' She thought huffily, suddenly resentful towards him for no good reason.
"Besides the whole `kidnapping, torturing, and sending-back-in-time- away-from-my-friends' thing." Willow said sarcastically, reaching for the brass door handle and adding mentally, `But this is William, not Spike. Gosh, Willow, stop being so—`
Her train of though cut short at the sight of the Whitam's garden, she was shocked at how much warmer (figuratively speaking) it was outside rather than in, even though it was snowing gently. The light pieces of ice fell slowly to the ground already a few inches thick with the pure substance. Small hints of green were evident in odd patches over the verge of grass and on some of the leaves of the unrecognisable trees. A hobbled, nearly hidden pathway lead to a quaint little wooden gate, which then lead to a long stretch of road which failed to interest her.
A gust of wind blew and Willow shivered, but she didn't have the discipline to just shut the door and go back to the lonely room, so she foolishly stepped outside, bare foot, only vaguely considering trying to find her boots, and closed the door behind her. She once again admired the picturesque scenery, it's untouchability ruined but faint marks of upturned dirt and some fresh boot prints leading to what looked like a cream coloured greenhouse, minus the vegetables and, well, the green-ness.
Her curiosity got the better of her and she jumped off the sandstone step to follow the prints, gasping as her feet came in contact with the biting cold. The strides were a lot bigger than her own, so she had to leap to reach each one, whimpering each time her foot came in contact with the ice. Willow was so caught up in not missing a single print, she didn't realise the solid stone footpath surrounding the building was right in front of her. And her right foot, anticipating a long leap, slammed into the sharp edge. It took a moment for the pain to register, but by that time, she was face first on the snowy ground, which didn't seem so beautiful any more now her mouth was full of it. She hissed in pain, tears stinging the corner of her eyes. Willow struggled to sit up so she could inspect the injury, but the dress kept getting caught on something she couldn't see and she really didn't want to damage it, so she just lay there, wiggling around idiotically like a fish out of water.
"How come when ever I see you, you're never standing up?" She twisted her head to see him. The question wasn't made with the sarcastic voice and sexy-eyebrow quirk of Spike, but the genuine, almost childlike, curiosity of William. Her features darkened as she thought of Spike, and she glared at William who dared to resemble Spike in any way. He looked shocked at the gaze directed at him, but she refused to feel guilty.
"Well? Aren't you going to help me up?" She snapped. He seemed to snap out of his confused daze and, after mumbling something incoherent, he scooped her up in his arms. She unconsciously snuggled closer to his warm torso, forgetting her hatred of him in favour of the warmth that generated from his chest. His breathing hitched, but she didn't notice and rubbed her cold nose and cheek against the roughness of his coat.
He took her into the greenhouse-y thing, and she sighed at the surprising warmth that washed over her. But then she noticed the fireplace in the corner. "What an odd place to have a fireplace!" She thought.
"I agree. But most of our parties are held here, we need the warmth, especially in this weather." He explained.
"Oh," she blushed, not realising she had said that out loud. He set her down on the floor up against the wall, as there were no seats in the large area. And it was presumably where William had just been, judging by the quill, inkpot, and stacks of parchments. She made a move to pick one up, but he snatched the whole pile from her grasp. She made a noise of shock and he frowned, hugging the paper to him as though they contained some deep, dark secret he didn't want anyone else knowing.
"What is that?" She asked politely.
"Nothing...poetry." He muttered, straightening up the pages askew in his arms.
Her curiosity was peaked. "May I read it?"
"No!" he said a little too loudly, "No...I-I it's not finished... t-the ink is still wet."
She almost laughed at the petty excuses, but hid that with a defiant frown, holding out her hand. "Come along, William, it has to be read at some point by another, why not your old friend Willow?" He missed the joke and his brow furrowed in confusion, she rolled her eyes. "Just give it here."
William held it a few inches out of reach. "The ink's still wet," he repeated quietly before allowing her to grab it from his hand. He sat down in front of her, knees drawn up to his chest and hugged to him in anticipation. He looked like a little kid, or a puppy, so eager to please and innocent, even though he was a grown man of twenty-four. She fought the urge to pat him on the head and her eyes turned to the pages in front of her.
"Your beauty—" she began, but he cut her off.
"Please don't read it aloud...I-I don't think I could bear it."
Willow nodded understandingly and her eyes skimmed over the words, forcing herself not to laugh at the sappy words that she read. He seemed to be more focused on rhyming than making any kind of sense, and he used a lot of unnecessary words in the stupidest places. But it had a lot of intense feelings in it towards someone, she had to give him that, the meaning was so clear she found herself frowning at how desperate his words sounded.
She lifted her eyes to his, not surprised to find him blushing. "These poems," she said bluntly. "They're about a girl?"
It was more of an observation than a question, but he nodded embarrassedly. "How did you know?"
"Dearest William," she drawled. "Your message is as clear as a spring morning." He crimsoned but she used his silence as an opportunity to ask whom the object of his desire was.
"Cecily...Cecily A-Adams," he whispered, his eyes wide in fear.
"What kind of woman deserves the affections of the illustrious William, I wonder?" she teased playfully, but he looked at her as if she had just asked why fish swim.
"But you have never seen such a woman! Her beauty could never be described with a quill and paper, her grace rivals that of a cat's, her mind is like a—"
"Yeah, yeah. I get it," she muttered. "She does not return your feelings?"
His animated face was suddenly cold. "No. I have never told her for my feelings, but I am sure she suspects…she chooses to ignore them." William's eyes were downcast and the sight tugged at her heart.
"William...may I be honest?"
He met her gaze, "Yes."
"You're poetry...it has a lot to be desired." He clenched his fists, looking away again. "But you have a lot of potential. There are so many untapped emotions in you, William, but you do not seek them out. You write from here," she pressed her finger to his temple, and his eyes flicked up to hers. "But you have to write from here." She then poked him in the chest over his heart.
"How do you know?" He said bitterly, with a slight touch of hope.
"I-I'm a poet myself." She figured the gods would forgive her for that one lie. She did major in poetry and English literature; she could quote poem after poem so she was in no danger of being discovered.
"What's your name?" He asked suddenly.
"Willow. I already told you."
He looked embarrassed again. "I mean you-your last name...you s- said `The Bloody' a-and I thought—"
"Oh, no!" She laughed nervously. "It's, er, Bloodeneen." Willow cursed herself for the choice, but he seemed to accept it.
"Bloodeneen. It suits you, your hair looks like..." He reached up to touch it, and for some reason, she was letting him. When his warm hand brushed her cheek, it hit a bruise and she flinched away.
He looked hurt for a moment before noticing the bruise. The muscle in his cheek stirred as he clenched his teeth together. "Do you have a lover?"
She blushed at the personal question. "Yes." Willow answered, thinking of Tara.
"Did he...hit you?" he asked. She stayed silent, unable to answer the question. He took her silence as an answer in the affirmative and his fists and jaw clenched so hard she thought he would explode in a shower of tense muscle. She smiled at his concern, thinking of how unlike Spike he was. But the thought of Spike made her demeanour immediately harden. She couldn't help it, the fact that his cheekbones were as pronounced, his eyes as blue, his frame as lean, only served to fuel her undeserved dislike of him.
She knew he only resembled Spike physically, but every time she found herself warming to his innocence, a jolt of electricity seemed to come from the cold metal embedded in her chest and warn her. William seemed to notice her change in how she acted and he pouted, but probably not intentionally, and she couldn't help grinning.
"You're wearing Chloe's dress." He said, studying her non- threateningly.
"Yes," she answered, looking down at herself and seeing the metallic glimmer between the hollow of her breasts that went completely unnoticed by William.
"It suits you." He sounded as if he were apologising, but that only made her feel guilty because technically he had done nothing wrong.
"Thank you." She replied, an apologetic note also in her tone.
He smiled slightly. "Can you walk?"
She returned the smile; "Yes...I think so."
William looked embarrassed again. "Will you teach me all you know...of the written word?" He asked shyly.
"Of course."
~Part: 4~
Willow awoke, yawning and stretching simultaneously. Those actions drained her of the little energy she had so she laid still for awhile, watching as the sun's rays spread over her duvet covers. Once that bored her, her gaze flickered about the room settling on a large blue dress and some more underclothes. It looked more loose fitting, but it was a lot more elegantly made and she had a feeling the colour and style would not suit her at all.
Willow threw off her bed covers reluctantly, shivering as her once- warm legs were exposed to a rush of cold air. She shivered again when her legs swung around and her feet pressed onto the cold wooden floor. Standing up, she padded her way over to the old-fashioned bathroom, glad at least that a primitive form of plumbing systems had been invented. She bathed quickly, self-conscious in a bathroom that wasn't her own and pulled on all the fresh clothes left for her. It took her awhile but she managed to lace up the built-in corset at the back of her dress, but she didn't do it as tight as Marie had. One, she couldn't reach properly, and two, she didn't want to.
Once she was dressed and she had brushed her hair out, she knew her suspicions were correct: the dress didn't suit her. It was revealing but loose fitting, too tight around the middle and too loose around the bust, but she felt more comfortable in it than the green dress and for now, comfort was her first prerogative. Willow danced around the room foolishly, revelling in how elegant yet out of place she looked. She threw her arms above her head and watched the skirt swish around her waist, almost falling as her stockinged feet slid on the floor, but that just made her giggle.
"Miss Bloodeneen?" A voice enquired.
She stopped her playful antics immediately, turning to the person with a `deer caught in headlights' look on her face. William had an odd expression on his face, he was either trying not to laugh or trying not to run away in fear. She suspected the latter, but she gave no indication she thought so and just gazed at him innocently.
"Yes, Mr Whiteman?"
"It's Whitam, actually...b-but you can call me William...if you want, but if you don't want to, I completely understand, I-I mean it is highly informal, but more casual, unless that's inappropriate..."
She wanted to laugh at his first attempt at suaveness, but then she felt a rush of empathy when he began to babble. She knew how bad babbling could be, sometimes she would start talking about something and end up talking about something different. It was highly embarrassing at best, and it usually led to blushing, which then led to more babbling.
"I'll call you William," she offered, then smiled shyly. "It's a lot easier to remember than Mr Whitome."
He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it and smiled. "I just came to get you for breakfast. You are ready, aren't you?"
"Yes," she nodded, "Just, my hands are cold, and—"
"Oh, say no more." He gathered her hands in his, which were surprisingly warm, and began rubbing them. It was a friendly, if not only hospitable gesture, but Willow still blushed as his coarse hands caressed her soft ones vigorously.
"Uhm, I was thinking more along the line of gloves." She whispered, trying to spare him some embarrassment. He blushed furiously, his hands jerking away as if she had suddenly become red-hot.
