Sang et Ivoire

By Holly

Chapter Sixteen

A blond head strayed a safe distance away from the vampire and the Slayer trailing behind him - the self-imposed detachment doing little to alleviate the manifest awkwardness. Again, night had fallen with alarming rapidity, and an air of disconcertion fell over the otherwise still terrain.

The evening was heavy with the sense of straining apprehension. Buffy felt her insides tightening with the need for further release, but she dared not speak up here. Now. Not with Angel by her side. Not with the discomfiture searing between herself and the platinum vampire ahead. Though their revelations were only a day old, the silence between them was already stretching beyond the boundaries of the longstanding unease linking herself and her other former demon lover.

A tangle of warring emotions. William intently stalked leagues ahead of them, clearly craving no conversation or suggestion of motivation. The closeness they shared in spurts - the loving gazes, the touches, the sharp intakes of breath - were becoming short-lived and similarly difficult to pull away from. Buffy's conflicted esteem squirmed in agony. Beside Angel she walked, though she wished him miles away. There were things she had yet to share with his childe. Discarded confessions and wary conclusions - a need to know where they stood. What she had shared the previous night had yet to be rebuked. The longer he stayed, the harder it would be to say goodbye.

The shared emotion that touched his eyes every time he looked in her direction painfully reassured her that her suffering was nothing compared to his.

At last, the hurrying vampire subsided in haste, coming to a halt not too far from the gravesite they had talked over the previous night. She knew he would not go further. Drawing in a breath, Buffy took seat atop a headstone, hoping Angel would understand the unvoiced need for distance.

The night cocooned around them with all its wondrous strain. William was leaning reverently against a crypt door, trying hard not to look at her. His sire occupied himself, trading glances between the Slayer and the conspicuously darkened night sky.

It could not last long. Releasing his restraint, the bleached vampire chortled humorlessly and shook his head. "What a walloping load of fun this is," he drawled, reaching for his cigarettes. He was well aware of the eyes watching him as he lit up, drawing a deep drag and emanating a string of smoke. "Peaches? Wanna fag?"

Everyone knew Angel never smoked. It was difficult to miss the telltale tremors running through the other vampire's body. With a sigh of concession, he began, "Spike-"

"Just tryin' to keep the conversation rollin'." William shrugged and tucked his smokes away, eyes darting wearily to Buffy and back again. "Would offer one to you, pet," he murmured, "but everyone keeps tellin' me these things'll kill yeh."

"Spike." The sound of his sire's voice rang with stress. "We don't like this anymore than you do."

"Yeh. You should be over 'ere." His feet shuffled with the preemptory need to pace. Somehow he managed to remain grounded. "I'm out with the two people who should hate me more than anyone in the world. Just how I fancied spendin' my evening."

Angel frowned, tossing a brief glance to the Slayer. "We don't-"

"I know you bloody don't," he retorted, almost bitterly. With a cynical grin, he shook his head and turned his eyes to the heavens. "What does it take to get a good staking around 'ere? I'm still shocked that I 'aven't been reduced to dust. Really thought if one of you didn't do it that Harris would 'ave a jolly hay day."

"I wouldn't let him," Buffy said softly, eliciting a brief, compassionate glance from his gauche being.

A look made him soften. She wanted to go to him but forced herself to sit still. William smiled sadly. "Shouldn't, luv. Oh bloody well. S'pose there's not much use of extra dusty particles around 'ere. 'Sides, Ripper would've been brassed." And that was it. Without warning, he receded back into his protective cave, surrounded with structures of never-ending guilt and regularity. He would not willingly emerge. Even if he saw it hurt, he would never bring himself to cross those barriers.

Discomfort seared behind his words. Buffy bit her lip and tossed a weary glance to Angel. Perhaps he was the key. As long as he was near, there was no hope the other vampire would open up to her. They had so much to discuss. Whatever kindness had spawned between the two was on wobbly ground, trusted but not quite enough.