"I-I-I-I'm s-s-s—"
"Don't mention it." She interrupted; her voice apologetic. "Gloves?"
He shook his head as if trying to clear it, and smiled shakily, "Y- Yes, I'll j-just..." he trailed off and turned away, opening the nearest drawer and rifling through it. It was a few seconds before he made a small noise of triumph and turned back to her, a pair of pristine white gauntlets in his hand. She frowned, doubtful they would give her the warmth she required. `Not as well as William's hands will, anyway!' A voice in side her head cackled. She quickly pushed the voice aside, assuming it to be her inner child. `Yes,' she said to the voice, `a very annoying inner child!'
She tugged them on but only had seconds to admire how beautiful they made her hands look before William interrupted her hand-admiration with his quiet voice.
"Breakfast?"
She looked at him, smiling slightly. "Yes. Then afterwards, could we go outside? This house makes me feel claustrophobic...n-no offense, I- I mean it's j-just...a bit...Oh, and w-we can work on poetry."
He was satisfied with that answer, trying not to laugh at her babble. "Of course, Miss Willow." He held the door open for her, smiling. "After you."
*~*~*~*~*~*
"William, please try and focus on what I'm saying," Willow huffed. "Stop comparing the `love of your life' to inanimate objects!"
William was sweet as heck, and he was an eager learner, but his ability to look like he was listening one minute and contradicting what he'd claimed he understood the next was the only thing Willow seemed to be helping him sharpen. She explained the important of symbolism, but how not to use it too brazenly. Her explanations began slowly, but her sore stomach and his less-than-admirable aptitude for poetry was slowly working her into a frenzy.
"But she is like the parasol!" he objected, "Delicate, beautiful, useful—"
She snorted. "Oh, and we all know how much women love to hear that they're useful!" The sarcasm was lost on him, and he gave her a bewildered `yeah, so what's your point?' look. Apparently, sarcasm wasn't well known in the eighteenth century and she sighed. "Listen, William," she said more calmly, "You need to stop bringing pointless things into your poetry. Stop saying what she resembles, what she acts like, just say what she is."
He blinked. "What-what she is?"
"Yes," she said slowly, then she stood from her position on the bench opposite to walk around behind him. "Don't look at me," she said softly as he tried to turn. "Just close your eyes and think. What is she to you?"
He closed his eyes obediently, trying hard to focus on what she was saying.
"Imagine. Imagine she is right there in front of you, what do you see?" She began circling him, studying the expressions that flitted across his face. "Come on, William, she's right there, tapping her foot impatiently...oh now look, she's walking away—"
"She's beautiful!" He said quickly, blushing as he realised he had already said that repeatedly throughout the day.
"Good." She said agreeably, and he seemed satisfied. "Simple, yet it says so much, doesn't it?"
He nodded. "Her eyes brown, like big pools of—"
"No," her voice trembled from the effort of restraining herself. "They're brown. What kind of brown?"
"Deep," he sighed, "They're a deep, hazelnut brown. They stand out beautifully against her pale skin; it's so velvety soft. And she smells so fresh, her perfume is spicy and—" He stopped abruptly and she was startled out of her reverie. She stopped walking and stood in front of him, regarding him with curiosity.
"What is it? You were doing so—" Her gaze drifted down from his bright face to his lap where William's hands were tightly clamped over his... "Oh god." Willow whispered. She went from crimson, to pale, to a bright pink and then promptly burst out laughing. She hugged her stomach tightly as silent laughter made her body shake involuntarily. He stood, obviously intending to shut her up, but the action drew her attention to what looked like a large pop tent in his trousers, and that only served to make William redder and make Willow laugh harder.
"I-I'm s-s-sorry but—" She gasped for air, covering her face with gloved hands. "But you have a—"
"Excuse me," He said rudely, trying to storm off.
She immediately sobered and grabbed his arm. "Hey no, I'm sorry, okay? It was my fault...come on, just sit down! We haven't finished."
He mumbled something Willow didn't catch, but she pressed on cautiously. "You were getting so good though...Look, I won't mention it again, okay?"
"Promise?" He muttered, still unable to meet her eyes.
"Promise." She agreed, her eyes straying over the now normal-sized bulge and sighing with relief. "Let's get off imagery, shall we?" He nodded earnestly in agreement. "How about rhythm?"
He tried not to show his confusion, but she could see it in his eyes. "Rhythm gives a poem a beat, like a fluency to draw attention to the words. Poetry is food for the soul, and you don't want it to sound terrible."
William nodded, determined to understand. "Okay, let me give you an example, umm..." she thought hard, trying to think of a suitable poem to recite. It couldn't be too modern, or too old-fashioned, and it had to stick to his `romance' genre. She decided on one by Shakespeare, at least it already been done so she was in no risk of screwing up time.
"Now listen hard, and when I'm done, I want you to tell me how this makes you feel. Just concentrate, OK?" When she got a positive reply, she opened her mouth and began to recite the poem imprinted on her mind.
"O Mistress mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low: Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know.
What is love? 'Tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies not plenty; Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure."
Willow finished, only to be faced with William's bewildered stare. "B- But, there is no definable pattern! No structure! No—"
"This is exactly what I mean!" She interrupted loudly, though not unkindly. "Stop thinking! Poetry is not the work of brains, nor is it the work of mathematicians! Poetry is not about logic, it is about unbridled human emotions flowing from your heart," she emphasised this point by shoving him over his racing heart, he stumbled slightly but he did not look away. "Love is not calculated, love is not planned, so why should poetry, the voice of love, be any different? You have to let go, Spike, stop hanging onto your sensibility and just let go!"
She regretted saying that, because William was blushing. Again. No matter how much she wanted it to annoy her, she always found it cute. He was so contradictory to Spike, it made her head spin if she thought too much about it. But he was still Spike. You can take the soul out of the William but you can't take the Spike out of the William, and no matter how hard she tried, all she could see was Spike, wearing a stupid costume and a wig. He'd stopped blushing and was looking at her oddly.
"Miss Willow?"
"Yes?" She spat, trying to control her anger and having no luck. He looked like she had just whipped him and he flinched, but he didn't look away.
"You called me Spike." He informed her, gauging her reaction.
Willow knew, one day, she would snap and all the feelings she held in her heart about Spike would come out in an unrelenting torrent and she could do nothing to stop it. She both feared and longed for that day, she was sick of locking her feelings in that little box that she usually only kept for Oz, and Tara when they fought. But she didn't want to hurt William. He was an innocent in all of this, no matter how much she thought the opposite.
She clenched her fists; not noticing the little crescent shaped dents it made in her palms. Willow didn't answer, trying to concentrate on not letting her guard down, otherwise she would be on William like a tonne of bricks, effectively getting her thrown out of the only place where she had any chance at the slightest bit of normalcy in this unfamiliar, scary time frame.
Willow knew, one day, she would snap and all the feelings she held in her heart about Spike would come out in an unrelenting torrent and she could do nothing to stop it. She both feared and longed for that day, she was sick of locking her feelings in that little box that she usually only kept for Oz, and Tara when they fought. But she didn't want to hurt William. He was an innocent in all of this, no matter how much she thought the opposite.
"William." She said slowly.
He looked scared. "Miss Willow?"
"Would you like to hear some more poetry?" once again, she found herself subtly apologising to him. She somehow knew this would be a pattern for the remainder of her stay and sighed; this was going to be a long seven months.
~Part: 5~
"Can we go for a walk?" Willow asked, eyes shining with hope.
It had been just over a month since their first `poetry lesson' and there had been many others since, though not quite as eventful as the first. But in those days, in the lessons that seemed to take hours, she had only been able to teach him the basics. William was slow on the uptake, but his eagerness to learn almost made up for that.
Almost.
Willow had once prided herself on being a very patient woman, but one minute with Sp-William and she would have a strange urge to bash her head through the closest stone wall. He was polite and sweet, so Willow never had the heart to lash out at him or wrench those glasses from his face, which he cleaned every thirty seconds in a very Giles- like way, and stamp them to pieces. But slow or not, he was getting it, and she couldn't help the feeling of pride wash over her every time he wrote an almost bearable lyric.
And, since the Shakespeare incident, Willow had been surprised at his response and admiration of the poetry she read to him. He would often ask her to repeat certain poems she had recited in the past, or a line she had recited only moments ago. He wasn't so wary of poems with erratic rhyming schemes any more, either, but she did catch him flinching once or twice when a poem had a less than desirable structure.
One day, she had grown curious about his parents. If the house weren't so big, she would've sworn William lived alone, besides Marie and the other housekeepers. But when she was around him, which was quite often, he only seemed to go outside, his room, and occasionally the dining room, so she doubted very much that he owned this entire house. Willow's curiosity got the better of her and she had enquired about his parents while they were eating dinner one afternoon.
"They're not around much," he had murmured, his ears a bright pink. "Travelling...socialising..." He had trailed off and spent the rest of the meal toying with his food, making it pretty clear that the conversation was over. She looked at him with empathy, she could relate to the whole `parent abandoning' thing. Having pretty much raised herself since she was ten years old, Willow felt a rush of anger on his behalf. She opened her mouth to comfort him, but Spike's sneering face drifted across her mind and she bowed her head, keeping her mouth shut and only opening it to shovel great mouthfuls of food in.
But later that night she had realised how desperately she wanted to know about his parents. Were they cold and distant when they were around, or were they warm and loving? Were both their eyes blue, or brown, or green? Were Sp-William's lips his own, or did he get them from his father? Or maybe his mother? By the time she was in bed, her head was buzzing with questions and theories. Willow tossed and turned for awhile before forcing her thoughts to take a different direction, which, of course, was sex with Tara.
"Please?" She pleaded, coming back to the present.
"I don't know...are you well?" She realised his apprehension was caused by concern over her, not his own hide. She blinked a few times before replying.
"I'm fine. Take me somewhere exciting, I'm bored stiff!" She knew she sounded like a child, and horribly rude as she noticed the hurt look in his eyes. "Please?" She said again, softer. He relented, and she gave a whoop of excitement, which he observed with amusement-laced eyes.
"I'll just tell Marie..."
She nodded vigorously as he left her room, and wasted no time in getting changed. Willow hadn't once set foot outside the garden that she admired so much at first, but was now beginning to bore her with its familiarity. She wrapped a huge coat she had found in the back of the closet one time around her small frame. It was made out of wool on the outside and something close to resembling silk on the inside. The first time William had seen her in it, he had been shocked, but he soon relaxed when he figured she'd only be wearing it in the privacy of his own garden.
She grinned almost devilishly as she tugged on the equally offensive black woollen gloves, savouring the warmth they brought to her slender fingers as opposed to those useless, show-offy gauntlets that had barely lasted a few hours in her daily routine. She was adjusting the seam of her stockings as he walked in, she glanced back and watched him take in her appearance. Instead of the confused spluttering and profuse blushing she had expected, his face broke into a surprising grin.
"You little minx!" He teased. "You do this on purpose, just to torment me, don't you?"
She was a little caught of guard at his teasing manner, but she managed a quick reply. "It's all I live for, you know that!"
For once, the joke didn't sail right over his head and his grin became a short laugh. "Come along, Marie knows where we're going... Heavens, you look like a boy with those clothes on!"
"I'll never tire of hearing that." She scowled, smacking him lightly on the shoulder before walking past him into the corridor.
On their way out, she watched Sp-William don a black, knee length coat made of very much the same material as hers, and she was shocked at how much he resembled Spike at that moment. But, as he threw a tentative grin at her, she couldn't bring herself to be angry with him and threw an equally tentative grin back.
"You should see where we're going!" He said excitedly, his voice breaking the not so uncomfortable silence. "You'll love it, it's beautiful."
`How would you know what I love?' She wanted to retort, but she bit her tongue. "Where *are* we going?" She asked, walking through the gate he so politely opened.
He shut it behind him and walked up to her, a mischievous grin on his mouth. "It's a surprise."
She groaned, walking astride him along the edge of the road. "I *loathe* surprises."
He chuckled at that, but said nothing indicating where they were going, giving her no doubt at all that he was indeed Spike, but once again, the idea didn't anger her. It stirred something inside her, but it wasn't anger. She had no idea what it was, but she didn't like it. Rest assured, her hatred for Spike still remained, strong as ever, but William...he was so unlike Spike, it just wasn't funny any more.
They had been walking for what seemed like hours before Willow burst out. "How long have we been walking?"
"Ten minutes," he said absently.
"Ugh, well my feet are killing me! I think I have blisters." She said the last part with a whimper, emphasising her point with a pathetic limp. For once, he was the one who sighed in exasperation.
"It's only another twenty minutes..." He trailed off when he saw a carriage round the corner, but Willow ignored it and continued moaning.
"Twenty minutes?! That's double what we've already walked! I just hate these darn shoes, they're impractical, they're small—"
"Ah, another lady discussing your finer points again, William?" A voice sneered.
She spun around, a guilty look on her face. Willow was confronted with a handsome man leaning out of the side door window. His black hair lay in swirls over his scalp with sideburns that were a little too long. His face was slightly tan and refined, showing evidence of abused wealth. His eyes were a mocking grey as he leered at her. She didn't like him, she decided, and instantly backed away towards William.
"Willow, this is Gordon Brodereck, Gordon, this is Willow Bloodeneen." His introduction was short and reluctant, and Willow studied his expression curiously, realising he didn't like the other man either, but it seemed his hatred went a bit deeper than her feelings of instant dislike.
He continued to appraise her body in the masculine clothes, and by the glint in his eyes, she could tell he liked what he saw. "For shame William, to allow a lady of this magnitude exert herself in such a way..." He looked straight at Willow as he said it. "Perhaps I could give you a ride?"
The innuendo wasn't lost on Willow and she stepped back, right into Spike's arms. She was shocked, but she hid it well and acted as if she wanted to be there. William played along and let his hands rest protectively on her waist to steady her, but once she was steady he kept them there.
"We'll be fine, actually. We were looking forward to the whole… walking part." Willow said, his behaviour now annoying her more than anything.
He smirked, but it was a done with condescending humour. "Is that so?"
"Yes. That's so." She replied shortly.
He continued to make her feel naked under his gaze, and she resisted covering herself in favour of doing her best Willow-glare. He sighed in what seemed like disappointment. "Oh well, perhaps I'll see you at the ball next month and we could get properly acquainted then?"
"Looking forward to it." She said sarcastically, refusing to look away.
He grinned in a predatory way before slipping back inside. "Home, Joseph." He barked, and Willow jumped as the horses and carriage breezed past them in a fast clop. There was silence for a moment before they both broke it at the same time.
"What a jerk!"
"I'm sorry."
She stepped away from his casual embrace and turned to face him. "Sorry? Why are you sorry? It's that...cad who should be sorry!"
He shook his head, "He was right...I-I shouldn't have a lady of this magnitude—"
"You think I have magnitude?" Coming from anyone else, Willow would have smacked them upside the head and asked them what the hell they were talking about.
He blushed, "Well, not so...I-I mean, you may h-have...yes."
"Thanks, Will." She said softly, and then she added fiercely. "What a chauvinist! I can walk if I damn well please, whether or not you *allow* me to!" She paused to take a breath. "Will, what ball is he taking about?"
He looked uncomfortable. "There's a ball at the Brodereck's; dressy...I wasn't planning on going, they're tasteful, of course, but."
"Is Cecily going to be there?" She asked bluntly.
He blushed. "Yes."
"Then we will go," she declared, linking her arm through his. "To not go would be a sin. What better place to woo young Cecily than a ball?"
"But Miss Willow!" He implored. "I am not yet ready to face her! All your words of advice will fly out of my head and I'll become a wreck! Such beauty requires all my brain power, I couldn't possibly concentrate on anything but her!"
"Shh, William," she soothed. "You still have a...month, was it? By then you could face her, and I have no doubt you could recite the most beautiful sonnets with one eye closed by then."
He looked at her hopefully through the corner of her eyes. "You really think so?"
"Of course!" she scoffed, "Come along, I'll read...what was that one you like from yesterday by Heinrich Heine?"
"Of Pearls and Stars!" He said eagerly.
"Alright, you do it with me." She said wickedly, he stumbled on the path.
"B-But I h-haven't—"
"Come along! You must know it by now! Just follow my lead, okay?"
He nodded and she opened her mouth, looking at him encouragingly. "The pearly treasures of the sea, The lights that spatter heaven above, More precious than these wonders are, my heart- of-hearts filled with your love."
He froze before saying the next part so softly she had to strain to hear him. "The ocean's power, the heavenly sights, cannot outweigh a love filled heart. And sp-sparkling stars or glowing pearls, pale as love flashes, beams and darts."
"So, little, youthful maiden come, into my ample, feverish heart." Willow stopped quickly so William finished on his own. "For heaven and earth and sea and sky, do melt as love has melt my heart." He blushed pink when he realised he had finished the poem on his own, but Willow was glowing with pride.
"See, I knew you could do it!"
"Thanks to—oh, we're here!" He pointed over her shoulder and she gasped, her eyes widening.
"Wow." She said dumbly, trying to take in every square inch of the valley in front of her. Two hillsides, dusted lightly with snow, dipped down and met in a reasonably thin river, which was now frozen solid. She looked down over the rail of the bridge she hadn't realised they had go onto and gazed at the ice covered in flakes of snow and a huge grin lit up her face.
"Slides!" She yelled, running around the bridge to land on the snowy ground. Unfazed, she lifted her skirts and bounded through the snow. William watched with fear, and some amusement, as she jumped onto the iced river with an almighty leap and slid easily across the surface. Her scream of pleasure was misunderstood by William for one of fear and raced around the bridge himself.
"Hold on Willow!" He shouted, swallowing as he jumped on to the ice. His superior weight and strength gave him extra momentum and he was sliding down the ice at a very high speed. His cries of terror were now combined with Willow's breathless laughs.
"Look out Will, there's a corner—" She began to slow but his inexperience made him unprepared for it and his arms moved frantically around in a windmill motion in an effort to stop.
"Willow!" He shouted in warning, before colliding with her slowed frame and sending them both headfirst into the snow. She tried to roll over to glare at him, but his heavy body covered hers.
"Get off, will you?" She snapped, shivering at the cold.
"Willow, I'm—"
"Sorry. Yeah, yeah." He braced himself on his arms and she flipped over, giving him her best glare. Her stare faltered as she realised how close he was, she could breathe in the breath the fogged in front of his face. He was studying her face with an equal intensity, his nose and cheeks pink but his eyes a clear blue. Willow was about to laugh to stop the awkwardness, but his lips pressed gently against her own in a light kiss, effectively silencing her.
~Part: 6~
She froze in shock, the feeling of his warm lips moving against hers stunning her for a moment before she layed a hand flat against his chest and pushed gently. He broke away, his face sad and apologetic, but no stuttering apology came.
"William...why did you do that?" She breathed, her eyes wide with curiosity. Willow wasn't mad, not even close, but she was thrown by it. It was, she had to admit, rather good…okay, very good, but every possible motivation he could have had flew out of her head.
"I-I don't know," he admitted. "It felt like a kissing moment."
"Did you want to?" Willow asked.
He looked away from her searching gaze. "Yes."
"Why?"
He sighed. "You're the only woman who's ever...shown me any attention, acted like she cared about me...you're like a friend to me, I don't have many...any of those...I want to keep you." He ended with a whisper, his gaze penetrating.
"Oh William," she said softly, brushing a clump of curly brown hair out of his eyes. "I do care about you, and I am your friend, but—"
"Nothing more," he finished, not surprised but a little sad. "I know, I-I'm not so sure I want to be more with you either...you were just, um, there."
She nodded understandingly. "You still love Cecily, but she's unresponsive, and I'm convenient."
William shook his head vigorously. "N-No, you aren't a convenience." He blushed. "You're a necessity."
She studied his face for a moment before wrapping her arms around him in a friendly hug. He responded instantly, holding her close as if his life depended on it, and that's when she realised. William had no one. His parents were rarely around, and if they were, they probably ignored him most of the time anyway.
She bit her lip to stop from crying when he buried his face in her neck and sighed, he had no friends, he had said so himself. Even when her parents were away for weeks on end, she always had Xander, or Buffy, and once Jesse. But William, he had been alone until she came along, and because of the attention she had shown him, he was overwhelmed that somebody was there for him finally. So he reacted in the only way he knew how to hang onto her, his only companion in a long while.
"Get off, Will, my legs have gone numb." She laughed, and he laughed also, although she suspected it was more from relief that she didn't reject his friendship. He stood up and then helped her up, then they both dusted themselves off. "Come on William," she said wickedly. "I'll show you how to slide properly."
"No, no, no...I'll just watch." He insisted.
"Buck-Buck-Buck!" She crowed, her arms flapping like chicken wings.
"I am not—"
"Buck-Buck!"
"Stop—"
"Buck-Buck-Buck!"
"Fine!" He said tersely, crossing his arms. "Show me how to bloody slide!"
It was the first time she heard him curse, or sound so much like Spike, and she tried desperately not to harden herself against him again, knowing how much he needed her right now.