A sigh coursed through her body and she forced herself to look at the larger picture. Perhaps there was nothing left to discuss. Perhaps they had said all there was to say the night before. She desperately craved conversation with him, reassurance, faith, anything that would bring the loathsome struggling of her conscious to a final rest. But even then, that hardly seemed fair. In the past few days, she had played witness to a vampire she didn't know, a vampire created by something that wasn't supposed to feel compassion or remorse. And it was only in the revelations made the evening before that she allowed herself to see it. That she admitted there was something to see.

She had told him she loved him but she hardly knew him anymore. And the more she saw of this man, this person wearing Spike's clothing and speaking in Spike's voice, the more she wanted to know. The closer she wanted to get. If this was the man Spike had given to her, she wanted to absorb everything there was to know was about him.

She wanted to know how closely linked William and Spike were in actuality. Giles assured her their similarities were astonishingly connected, but she couldn't attempt to fool herself. Not with her confession tainting the air. They were not the same. They might have the same components, the same characteristics, the same ability to love and the same fire for her burning deep in their breast, but they were not the same.

Just as she never forgot that Spike didn't have a soul, she could never forget that William did.

"Irony," Buffy murmured to herself, though knowing that both her vampiric colleagues could hear. "Irony is one lousy bitch."

"'S that, pet?" William asked softly, but she didn't answer. And he didn't repeat.

A sigh heaved off her chest and she cast her eyes downward, studying the ridges on her shoes, wishing herself away, anywhere. Angel backed up a few paces, and they temperamentally waited out the silence.

An hour had passed before she realized he would not speak to her. Whatever this was, they were beyond words. Solitude would not open the gateway to comfort - Angel's presence was likely the only thing keeping him from falling apart. They were beyond talking out their problems and waiting for the mysterious answer. He wasn't going to let her in - not more than he had already. Not to be burned.

"You know," she said, rising to her feet. "I don't think I can do this."

"What?" Angel's voice. William needed no assurance.

"This...us working together. He was right." Buffy exhaled and gestured broadly to the other vampire. "You two can take patrol tonight, can't you?"

"And 'ave you walk home by yourself?" The platinum blond arched a perfect brow. "Don't think so."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh please. Don't be ridiculous. If anything attacks me, it'll be in more danger than I am."

"Not if you're attacked by a bloody lot of vamps." William pointed to Angel. "Peaches, walk with the lady."

This time, it was she who balked, blinking disbelievingly. The caution admittedly would have escaped her notice had he not brought it up, but now that it was in the open; it was nice to have something to throw back at him. All more besides, she wasn't about to leave him now. Not with the memory of her Slayer dream stinging in hot recollection. "What? And have you sit out here by yourself?"

He bristled with a disengaging snort. "I can take care of myself, Slayer."

"So can I. You don't die twice and not come back the wiser. But that seemed to escape your notice."

"You two are impossible," Angel decided with a grunt, pacing away. "I'll go."

Buffy frowned. "But what about-"

"No arguments," he retorted, not pausing in stride. "I know I'm not wanted here, and it's obvious you have your issues to resolve. All these stupid excuses." He shook his head incredulously, paces becoming more pronounced the further away he got.

When it sank in that he was not coming back, William met Buffy's gaze hesitantly, then tore himself away with a huff of unneeded air. "Blast that bloody poof," he growled through his teeth.

Any form of a reply lodged ineffectually in her throat. Dumbly, she stared at the place Angel had vacated, berating him for his irritating insight.

The vampire tore his eyes away from her, looking down and shooting for a raw attempt at humor. "If I knew it was that easy to get Peaches to sod off, I would've tried a long time ago." Neither laughed. There was emptiness behind his tone, a dry loss for the once-held safe hold. A quick glance in her direction unveiled his anxiety. Releasing a deep breath, he finally pushed himself off the tomb and succumbed to the desire to pace.