"Well, since you asked so nicely," she mocked, leaping onto the smooth ice with cat-like grace. "I will show you."
*~*~*~*~*~*
Willow opened her crusty lids heavily as the loud knocking awoke her from her sleep, she moaned in response to the knock and let her eyes shut. The knock sounded again, but it was louder and accompanied with a voice.
"Miss Willow? It's 11 o'clock...are you awake?"
She opened her mouth to tell him to fuck off, but the demand came out as a flemmy cough and she winced as dried up mucus on her nose cracked, taking some hair with it. Then, if that wasn't bad enough, when her face moved to talk again, her nose stung and she sneezed, not three times, but four in a row. Plus, when she sat up, her head grew hot and started to throb. The knocking continued, and it felt like a little man with a hammer was pounding away at the back of her head in time with each bang.
"Sod off," she croaked, rubbing her throat at the effort.
He came in and caught sight of her pale, sweating face and her hand clutched to her throat, William froze. Not again, he begged silently, please god not again. She looked just like Chloe at that moment, same sickly features, same hacking cough, same fiery red hair...
"Marie!" he yelled, his voice breaking. "Come to Willow's room, hurry! Bring y-your medical bag!" He rushed to Willow's side and pressed his cold hand to her boiling forehead. She sighed and her hand came up to hold it there, and he noticed in dismay that her palm was sweating lightly. "Don't worry, Marie used to be a doctor, you'll be fine."
"I d-don't feel s-so good." Her teeth chattered, but she was terribly flushed.
"You'll be fine." He repeated, just as Marie came in with a large leather bag and what looked like a primitive looking air filter mask over her nose and mouth.
"What's wrong?" She asked seriously, her voice slightly muffled. She moved in front of William to crouch by Willow's side.
"Throat...hurts," she wheezed.
"Hush, dear." Marie said softly, taking a few things out of her bag she turned to William. "You should go, it could be contagious."
"B-but—"
"Go. The only way you can help is to stay away." The older woman instructed sternly before turning back to Willow and checking her neck for inflammation. William looked at her worriedly for a few moments, flinching as Marie slid something down Willow's throat, and walked quietly to the door, shutting it gently behind him as he left.
*~*~*~*~*~*
"Well? What's wrong?" William demanded.
It had been three hours. Three long hours and William had slowly been going mad, images of Chloe flashed through his mind and he buried his face in his hands. His parents and Marie had thought he was unaware of Chloe's illness, so they hadn't enlightened him on it. What he was aware of, though, was her sudden weight loss, the fact she wouldn't play hide and seek with him any more, her dull eyes, and her reluctance to smile when he was around. But, in his innocence he had convinced himself that she would live. She was, after all, his beloved sister Chloe.
Her death was like moving from a pleasantly warm bath to an ice-cold one; shocking. At first, it had outraged him. She wasn't supposed to die, he needed her! But then his anger turned to bitterness, he grew indifferent and refused to talk to anyone. When he stepped out of that self-loathing bubble, however, he realised that everyone had gone.
His parents, who gave up trying to talk to him and began travelling more and more; Marie, who he had once been closer but she had never warmed to him again, and his friends…Gordon Brodereck, Terry Bradshaw, and Christopher Adams; Cecily's brother. He barely recognised them now, and they acted like he was their worst enemy, tormenting him whenever they got the chance, even though William had been president of the W.H.G (We Hate Girls Club).
"She's fine," Marie replied.
William sighed in relief. "What's wrong with her?"
"Well, she has a pretty severe case of the cold, most likely caused by this damnsome weather, but that's not all," Marie paused, trying to read his expression. "I didn't recognise some of the symptoms, like crusty eyes, swollen throat glands, surplus sneezing…they aren't fatal, my guess is she inhaled or ate something poisonous in a light dose."
"What is it?" He asked. "I-I mean, what did she consume?"
"I don't know," she confessed. "It's probably something in that room. It hadn't been attended to for awhile before Miss Bloodeneen came, and she spends a lot of time in there. I think we need to move her." William nodded in response. "Will you carry her for me? Oh, and put this on." She gave him a mask similar to her own and slipped hers back on.
"Of course."
When they came back, Willow was moving around a bit; seemingly asleep. William looked at Marie questioningly. "She's just suffering a bit of delirium, it's nothing serious, it's probably from all the time she's spent exposed to whatever is ailing her."
William nodded, pulling the covers off her before scooping her into his arms gently. Her neck flopped bonelessly back and William was quick to support her head, but not before he caught a light metallic glimmer between her breasts. He asked the gods to forgive him before allowing a single finger to lift up the top of her camisole. What he saw made him gasp and he almost dropped her.
"Good lord!" He exclaimed, unable to tear his gaze away from the metal buried deep in her chest. "Marie, look at this."
She looked at him, confused for a moment before catching sight of the pendant and making a similar noise to William. "Goodness! Who do you think did this?"
His features darkened when his mind flickered back to a conversation he and Willow had a long while ago. "Her lover. He beats her."
She crossed herself. "Poor child. Let's get her out of here."
He studied her face as her incoherent muttering carried on, the only words he could make out were; `Tara, Spike, don't, and hurts.' Her lover was probably called Tara...a family name, most likely. And this Tara must hurt her with railroad spikes or other spikes of some kind.
"Where should she stay?" Marie asked softly, knowing the protective look on his face, for she had seen it many time with Chloe.
"My room." He said instantly. "It gets the most light, the windows can be opened and it's the cleanest. What do you think?"
She smiled inwardly. "Good idea. I've already cleaned up this morning, so it's ready for her."
"Excellent."
*~*~*~*~*~*
William tossed and turned that night. They'd already slipped into a pattern: he would wake her up, they would eat breakfast outside, then they'd discuss poetry, then they would just talk. Usually it was about him, she seldom talked about herself unless he begged to know about her family and friends. He was shocked to find that she had absentee parents as well, but he grew envious when she described her numerous friends. Except this Buffy person, she seemed a little self- centred for his tastes. When He had told Willow this and she just laughed understandingly, but then said Buffy had a lot of responsibility, justifying her behaviour. William pretended to agree, but his opinion didn't change; he still disliked how she sounded.
But he liked Xander, Dawn, and Giles. Anya sounded a bit odd, but Willow said she'd had a strange life so William had liked her too. When he asked about her lover, she'd clammed up and changed the subject. This only reinforced the physical abuse theory and he grew protective of her. Seeing that pendant marring her beautiful skin increased the feelings ten-fold.
But because of Willow's sudden illness, their pattern had been thrown off and he was at a loss. It was strange, he had lived with out her longer than he had lived with her, but she was slowly becoming a constant. He knew her need for 24-7 protection was an illusion built by him to make him feel needed, she was, in fact, a very headstrong woman and was quite capable of looking after herself. But her slight figure and huge green eyes made him want to gather her in his arms and rock her, although he would probably receive a strong punch for breaching the whole `just friends' protocol.
He was so confused. He had never been so confused since Chloe's death. He didn't love her, not really, and he still adored Cecily more than life itself. But every time he was with Willow, he felt like he was betraying Cecily, and he didn't care. The guilt and nonchalance mixed together made a really weird combination, it drove him insane. She was pretty much a stranger to him, but he felt a shocking need to shelter her from all the bad things.
William sat up, unable to sleep. He walked down the hall in the direction of his bedroom, which Willow was now occupying. The thought of her sleeping in his bed sent chills up his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. He opened the door quietly so as not to wake her. William was struck with the sight of her lying there peacefully, the moon making her pale skin glow almost blue. He watched and listened hard, and when he was content with the sound of her wheezing breath coming out steadily, he gave her one last glance before retiring back to the guest bedroom. And for some reason, he had no trouble getting to sleep.
~Part: 7~
William knocked lightly on the door, a tray holding a plate of breakfast Marie had prepared and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Marie had mentioned that Willow's temperature was down, as was the inflammation on her neck, and her breathing was regulated.
"But she still has a small cold. It'll clear up in a day or so," Marie had explained, "But don't let her stress too much and don't go… swapping bodily fluids." She giggled out the last part and William turned bright red at the maid's teasing. But this meant he could see her now. And she would be responsive, as opposed to her lying there while he recited poetry to her. Most of it was from books in his father's library and some of it was his own. He had hoped that periods of brain stimulation would rouse her quickly, and it seemed to work because she recovered a few days sooner than Marie had predicted.
He knocked again, nervous that she would still be sick or asleep or…
"Come in." Willow's voice drifted through the door. He resisted catapulting through it, instead opting to open it slowly so as not to spill the large glass of orange juice.
He shut it and turned to face her, returning her dry, thin-lipped smile with a large one of his own. She licked her lips and he winced as it seemed to scrape across the dry surface. Then, with a start he realised he was staring and blushed a little.
"I brought you some…"
"Food!" She said happily, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. "And orange juice! Stop your gawking and get your tailored derriere over here now."
He laughed and made his way over to her, his long strides faltered as she sneezed into her cupped hands. She wiped them on a lace handkerchief beside her he hadn't noticed before. William smiled uncertainly and placed the tray on her lap, completely unaware that she was only dressed in one of his large shirts that he told Marie to change her into, insisting it was cleaner and more comfortable than what she had been wearing lately.
Willow practically inhaled the juice in one gulp; a look of complete joy on her face as she licked off the juice moustache that stuck to her upper lip.
"Mmm, pulpy." she sighed, before reaching for a fork and digging into the scrambled eggs with slivers of ham cooked inside. It looked as if her eyes rolled back into her head and she scooped another large mouthful that she chewed greedily, making almost unintelligible breathy noises.
William was enraptured with this display. He had never seen someone so happy while eating. In fact, he had never seen someone so happy *ever*. She looked at him for a moment and mistaking his shocked look for one of disgust, she swallowed and began playing with her food, or what little was left of it.
He frowned, missing her little happy noises instantly, he wanted to hear her make them again but he didn't know how.
"I'm glad you're better." He blurted out, his face heating up.
She smiled. "Thanks."
"The first few days, I…"
"The first few days?!" she shrieked, making him jump as if something pointy had jabbed him in the behind. "How long was I out? Was I in a coma? Oh my god, what is the date?"
He stared at her for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. The noise made Willow relax, and she settled back into her pillows, enjoying the happy tinkling sound. He realised she was watching him and stopped, but not before he wiped a tear out of his eye.
"Don't worry, Willow," he said gently, pulling his chair closer so his knees touched the side of her bed. "It's December 22nd. 1879," he added teasingly, and she stuck her tongue out at him.
"When is the ball?"
He blushed, his hopes that she had forgotten about the extravagant party quashed. "New years eve."
Her eyes widened. "That gives me just over a week t-to learn how to dance."
"Learn how to…" He kept his mouth shut, hoping what he knew was coming wasn't coming.
"You are going to teach me, aren't you? I mean, you can't have an uncultured floozy for a date now, can you?"
"Yes." he said stubbornly, determined for once to refuse this woman.
"You think I'm uncultured?" she sniffed, exploiting his sensitive, chivalrous side.
"No! No, Willow I…"
"Yes you do!" she buried her face in her hands, thanking the gods for those drama lessons she had to take alone when Buffy spent more time on slaying.
"Will-I-No-You-Oh, all*right*!" he finished with a shout, cursing his weakness.
"Yes-Yes-Yes!" She did her own version of the sit-down snoopy dance, and that made it all worth it for William.
"For that, would you like to hear some Edgar Allen Poe?" she asked. It felt like she hadn't talked about poetry or read any in ages, she didn't feel disconnected, but because had been spending time away from home, devoid of all modern conveniences for so long, she needed poetry as her lifeline.
"Who?"
"Oh, you'll like him; he's brilliant!" She said happily, and her enthusiasm was contagious as he sat Indian style on the bed, his eyes shining.
"Could I hear some?"
"Okay, here goes, it's called To…Cecily," she lied, hoping to get him even more excited. She was successful.
"Really? That's quite amazing."
She felt bad for her lie, so she didn't elaborate further before reciting it:
"H—Cecily, thy beauty is to me, Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, over a perfumed sea, The weary, wayworn wanderer bore, To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home, To the glory that was Greece, And the grandeur that was Rome. Lo! In yon brilliant window-niche, How statue-like I see thee stand the agate lamp within thy hand! Ah, Psyche, from the regions, which are Holy Land."
"That was…beautiful."
God, *she* was beautiful, especially when she read poetry, it was like she was digging up some long lost memory or telling him a dark secret. Her eyes always glazed over and he felt like there was nothing but them for miles. But he loved Cecily…loves! Heavens, a few minutes alone with this woman and he was already speaking of his love for Cecily in the past tense. But it was anything but past, he still ached for her, wrote his poetry for her, dreamed about her…
"…some of yours?"
"Huh?" He snapped out of his train of thought to see Willow regarding him worriedly.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. What were you saying?"
"Could you read me some of yours? Poetry, I mean." He wished she'd never asked as he felt the familiar blush spread over his face and ears.
"I…It's not finished." he offered lamely, only to see her sad eyes looking at him.
"Please?"
He folded instantly. Standing up, he walked over to the set of drawers by his bed and opened the top one. He rifled through the top drawer before he located a stack of papers.
"I'll read you one…it's ah, about, love and, er, Cecily."
She nodded and he began to nervously read:
"Your beauty is a million stars, Like those I worship from afar, Your skin so pale, so gleaming, so glowing, I look at you and feel love's blood flowing. It streams out of my fingertips, And spreads across my worthless scripts, In words that only half describe, Everything you have inside. But I'll wait, a million years and then a day, Until I carry you away, To a place that is our own, Where we shall never be alone. For I have you, and you have me, And I can't wait until you see, That you and I, are meant to be…"
"Wow…that was, I mean…I, well…"
God, was she asleep that long? Had he progressed so far without her? She grew angry; sure, it wasn't enough to send her back in time where she didn't fit in, but to make her feel left out just as she was beginning to adjust? Her throat constricted as she milled over the words still fresh in her mind. She opened her mouth to deliver a proper compliment when Marie burst through the door, her face flushed.
"Your parents!"
"What? What's wrong?" William asked, leaping off the bed.
"The messenger…brought the l-letter…too late," she panted.
"What happened?" he demanded.
"For goodness sake, Will, give her a chance to breathe!" Willow was still upset about the stupid irony of her still being left behind, even in the past. So she, as usual, took it out on William, but more subtly than usual.
"What is it, Marie?" he said softly, heeding Willow's advice.
"Your parents," she repeated, "They're coming home this afternoon."
*~*~*~*~*~*
Angelus dropped the now lifeless body at his feet. "Gaaah," he groaned happily, smacking his lips. "Nothing better than terrified virgin." He returned to his human visage just as Drusilla dropped the handsome male boy she had been feeding on, but unlike Angelus, she did not bother to clean the hot liquid from her face and it dripped from her chin.
"Daddy got a virgin!" She squealed, but then her gaze became sombre. "Princess didn't. Princess got a many-a-used fellow. His blood was like soup."
His hand snaked out to her wrist and he twisted her arm behind her back, then pulled her to him with a thump. "Does princess want a virgin?"
She shook her head. "Princess wants a baby of her very own. She wants words in his head," Drusilla said delightedly. "But the fishes, they don't swim in his brains like wriggly worms!"
He ignored her rambling and took her mouth in a rough kiss, licking the blood from her jaw. "You shall have a childe, Dru, yer old Sire'll take care of that."
Her eyes glazed over and he let her go, recognising this as the beginnings of one of her visions. "A lady," she hissed, clutching at her head, "She does not belong…she treats time like a cake, but all her dollies didn't come for tea! She is like a puppy, no bark…no bite… She has him, she has my baby!" Then she began to spin and laugh.
At that moment, Darla came around the corner. "Oh, for hell's sake!" Darla snapped, eyeing the insane vamp with golden eyes. "Does any word out of her mouth hold an ounce of anything comprehensible?"
"Relax, sire," Angelus soothed.
"No, I will not!" she huffed. "What's the point of having a seer if we can't understand a damn thing she says?"
"Well, she assures me she's never been wrong," Angelus laughed.
"I do not value you your source, childe," Darla muttered.
"Speaking of which, Drusilla's thinking about a childe…of her own."
Darla threw her head back and brayed loudly, her face becoming human as bloody tears trickled down her cheeks. "You're serious?" His face remained calm, and she glared. "Think logically. She can barely take care of herself, let alone her own childer. The last thing we need is another Mort!"
Angelus shuddered at the memory of Dru's first childe. Despite feeding him enough blood to make her weak, the little idiot had gotten himself staked on a broken box within his first month. The crazy vampire had cried for days until Angelus and Darla shackled her to the wall and beat her with hot pokers. Soon, she was her old self again.
"That won't happen this time."
"No?"
"No," he replied defiantly, "I will help her with this one. He will be better trained. I'll make him in me own image, and he'll become one of us. Another Angelus, sire. Think of it."
Her mouth watered at the possibilities, but she kept up her cool façade. "I won't allow her to sire one yet, Angelus. We will wait till the Hour of the Hora, he will be strongest then."
"I can taste the hope in you, sire. You are wanting a boy?"
"Close. I am wanting a toy to keep your prattling princess under control. Then perhaps you could pay attention to me once and awhile, instead of the `Most Insane One'."
He tried not to swagger or smirk, but it was almost impossible not to do either. She spotted this and her eyes narrowed. "My little childe's getting a little too cocky. What do you think Dru? A couple of hours on the rack?"
Angelus' eyes darkened in equal parts of fear and lust, and Drusilla clapped excitedly. "The wolves dance like flames to your song, grandmother!"
~Part: 8~
"That's a good thing…right?" Willow asked hesitantly.
The silence continued for a few more seconds, but they seemed like hours for Willow. She had watched as all emotion fell from his face, and his expression was blank and slightly paler than usual. William quickly snapped out of his trance-like state and turned to Marie.
"Marie…clean the house again, make sure there is not a speck of dust anywhere."
"Yes, sir."
`Sir?' A bewildered Willow thought, `Since when does she call him that?'
"Get Francis to buy some lavender, plenty of them. I want every vase filled."
"Why?" Willow asked curiously, but William ignored her.
"Claire, Will's mother, likes them, a lot," she added mischievously.
Instead of joining in the laughter, William's eyes flashed. "Enough of that Marie. Not while they're here, just act normal, will you?"
"Hey, don't talk to her that!" Willow protested, but he ignored her again.
"Marie, call the seamstress, Marita's probably finished sewing the curtains by now," he pondered for a moment, "Make it violet."
"Yes, sir."
Willow opened her mouth to set him straight, but Marie took her arm firmly and guided her to the door, so she settled for a glare in his direction. As soon as she was out the door, she exploded into a rant.
"What an ass! He has no right to talk to you like that, or to ignore me! He's a big…pompous…dumb-head!" she finished lamely, only to see Marie looking ahead with a soft smile on her face. "How could you let him treat you like that, and just accept it?"
"He's my employer."
"Bullshit. Pardon me, but I know there's more to this than you're letting on."
The maid sighed, looking at her reluctantly. "Alright…William's parents…they aren't very nice people," she said in a rush, "They're perfectionists, and not in a good way. They pick at Will about everything, he has to be home at six, he has to keep the servants in order, he has to eat his food in a clock-wise direction, you get the idea. They only come for about three days at a time, but that's usually enough."
"Enough?" Willow asked, her eyes wide.
"To change him. For a while, he gets snappy and agitated, but I soon set him straight. He gets so confused, poor baby, they bring out the worst in him…he becomes like any other male for awhile, but don't take it personally. It's terrible Willow, I'm sorry you had to be here to see this."
"Don't be sorry," she said fiercely, determination burning in her eyes, "I'm going to stop it."
"N-no, you can't. Believe me, I've tried…their hold is too strong."
"I don't care," she said honestly. It was like her parents only so much more controlling. Even though he was older, William was still such a kid inside, and she couldn't bear to see him hurt.
"You'll just get into trouble," she tried half-heartedly, recognising the look on her face.
"I know," Willow replied sombrely, "Now, what does he want in violet?"
*~*~*~*~*~*
"I refuse to wear this!" Willow complained, shoving away the seamstress that scuttled about her feet. At first she had tried to be as polite and as accommodating as possible, but this woman wore her patience thin in the first five minutes. And that was three hours ago.
"But Master Whitam ordered me to make it especially."
"I don't care what Mr Whitam ordered you to do. Look at it, it makes me look fat!"
The dress was just a little too big around the torso and, huge, fluffy, and long over the legs. Plus it had long sleeves and a virginal neckline that left nearly everything to the imagination.
"Willow?"
Willow spun toward the door in the direction of the voice. And there stood a very dishevelled and rushed looking William, and she blushed as he observed her in the hideous, near-finished dress. "Will, tell this woman I don't want to wear this stupid dress."
"You need to," he answered, walking into the room. "Mother likes purple, she'll just love you in that outfit. I promise."
"But I don't like it," she insisted. "The colour doesn't suit me at all. It's too big, and I feel like the Virgin Mary with this neckline. It's choking me!"
"Come on Willow, be a sport. I need for my mother to like you."