"He left us for a reason," Buffy observed. It was the first coherent thought to pass through her mind. She was absorbed with the idea that Angel would willingly entrust her with his childe. More than astonishment filled her veins. Change was coming in masses, thick and overwhelming. Though she knew she should be used to the altered perception of her peers, it surprised her still to see such a difference in attitude wittingly reflected.

"I know, pet." William stopped, devastatingly near. "Poofter thinks he's doin' me a favor. Or you. But we've covered all this already. Talkin' more's not goin' to make anyone happy."

Wearily, she nodded. "I know that and it doesn't matter. You came here, so you'll have to put up with me." The Slayer rose to her feet heavily. "Oh boy. This isn't going to be easy. I said some things last night that I shouldn't have."

"Buf-"

"No. I need to do this. I...what I said hurt you, and it didn't even apply." Visibly, he flinched. "Despite what you say, or what Giles says, I've seen both sides of this before. You're not...him...I have to remember that. But despite everything, I still want to know you, William." There was a sharp intake of breath as he looked up; hands perched at his gunslinger hips. The use of his given name, unbidden, with no sense of struggle perceptibly affected every nerve in his being.

The war of the eyes stretched, teasing and tautening. Immeasurable silence followed, perturbed only by substantial breaths and the thick atmosphere searing with anticipation. Slowly, he licked his lips and conceded. It was all there was left to do. Fighting was useless and avoiding the issue was out of the question. They always circled to the point of origination. To the continuous battle of why and because. "What do you want to know?" he finally choked.

What did she want to know? There were so many things! From a thousand options, only a few articulately survived the tidal wave of forthcoming knowledge, the need to know and devour every inch of him. Things she had never thought to ask Angel. Did it physically feel different? What was his reaction to pain? Did he still feed regularly? Did he eat Wheatabix as often as before? Was he slacking on his nicotine addiction? - (she had only seen him light up a time or two). What was his favorite color? Did he have any unpublished poetry she could read? How did the words come to him so effortlessly? If he was stranded on a desert island (assuming the sun had no affect on him), what three-

A menacing grunt disturbed the air as she finally thought to open her mouth and voice one or a thousand of these inquiries aloud. Before either could gather what was occurring, she was thrown to the ground, held by something putrid and heavy. It took only that to register her tinglies were going haywire, and a cold rush of panic shot through every limb in affect.

The next instant, she was freed - jerked to her feet and protectively near William. Demonic features had replaced his human face. They were encircled. A grouping of uncharacteristically patient vampires moving in the lines, baring fangs and daring either to do something stupid.

Obviously, whoever organized this raid didn't realize exactly what type of party to crash. Spike was notorious for his willingness to thrust himself into danger, often hasty and without thought. She could only hope it was a trait not shared by his soulful counterpart.

The answer was shortcoming. With a possessive growl, she was pushed behind him, safely out of way as the first attacker lost his sense of fortitude and moved for strike. That was all it took.

The rest was poetry - pure and simple. Buffy managed to break free of the remaining circle, consequentially separating from her vampiric companion. It was hard to tell how many were following her, or how many there were altogether. William warded three in his direction, but for every one he killed, another took its place. Misaims sent black essence across the darkened ground, and cold seemed to engulf her from every angle in reproach.

However, her tinglies were remaining particularly singular. She didn't sense the presentation of the new Master this evening.

"Where are they all bloody comin' from?" William screamed, but she didn't answer. She couldn't let her thoughts divide between kill and dialogue. However, her eyes disobeyed and wandered worriedly in his direction in between blocks and jabs. The distraction was minimal but enough. Buffy denied herself concern with his welfare. It would only get in the way.

She looked away before she could see the vamp come at him from behind and smack him unconscious with a detached tree limb.

The Slayer flipped to a stance atop a headstone, warring off those who came for her with little difficulty, almost blind with air thickened by dust. Those vampires previously occupied with William dove for her in unsighted fury. It was then that she saw the discarded bleached blond, and while warning bells sounded, she did not have time to change her objective.

That did not stop the scream from tearing at her vocals. "SPIKE!" But he did not move.