"Well, I don't care what your mother thinks, I won't wear it. I won't." She crossed her arms over her chest, gently elbowing the seamstress away as she tried to fix up a bit of the hemming on the shoulder.
"Willow," he warned.
"Can't I just wear one of Chloe's dresses? I like the green ones, they're a lot better than…"
"For god's sake, Willow, just wear the damn dress!"
"I. Don't. Like. It." She punctuated each word with a step towards him.
They were nose to nose, or in Willow's case, nose to chin. But despite her inferior height, she kept her gaze hard and unrelenting. His gaze was flicking over her face, as if he was about to kiss her. She didn't move away, but she regretted it because his hands seized her upper arms and pushed her to the floor. She landed with a soft `thump' on the carpet littered with pieces of material. A small shot of pain ran up each arm, which had taken the brunt of her fall and she yelped.
Instantly he was by her side, muttering apologies and inspecting her body. But Willow just lie there in shock, no one had really hurt her like that before Sure a few demons and supernatural beings had knocked her around a bit, but not like this. He was William, and `William' and `hurting' in the same sentence didn't mesh quite as well as it used to. Willow hated to admit it, but he had become such a good friend in the time that she'd been here, and she couldn't help but feel betrayed by his actions.
She stood up, looking over at him as he gazed back at her with guilty eyes. "I get your pain Will, I get it…But if you ever, ever touch me like that again, I'm gone. None of your half-arsed excuses or apologies are gonna work. I'm just gonna go." She tugged off the dress, not caring that he was seeing her in her underwear, they were just like regular clothes to her anyway. "And I'm not wearing this dress."
*~*~*~*~*~*
It took her twenty minutes to get ready, and that's because Marie insisted on doing her hair.
"Wearing your hair out is very inappropriate. I'm surprised William didn't mention it," she said as she tried to tame Willow's hair into small hairclips on top of her head.
"Well, he wasn't to busy to tell me what to wear," she grumbled, rotating her arms as Marie told her to do every five minutes to prevent stiffness.
"I told you, he gets edgy, just do what he says."
"I would, normally. But his parents aren't even here yet and he's already acting like Dr Jeykll and Mr. Hyde."
Marie pretended to understand that and continued. "All the more reason to ignore the things he does and just go with the things he says. They're only visiting for a few days."
"They're not visiting for Christmas?" Willow asked incredulously, trying to turn to see Marie.
"Hold still, dear, I'm curling your hair with hot irons. Of course they are, but they don't really acknowledge it, they just need to stay long enough to fix him to their liking and keep up the pretence that they're a happy family."
Willow sat still for a moment, trying not to imagine hot irons in her hair but also trying to build up some more sympathy for William after his brutal display earlier, and found quite easily that she could. Sure, he was exploiting her weakness, but with parents like his coming to visit, her annoying him and contradicting everything he said, she could empathise. How many times had she wanted to smack Buffy upside the head? More than once, that's for sure.
"There!" Marie said happily, "All done…" There was a series of rings on the doorbell and she gasped. "Good lord, they're here! Put on your boots and gloves Willow, and come into the foyer in about five minutes."
Willow barely had a chance to nod before the door slammed behind Marie, and she felt the cold hand of nerves tug at her stomach. She was meeting his parents, his scary parents that made him into the man he was today. Suddenly, Willow wished she had worn the purple dress. She quickly pulled on her boots and gloves, not risking putting on the big male boots or black, woolly gloves.
When she reached the foyer, her heart was racing. But she managed to hold her head up high and open the door.
"Miss Bloodeneen," William greeted Willow jovially, but his smile seemed forced. "Allow me to take your shawl."
"Shouldn't you get the help to do that, William?" a haughty voice said. She looked at his parents and tried not to look shocked. They contrasted sharply with the visions in her head of them. They were not old and wrinkled, but young and very good-looking. The wife had soft brown hair, much like William's and it was worn in a very similar style to Willows. William didn't mention her age, but she looked around twenty-five, which Willow very highly doubted. She looked delicate and beautiful, like a china doll, but her brown eyes showed nothing beautiful. They were hollow and cold.
William's father was not too different. He was the spitting image of Spike, except his blonde hair was cut short and he was slightly balding. But his larger build and superior height made him more like `Spike Plus'. She didn't like him at all. He was leering at her, his thin-lipped smile was snake-like. Both of them unnerved her and she could no longer carry any anger for Spike or William. Imagine having to live with this for more than a day!
"Y-yes, of course," William said nervously. He gestured to Marie and she curtsied before gently taking her shawl and hanging it on a hook beside two coats and another shawl in purple.
"So," Mrs Whitam gave her a once over "This is your new bride?"
William jumped to her side, his arm slipping about her waist. "Yes, mother."
She glared arrows at him, but his eyes pleaded with her so her expression became neutral and she smiled pleasantly. "Yes, ma'am."
"Please, call me Claire," Mrs Whitam replied, "After all, you are making our son defy his family, so we should get to know each other better."
Willow shuddered inwardly at the thought, "How do you mean, defy?"
"Your bride has an inquisitive mind, son." His father spoke for the first time, surprising her with a cockney accent similar to Spike's. "You should take care of that."
"Yes, father."
Inside she fumed, but she kept her `pleasant-bordering-on-stoned' expression on and William seemed relieved.
"Tell me, my dear, what do you do?" Mr. Whitman asked in a patronising voice.
`I kick your ass!' she thought. "Nothing. I used to study poetry but I gave that up when William and I wedded."
Willow jumped as they laughed simultaneously. It was so robotic it scared her.
"He obviously put you off it, right William?" his mother giggled, and Willow tried not to glare. William mentioned one time that they were completely unsupportive in his aspirations towards poetry, but he didn't mention they became cruel and teasing when the subject was brought up.
"Actually, he's quite good. Have you read some of his recent works? They really are quite fascinating." William's parents narrowed their eyes and William gave her a `thank you but now look what you've done' look, but she continued bravely. "I actually gave it up because he belittled me in that area, so high is his eloquence."
"Yes, well," Mr. Whitam snorted, "Poetry is the work of men, a little too complex for women, as I understand it."
"Quite," Willow replied through clenched teeth.
The tension was thick in the air for a moment, so William cleared his throat. "It really is time for us to retire. Mother? Father? You must be tired from your long trip, allow Marie to escort you to your room."
"Indeed, " Mrs. Whitam sniffed, picking up her handbag and clutching it to her chest demurely.
"We will see you in the morning." Mr Whitam's face was stoic, but as he brushed past her she felt his hand glide over her clothed backside. She flinched away but didn't make a sound. She knew he would deny everything and she would just get William into trouble.
The pole that seemed to be holding William up disappeared and he visibly sagged. "Come on Willow, now that we're `married' we should sleep in the same room. Don't worry," he added grimly. "I'll sleep on the floor."
While Willow lay on his bed, listening to him breathe and knowing he was tossing and turning on the hard floor with a singular blanket, she sighed and rolled over, watching for a few moments as he wiggled about.
"Hey, snake man," she whispered, "Come up to bed, there's enough room for two." Truthfully, she was a little cold and lonely, and she needed a snuggle.
"B-but…"
"Get into bed."
He shrugged and got up, climbing beneath the covers and carefully keeping his distance. "Come here." He complied, shifting over and letting her wrap her arms around him, he soon settled into this arrangement with a contented sigh.
"Willow?"
"Hm?"
"I'm sorry. For…For hitting you a-and my parents…a-and…"
"Don't worry about it, Will. I told you, I get your pain."
"I know." He hugged her tighter, inhaling her scent. "Thank you."
~Part: 9~
The days following were as bad as Willow had guessed. She awoke on Christmas morning with an unexplained rush of happiness. Even though she was Jewish, Christmas at home always meant Christmas dinner at Buffy's house and presents her friends insisted on buying. But then with a jolt she remembered Joyce was dead, and they didn't have Christmas dinner at her house any more. And then with an even more painful jolt, she remembered she was in the past. In a house with two really scary people who didn't celebrate Christmas. William had stirred beside her, his arms still about her waist.
"Willow?"
"Yeah?" She could feel his hot breath on her neck and she shivered.
"Are you okay?"
She paused, "It's Christmas."
He paused, "I know."
Even though it was quite late when they finally got up, around noon, Marie informed them that William's parents were still asleep. Willow sighed in relief and shot William an uncertain grin, which he returned full force.
"Let's go outside!" Willow said eagerly, tugging on his sleeves.
"Alright," he shrugged, taking her arm.
"Where are you two going?" a snide voice said behind them. They froze.
"Out, father," William supplied dutifully.
The older man shook his head, surveying Willow with one eye, "Sorry son, your mother wants you to stay in tonight. We're lunching with the Broderecks."
"Yes, father," he mumbled, untangling himself from Willow's arm.
Willow snapped, "Actually, we were planning to go for a walk, he doesn't want…"
He interrupted with a snide grin, "Actually," he mimicked, "you, Miss, er *Mrs*. Whitam, do not need to attend. My wife was quite adamant about that. You see, the Broderecks do not know about you and, well, we thought it would be best if they continue not to."
Willow blushed in humiliation, and looked to William for support. But his face remained cool and collected, and her eyes darkened.
"Fine!" She threw her arms up exasperation, "I don't know about you, but *I'm* going out!"
She regretted it immediately. She shouldn't have yelled and she shouldn't have stormed out into the blistering cold without even a shawl around her arms. But they just made her so furious! The first day she had managed to remain passive and agreeable, but by the end of that day her nerves were worn thin. The next day wasn't so bad, she generally stayed out of their way and hung around outside. But, by each night, William had needed comfort in her arms, and she had only been too happy to do so. He never spoke, just climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around her. He sometimes sniffed her, but she pretended not to notice. On Christmas Eve, she had noticed a faint bruise on his jaw and she hugged him tighter, cursing his father's violent tendencies quite colourfully in her head.
After her dramatic storming out, she snuck shamefully back inside and pleaded with Marie to bring her a jacket. After that, she convinced the maid to accompany her to the markets. It took some convincing, but soon Marie rolled her eyes and followed Willow out into the cold.
"Here we are," Marie said happily, secretly cheerful about leaving the tension-thick house.
Willow looked around, awed, "Look at this place Marie, isn't it lovely?"
They wandered around a bit, ignoring brash salesmen who offered various pieces of junk at three for a shilling. Every time Willow picked something out, Marie shook her head.
"No dear. See the binding in the corners? It's practically falling apart!"
Finally, they arrived at a small stall near the end of the cobbled street. Willow pointed excitedly, "Look! It's perfect!" It was a shop that sold personalised books at four shillings apiece. Marie tried to convince her that it was way too expensive, but Willow knew this was the place for her.