The abundance of vampires seemingly stopped loading in supply, the remaining encompassing the gravestone on which she was perched. They were all hisses and snarls - at least eight still standing. Buffy realized William wasn't going to move anytime soon and a breath lodged tightly in her throat. There wasn't time to formulate a defensive strategy. It was instinct from here on out.

The Slayer leaped forward with an intended drop kick to the vampire nearest to her, but was intervened in mid-air by something heavy and metallic streaking an angry slash into her backside. There wasn't time to react - no time to scream. Hungry smacking filled the space in place of her painful grunt, and Buffy reflectively fell in the opposite direction, leg snagging over the stone edge of the tomb. She landed roughly on her back and flinched her pain; aware of the amounting danger she was in. Slayer blood poured freely onto the grass behind her, and any decent vampire could smell it a mile away.

And they were everywhere - hovering, hissing, and snapping. She attempted to roll over, but the cut at her backside sent her back again, reeling in another outcry. Second time lucky, Buffy fought free of pawing hands, kicking on in the face and twisting to trip another. With a grunt, she heaved herself to her feet, swaggering slightly with a limp. Still faster than her attackers, the Slayer spun, prepared, stake materializing out of nowhere and no sooner thrust into an advancing opponent. The remaining seven were packing and she was desperately lacking in options. She wasn't about to hobble out with her life and leave William to fend for himself.

It was only then that she could hazard a glance in his direction, but the bleached vampire had vanished. A rush of panic seized abrupt control of her functions, eyes darting in every which direction. He was simply gone.

"Spike!" she yelled. Left, right, left. No. He was gone. And the remaining vamps were racing for her. Buffy clamped her teeth on the inside of her cheek to wan away an interference of unneeded emotion. Tears defiantly welled in her eyes, threatening to blur her vision if she didn't act soon.

A bulge suddenly flashed passed her and two of her attackers exploded into dust. Angel's voice, ringing with frightened authority: "Get down!" as he busied himself with another. However, Buffy wasn't listening. She barely registered his presence. All she knew was William-

Was over there.

From where he appeared, she had not the faintest. A group of three had surrounded him, and despite injury, he was managing with relative ease. Two gone in seconds. To her left, Angel dusted another. Three left. Buffy sprinted for the first she saw, grasping the branch of a tree overhead, and swinging her body forward. The wood snapped and provided a piece of pointy limb into her tight, irritated grasp. She ignored the splinters that found haven in her palms, ignored everything until the improvised stake was nestled into the cavity of the nearest.

Angel rushed to her side and took another with him. By the time William joined them - panting for unneeded breath - the last was dust. And then, just as quickly as it had begun, the attack was over, and silence settled in once more. Heavy and awkward, all except the gulps of air heaving from overactive lungs.

The sudden stillness hung in extended unease, as though expecting a recapitulation with each passing second. When a full minute had ticked by, Buffy met William's eyes and lunged, throwing her arms around his neck and clutching him to her tightly, seeking comfort and assurance. "Oh God!" she gasped. "I thought..."

The vampire looked helplessly to Angel before drawing his arms around her. "Shh, pet. 'S all right. Everyone here's still non-staked. I..." His nostrils flared just as his hand fingered the growing damp spot against her clothing. Immediately, his hold retracted. "You're bleedin', Slayer."

The words triggered the numbing sores on her worn body, and a sharp pain stretched instantaneously across her back, another attacking her leg. Buffy flinched and wobbled forward, latching onto his shoulder for support. "Ow," she murmured as though it were an afterthought. Her pain-stricken face told a different story. "Vamps got me with something sharp."

Angel took hold of her free arm features, taut with concern. "Are you all right?" he demanded.

Buffy huffed a breath and nodded. "Didn't even feel it until..." She frowned, fully acknowledging his presence for the first time. "When did you get back?"

"I ran into a group of vamps on the way out," Angel explained. "Enough to keep me occupied till I could get to you." Sharply, he looked to William. "Your place near here?"

It took the vampire a minute to realize he had been addressed - still engaged with sustaining the Slayer's balance. "Not too far," he replied with a general nod in a random direction. Then he grew suspicious. "Why?"

"You should take her there for tonight." Buffy felt William tense against her, the strong arm holding her upward going rigid. Angel read his disposition immediately and rolled his eyes. "Listen, whatever this is, you're going to have to get over it. You won't do any good if you get like this every time we need help."

The Slayer's brow furrowed in agitation. "Wow. Overprotective much? I think I can get home just fine."

"Not if we're attacked again. And I thought we established that you're staying in Xander's basement for a few days. That's further away, if memory serves." Angel tossed another gaze to William. "Do you have a place for her at the crypt?"

"There's room enough for both of us." A sort of painful understanding had manifestly washed over him. "I can get her there."

This was maddening. There was nothing Buffy hated more than being belittled. With an angry gesture, she fought out of William's embrace and hobbled forward. "Don't talk as though I haven't taken worse. Walking corpse, hello!"

The vampires shot her identical incredulous glances. There was a breath of reproach. "Fine," she conceded. "We're all walking corpses. But-"

"Spike's hurt," Angel said suddenly. "We can't risk another attack."

Instantly, her anger dissolved into concern. Buffy turned back to the bleached vampire, unable to stop prowling hands from searching for injury. "Are you all right? Where-"

"Just a bump on the head," he assured her, visibly pained by her anxiety. "Don't worry luv, I've survived worse." He twitched in discomfort, and she shared his sentiments. Neither was used to such blatant displays of worry and affection, and yet she couldn't help herself. Over-compensation for so much neglect. With a half-smile, he attempted, "Certain someone I remember once dropped a bloody organ on me. Still standin' 'ere to tell the tale."

Buffy's eyes flared but she could conjure nothing but a sad smile. The moment was brief, her attentions otherwise occupied within seconds. She flashed angrily back to Angel. "What about you?" she demanded. "You could get me home-"

"I could, but it's too risky. You're bleeding, Buffy. A walking vampire beacon. You two need to just...get over it for tonight. If you think I'm enjoying this, then you're wrong. I'm just capable of being rational when there are no other options." With finale, he looked back to William. "Get her out of here, now."

The next few seconds passed all too quickly for Buffy to calculate what was happening until it was over. One minute she was firm on the ground, glaring at Angel, and the next she had been lifted off her feet, and scenery was flashing by in a blur. A long, bumpy trek to the other side of the graveyard. William was moving with speed she had forgotten he possessed, seemingly not hampered by the woman curled in his arms.

When thoughts started to untwine, she managed to grunt a falsely exasperated, "I can walk, you know," as she tightened her arms around his neck.

"No, you can limp," he retorted. "I can run."

How they arrived at the crypt so fast, she would never know, but for the pains that shot up her back and shoulders, she was grateful. She was sure he had not intended to use her as a human hammer to get the door open. With delicate ease, he set her on a sarcophagus before busying himself creating an adequate barricade. The job was probably over within seconds, but William spent several minutes occupied finding different objects to blockade the entry. It was an unsuccessful attempt to war off the patent tension that settled whenever they were alone together.

When the air became uncomfortably quiet, William drew in a firm breath and sighed. "There," he said, pretending to admire his work. "Bloody buggers will 'ave a helluva time gettin' through that door." She didn't reply, coaxing him with silence to finally turn to her. Their gaze held fiery for seconds before he could find his voice again. "You all right, pet?"

"All right," Buffy repeated, though not really hearing the question. Her eyes glazed over as she studied him, the absence of Angel making it easier for her to admit her uneasiness. Though she hated being wrong, she absolutely despised being wrong in front of him. Finally, William's gaze coaxed her back to herself, and she took her head with makeshift repose. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just...hurts."

"Lemme see." As though the request were the simplest thing in the world. His words were a stunning echo of Angel's once upon a time. The night her life had invariably changed.