"Excuse me, good sir," she greeted, "but do you have any journals in your stock?"
"Aye, I do ma'am," with that, he pulled out and old-fashioned leather bound journal. She flipped through the thick, cream coloured pages. They didn't have dates, but this was exactly what Willow wanted.
"It's perfect," she grinned, handing the book back to the man. "Could I have `William's Journal' written on the front, if you please?" She took a handful of coins out of her pocket, and ignoring Marie's gasp, she counted out four shillings and gave it to the man.
"O'course," he grinned back, his mouth lacking in teeth, "It'll be about an hour, come back by then or I'll throw it `way and keep yer money."
"No problem," she replied, leading Marie away.
"Where on earth did you get that money?" Marie whispered. Willow laughed guiltily.
"I sold my earrings," she confessed. She hadn't realised the diamond earrings Spike had given her had cost so much, but she needed some cash; so she took one of the servants aside and told her to sell them at a local jewelers'. When the stuttering servant had returned, she paid her five pounds of the hundred and the woman had almost fainted.
Willow and Marie spent the next hour generally walking around and chatting, mostly about William.
"You're good for him, you know," Marie confided.
Willow coughed, "What?"
"He's been a lot happier since you came. He's like…William again." Then she smiled secretively, "You like each other, don't you?"
"Yes, as a friend!"
"I've seen you together; I wouldn't be surprised if you were actually married!"
"Marie! Could you stop it? We're just friends, nothing more. He's a good guy, but he loves Cecily, and I love…" she faltered, "I love Tara."
"Oh, forget him!" Marie snapped, "He beats you! He…"
"What?" Willow asked sharply, "Who told you that?"
"William. Although, he didn't need to…I saw the-the pendant in your…" she trailed off at her pained look and Willow lay her palm flat against the metal in her skin.
"It wasn't him," she said quietly, "it was someone else." Marie looked apprehensive, but she didn't say anything more and they continued to wander around in silence for awhile. The sun set and Willow, out of habit, looked at her wrist, which was bare. She lifted her skirts to slightly above ankles and heard a collective gasp, but she ignored them.
"Come along, Marie, we'll be late!" Without another word, she sprinted off in the other direction towards the store.
Thankfully, she arrived just on time and the shopkeeper grudgingly handed her the beautiful journal, which Willow cradled in her arms like a precious baby. She looked around for Marie and saw with dismay that a gang of creepy-looking, pale men had surrounded the nearly middle-aged woman.
"Oh no," she whispered, "I'm so stupid, why didn't I think?"
To keep up the pretence of calm, she strolled over to the crowd and smiled at the shaken maid, "Marie!" she greeted. The group turned to her, their eyes flashing gold. But they gave her a once over and smiled, and then made their way over to her. "Hello gentlemen, what can we do for you?"
They snickered. "Oh, a few things," the biggest one said, and they all guffawed stupidly. She smiled as if she was agreeing, and they looked at her in surprise before making their way over to her. Willow blushed, said a small prayer, and gripped the vampire's crotch.
"Infecundus," she whispered. Nothing happened. She swore, remembering the pendant in her chest. The vampire was looking at her with a leering grin, so she just shrugged her shoulders, dug her nails in, and twisted hard. The vampire's mouth opened in a silent scream and he stumbled backwards.
"Lets' get out of here!" his voice squeaked, and all the confused vampires ran off after him. Willow heard him say `slayer' a few times, and the others scared mumbling before they disappeared into the night. Marie looked after them for a moment, before turning worriedly to Willow.
"Who were they?"
"Oh," she appeared casual, "They're just a gang of-of thieves…I, um, we have them in the Americas. I recognised their…manner of dress."
"Why did they run away, though?"
"I don't know," she lied, "come on, let's go home."
*~*~*~*~*~*
After bidding Marie farewell, she tip-toed through the too-quiet house, flinching at the slightest sound. On her way to her room, she heard a soft murmuring coming from down the eerie hallway. In favour of her curiosity, she followed the noise until it led to a slightly ajar door with light streaming through.
`Curiosity killed the cat,' she reminded herself, before shrugging, `Well, it's pretty lucky I'm not a cat then, isn't it?'
"…love what you've done with the place, Claire, I really do!" a shrill voice trilled, which she assumed was Mrs. Brodereck's.
"Why thank you, Bernice, I decorated it myself," Mrs. Whitam replied, "Where did that handsome son of yours get to?"
"Oh, I suspect he's visiting the female servants' quarters," Willow noticed a note of disgust in her voice.
"Well, let him know he is welcome to any one of them."
`Bitch,' she screamed in her mind, straining to hear more.
"I'm sure he already thinks he is!" the woman giggled, but then her voice turned serious, "Speaking of Gordon, he mentioned the other day that he saw William in the company of a woman, a very beautiful woman as I understand it."
"Oh, did he?" She could practically see the wheels turning in Mrs. Whitam's head.
"Yes. In fact, he said they looked quite intimate…This won't…in any way…"
"Of course not, Bernice, you know how men are, needing to sow their wild oats…No, the little tramp is a passing fancy, nothing more."
"Oh, good," Mrs. Brodereck sounded relieved, "Because I'd hate…"
"It's not polite to eavesdrop, young lady."
Willow nearly jumped out of her skin as she spun around, coming face to face with Clarence Whitam: William's dad. He looked slightly ruffled, and she blushed at the reasons why that could be, but she tried not to think about it.
"I know," she replied, trying to get by him, "Sorry, sir."
He stepped smartly in front of her, "That's very naughty of you, Miss Willow, very naughty indeed."
She felt unnerved by his calm words and hard stare, but she didn't look away, "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Whitam, I'm going to bed."
"Like some company?" he asked bluntly.
She was taken aback by his blatancy, but she did not show it. "William is expecting me." Willow said coolly.
He laughed, "Nonsense. He is with Gordon in the parlour…with two of the servant girls, I might add."
It felt like he had kicked her. "I don't believe you."
He laughed again, "Believe what you will, it doesn't change the facts."
Willow brushed by him, and he grabbed her behind. She whirled around, saying through gritted teeth, "I don't give a damn if your William's father, and I don't give a damn what William's doing…do not touch me."
Okay, she was lying about the `what William was doing' thing. He couldn't be, could he? Not that it mattered to her. What ever William wanted to do was of his own affairs…but he wouldn't any way. This was William they were talking about. William the timid poet, he would never…would he?
"Ah luv, your looks betray you," Mr. Whitam said, stalking towards her.
At first she thought he knew she really cared about what William was doing with the two servant girls, but he was merely demonstrating his huge ego by thinking she actually wanted to touch him.
"Why? Are they saying: stay the hell away from me?"
He chuckled, moving closer. She took a nervous step back, preparing to run if need be, "No."
"I'm not kidding, I…"
He cut her off by pouncing, taking her completely by surprise and sending her sprawling to the floor. His body quickly covered hers and he was placing desperate kisses along her jaw and neck. `This can't be happening,' she thought, frozen with shock for a few moments. When she finally attempted to wiggle out of his grasp he simply groaned, encouraging her to continue and she blushed in self-disgust.
"Get off me!" she hissed, not wanting to be caught in this position, "You sick bastard, get your filthy hands off…" His hand squeezed her breast, and it was so disgustingly wrong she lost all control, "Get off!" she screamed, thrashing about. "Get off Get off Get OFF!"
He silenced her with a kiss, and she couldn't help compare it to William's. Unlike the sweet poet, whose kiss was gentle and full of so much longing that she thought it might very well make her faint, his father's kiss was nothing but brutal and desperate. She used this distraction to throw him off her, spitting her saliva, and some of his, right into his face. He stood shocked for a moment, and she used this to run, but his stronger muscles made her easy prey and he landed on her heavily, temporarily winding her.
"Feisty. Just the way I like `em," he growled, resuming his assault on her neck and breasts.
She continued to fight. Where was everyone? Why was nobody helping her? She mustered all her strength and let out a blood-curdling scream. Before it could reach its crescendo, he clamped his hand over her mouth, but she just bit into it until blood was covering her lips. He cursed and she drew back her fist, before punching him squarely in the jaw.
He went limp, and she began crying, just as William, Gordon, Mrs. Brodereck, and Mrs. Whitam burst in. Mrs. Whitam took in her unconscious husband, Willow's torn dress, and the blood on Willow's mouth and let out a high-pitched shriek, falling into Gordon's arms.
"A demon child!" She pointed wildly at the sobbing Willow, "There is a demon child in my home!"
Willow looked at William through clouded eyes, but she found him looking at her with nothing but contempt. She rose shakily to her feet, stumbling slightly, before running to her bedroom.
*~*~*~*~*~*
He came in, and she regarded him blankly, "You have to go," William said quietly.
She nodded, "I know."
"You're welcome to stay the night…"
"I will; thank you."
He stared at her with something akin to sorrow, but she met his gaze with a glare and he glared back, "Goodnight, Miss Bloodeneen," he snapped, slamming the door as he left.
"Goodnight, William."
~Part: 10~
May 1st, 1880.
Willow pushed open the swing-door, only to be confronted by her very angry boss, "Yar' late, Willow," he growled, following her as she slipped past him.
"I know, Mickey, I'm sorry." She grabbed her apron from the hook and tied it efficiently around her tiny waist.
"Don't Mickey me, Willow, this is the third day in a row. Don't make me…"
"What? Fire me?" She pinched his cheek and he couldn't resist a boyish laugh, swiping her hand away playfully.
"Awright, luvie, jez' try make it on time, will ya?"
"Sorry, it won't happen again," she said truthfully. She had finally finalised her travel plans to go back to go back to London. It took some doing and she would have to wait awhile, but she knew she would make it back on time to save William.
It had been quite awhile since she left the Whitam manor, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow every time she thought about William. Her dear, sweet William, who threw, what could have been a defenceless Willow out onto the street without a second thought. Little did he know, she had enough money to travel and keep her well off for quite a few weeks from the earrings she sold.
"Don't go," Marie had said, hugging the little woman unabashedly, "William doesn't know what he's talking about, he-he's…"
Willow hugged her just as tightly, "It's okay, Marie, I'll get by." A sudden thought came to her, and she dug around inside the closet where she had once kept her things. She found what she was looking for, and handed it to Marie with a smile. "Here, give this to William, I-I forgot."
Marie had studied the journal with glistening eyes, and turned those eyes to Willow, "You give it to him, maybe he'll…"
"I don't want to talk to him," she said honestly, "and what am I going to do with a journal that says `William's Journal'? Become a man?"
The joke was feeble, but it made Marie chuckle slightly, "He'll miss you, you know."
She had nodded, picking up her small bag; "I know…who wouldn't?"
Willow came back to the present as she reached the counter and was greeted with a series of wolf-whistles and jeers.
"Late again, Wills?" a red nosed Terrie laughed, "You screwin' `round behind our backs?" There was a raucous laughter that Willow joined in, used to their playful antics.
"Wouldn't you like to know, Terrance?" she replied provocatively.
"Cor, you know bloody well I would!" More laughter.
She knew she was acting completely un-Willow like, but working in a bar over the last few months had sharpened her wit and lowered her defences. She could now cope with the stuffiest snob, and the drunkest incoherent. Plus, they all loved her there, with her tiny figure and flaming red hair. She was the talk of the tavern most nights and got plenty of tips.
"I'll `ave the usual," a small fat man named Norm panted, sliding onto a stool.
"No probs," she said, pouring him a thick beer that frothed a little over the rim when she handed it to him. He purposely brushed his fingers against hers, but she just rolled her eyes.
"You have a wife at home, Norm, stop fooling around." Willow chided, taking another order and filling it.
"Who sez I was foolin'? `Sides, you're much prettier than her," he laughed, swigging his pint.
"You seein' anyone lately, Wills?" a dark haired youth who reminded her of Xander chimed in. He really thought he had the most chance with her because she favoured him. He had no idea his resemblance of her friend was the real reason for her extra kindness.
"Yeah, I am Harry. I'm seeing you, sitting there annoying me. Now scoot…gotta make room for the paying customers."
"Hey, I'm payin' I'm payin," he said defensively, tossing a couple of shillings on the counter, "So, are ya seein' anyone?"
"Nope, happy to say."
"Ah, I knew it!" Harry shouted, banging his fist on the counter, "Betcha your cherry havn' even been plucked!"
"Yeah, an' you ain' pluckin' it, Harry!" George, an old regular who had no incentive to get into her pants, said snidely.
"No, you aren't. I'm as plucked as a chicken in a butcher shop," Willow said loudly, filling in two more orders. There were hoots of laughter at this and Willow giggled, sipping some beer from Harry's pint.
"Oi, wench, you're payin' for that one!"
"Not on your life," she retorted.
"Naw, yer too pretty fer your own good," Harry snapped, sipping the beer from where her mouth had been.
"And don't you forget it!"
The bar wasn't busy for the time being, so Willow sat on a stool in the corner and pulled a large, scruffy book from her apron and letting it fall open to the page it always did. "My Helen," she sighed, reading the familiar poem again, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.
"Oi, Wills, you thinkin' `bout that lad of yers again?" An Irish customer asked, leaning over the counter.
"I told you before, Gugs, there is no lad," she lied, tucking away the book.
"What ever you say, girl," he winked, "but I know a lass in heartbreak, and you are one of them."
"Shush, I just…never you mind, Gugs, this isn't any of your business."
"Ah, come on, Wills, tell us `bout yerself. You're a closed book, is what y'are," Harry moaned, leaning over the counter to fill up his mug.
"Hey, no freebies! Show me the penny, and I'll get your grog," she pointed an accusing finger at him, "You snuck out the other night without paying."
"Did not! Anyways, yer jez tryin' t'get outta tellin' us yer story," he said hastily, relieved when everyone turned their attention back to Willow. The redhead blushed and filled up a mug roughly.
"That's `cause there's no story to tell. Now shut your gob and drink up," she snapped, slamming his beer on the counter, some of it sloshed over the sides.
"Hey, I ain't payin' full price for…"
"Ah, shut your hole. You're not paying ANY price." Willow ruffled his hair and he smiled cheekily.
They went through the night in a similar way, exchanging insults, banter, and jokes among each other. By the end of her shifts, her cheeks were usually aching from real and forced smiles. She loved this job. None of the fellows ever stepped out of line. They learned not to when Willow, her skills sharpened from the months living in England alone and having to deal with equal an number of humans and vampires, punched a man with a strong right hook and literally threw him out for grabbing her ass. Now, she had her own handy metaphorical sign over her head that said `Hands Off', and the men reluctantly heeded it.
"Awright boys, closing time!" she bellowed to the bleary-eyed customers, who grumbled in disagreement.
"Gahhh, come on, Willss, s'early." Harry fell off his stool, "Woah, what `appened?"
"Your getting kicked out, that's what happened." Willow tucked her arm under his, and as soon as he was at the door, she shoved him out of it. He stumbled, but he did not fall. "You know your way home?"
"Shure, it'sh passhed thoshe two shurches, right?"
"Right," she agreed, watching as the gentlemen trudged out. The said goodbye with a nod, a tip of their hats, or a `night, miss,' for those who still had the power of speech. She shut the door, comforted by the silence that was soft on her ears, and greeted the girl on night shift, "G'night, Cal," she yawned, grabbing the tip jar from the counter and watched in sympathy as the large woman began sweeping up the bar.
"Nigh', Willow," she mumbled, fatigue making her brain ache.
She went slowly up the stairs to her rented room, but not before she said goodnight to her boss, "Night, Mickey."
He stretched, "Night luvie…when's yer big trip?"
"Couple of weeks, yet," she sighed, leaving before they got into a huge conversation about it again. She settled in her small room, cluttered with books, clothes, and boxes. She took a small box from under her bed and emptied all the coins into, they jangled merrily against each other as she closed the box and returned it to it's hiding spot.
"Soon, Willow," she muttered to herself, her eyes drooping, "It'll be over soon."
*~*~*~*~*~*
"Daddy," Drusilla whined, clinging to Angelus' arm as they strolled down the dark street, "When can we make me a special baby?"
"Not for a while yet, sweets. Darla says to wait for the Hour of the Hora."
"Don't talk about me as if I weren't here!" Darla snapped, digging her nails into Angelus' other arm, "She knows she has to wait, why does she keep babbling?"
"What can I say, she's eager," He patted Drusilla on the head, and his childe preened while his sire fumed.
"May we go hunting?" Drusilla asked, her eyes scanning the huge mansion they were about to go into. She and Darla smoothed out their ball gowns simultaneously. "I was thinking of eating that pretty, small Brodereck man."
"Gordon Brodereck?" Angelus said incredulously, "You want that smarmy git to be your childe?"
"No, silly," she giggled, "Gordon's like a hot air balloon, up…up…up, he's not my word-knight."
"Of course," Darla said sarcastically to Drusilla, then she turned to Angelus, "Tell her again Angelus, I think she's forgotten."
He shrugged. "Dru, remember, you're a deaf mute, no talking."
"Yes daddy," she said, just as they approached the man checking invitations.
"Angelus!" the man boomed, barely glancing at the invitations the vampire presented,
"And Darla, Drusilla, how are you all?"
"Fine, Miles, just fine," he replied, walking past him into the crowded ballroom.
"Oh, look dear, it's the Reese family," Mrs. Whitam whispered to her son. He ignored her and kept on leaning against the wall. "See the black-haired one? They say she went insane and can't hear or speak now. Isn't that just awful?" she continued. William grunted and slipped away, wanting desperately to disappear.
"Drusilla honey, go wander around for a bit. Try work up a bit of sympathy for us will you?" Darla said, cuddling up close to her childe.
She nodded, but didn't talk, then weaved her way through the crowd. Drusilla was bored, her daddy and grandmother always insisted they go to these silly parties, and she was never allowed to talk, or feed. She really didn't see the point of them. The black-haired beauty gasped as she saw a man, edging slowly towards a door that led outside. She was struck with a feeling of recognition, but she knew she had never seen that beautiful face before. He was delicious, positively edible. He reeked of male power, but also innocence, with a drop of self-hatred added for flavour. She growled, although unintelligibly to those around her.
`Well, maybe just a taste,' she thought, making a move to follow him as he finally made it out the door.
William looked across the pages, which were once empty but were now filled with poems, thoughts, and little sketches. He let his fingers glide over the gold writing on the front that proclaimed it to be `William's Journal' and read a poem aloud, trying to get the feel of it.
"I stop and wonder, where are you going? Your gaze so determined, your stride not slowing, Your hair alight behind you, a flame licking at your ears, I can see your crying, but I cannot see your tears. I wish I could read you, like the books within my hand, But you are closed, your pages hidden, and…"
He spun around, but faced nothing but shadow, "Who's there?"
"It is only I, fair prince," Drusilla said, approaching him with a demure look on her face, "Your words are like music to my ears."
This woman disturbed him, but he couldn't deny that she intrigued him too. Wasn't she that man…Angelus' sister who was a deaf mute? "My lady, are you lost?"
"In your words, I am."
He blushed when he realised she had heard him, and he tucked the journal into his coat preparing a hasty exit, "If you'll excuse me…"
"You are missing someone…" Drusilla said dreamily, stepping closer, "A girl."
He froze, turning to face her with undisguised surprise, "How did you…"
She giggled, "Silly, beautiful prince…In your words, your longing resides, it waits like a bird, ready to fly far away…But, no matter, you will become a childe again and play with allll your toys."
William was back to being scared, this woman obviously needed help, and if Willow had taught him anything, it was to think with his heart, rather than with his head. He regarded her kindly, trying not to let his fear show. "Madam, you are obviously in need of assistance, allow me to escort you to your brother…"
She laughed madly, "He is not my brother, he is my daddy!"
His brow furrowed, "Your daddy? But I thought…"
"Dru?" a voice barked. The voice belonged to a man, he was tall and well built and had an air about him that screamed danger. His dark eyes were searching until he laid them on the mad woman. Then, they slid to William and his mouth twisted in a smirk.
"Well, well…What do we have here?"
"This is William. He is going to be my…" she whispered the rest in his ear, and no matter how close he leaned, William couldn't understand a word being said.
"…My childe."
"Him?" Angelus sniffed deeply, "He stinks of heartache…looks like a ponce to me."
She smacked him on the arm. "He speaks like a dictionary, and his innocence colours the air, can you not see it?" Angelus nodded reluctantly, so she continued, "And such a beautiful face…I could imagine many nights with him between my legs, writhing around like a snake…He will be a powerful asset. I can feel it."
"If you say so," he shrugged, studying the man's undeniably confused but handsome face, "But remember, you must wait `till the Hour of the Hora, or Darla'll have you staked."
"I know what causes his heartache," Drusilla said suddenly, her eyes clouded over, "I want her to be his first meal…but it's dark around her, I don't…"
Drusilla collapsed in his arms, and William despite witnessing a very intense conversation, seemingly about him, rushed forward to help. "Is she alright?"
Angelus hoisted Drusilla into his arms as if she weighed no more than a rag doll, and gave William a once-over before grinning evilly. "I reckon you'll do just fine," he said smoothly, carrying his unconscious childe to their carriage with a very pissed Darla in tow.