It was so long ago it might as well have been a dream. She couldn't imagine ever having been that young. That naïve.

Looking into William's eyes now, she was reassured with fervor that the demon of the past had no place near the demon of the present. Her relationship with the peroxide vampire was beyond description, beyond angst. Pangs of regret could not help but shoot through her to her core every time she met his gaze. She wanted so much to make things right.

Perhaps that in itself lent to saying goodbye.

"Do you have any...ummm..." She looked around the crypt, disseminating herself with her surroundings. Despite the discussion they had the other night, she hadn't taken the time to familiarize the change of scenery. "Towels or that sort of thing?"

"Just the stuff I brought with me," William retorted, moving passed her. "And whatever Red brought by last night in that bag." He indicated the unopened sack beside her feet. "I think Ripper's been makin' her bring me goodies. Third bloody night she dropped by." A pause in afterthought. "She sure as hell better not try tonight. I'll kill Red if she goes and does something stupid that makes her dead."

Buffy chortled favorably, earning a grin in reply. Then he disappeared in shadows, emerging a few minutes later with a worn sheet and pillow. When she arched a brow, he stopped and grinned, almost impishly. The sight made her coil with warmth. It was so Spike. "Hey, just cause it looks like a sodding crypt doesn't mean I can't pretend I'm not at some fancy hotel." He nodded to the sarcophagus. "Know it's uncomfortable, luv, but lie down on your stomach. I'm gonna try to clean you up."

Skillfully, as though preparing for a massage, William spread the sheet across the slab of stone and stepped back, allowing her room to pass. The air was thick and she knew he could hear her heart pounding. Then he was out of her line of perception, though she could feel his eyes on her, peeling away layers of skin - seeing her to the utmost exposure. Buffy closed her eyes and pursed her lips, waiting breathlessly until she heard him near. The step was heavy and pronounced. He purposefully alerted her to his intentions, allowing time to wiggle away, even if it was against her own good.

He was afraid to touch her.

Hands at the hem of her shirt and an audible gulp. Another pause before he stretched the fabric and tugged it upward, inhaling deeply as the wound was exposed.

"Oh, luv," he said finally, hand caressing her back absently. "Hold tight. I'll be right back."

Then he was gone, leaving her cold and alone. The tomb fell deathly silent with his absence. Eerie and frightening. Buffy closed her eyes again and exhaled, silently cursing Angel for being so damned logical. Sure, coming here was probably in her best interest, but if they managed to survive the night without suffering a series of emotional breakdowns, it would be too soon.

When he returned, she didn't know. In the afterglow of their fight, she thought she had dozed off for a few seconds. She stirred violently to the present when something moist collided with the angry spot on her back, and she nearly bucked in surprise. A hand was at her shoulder immediately, calming her. Buffy tensed, then relaxed, and he spoke as he dipped the washcloth into the basin once more.

"Shh, pet. 'S all right." Water dribbled down her sides. Sensations soared and collided. She had never thought something so simple could give such pleasure.

When he finished, William delicately straightened her shirt, inhaled and stood. How he could remain so composed was beyond her. Buffy swallowed hard, aching with need.

"You're going to have to take your trousers off," he said, voice shaking. "Need to see that cut."

With a weary nod, the Slayer pushed herself up. She drew in a breath and turned over, hands going to her waist and sliding her jeans down her legs. Victoriously, she watched William's eyes flutter closed with an appreciative huff of air. When the job was done and he looked at her again, a shiver of recognition shimmied up her spine. She knew that look well. It was held with restraint but no less existent. Eyes glossy - lids heavy with desire.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke. "Turn around."

Buffy nodded and lay back on her stomach, twitching as he neared again. A considerable pause and he did not touch her, though the heavy, unneeded breaths heaving from his chest did not stop. Over and over again.

"It's getting to you, isn't it?" she asked softly.

A beat. "Huh's that?"

"The blood. It's getting to you."

Another brief interlude. "No, luv. It's fine. It's-"

"Go ahead." Boisterously, Buffy lifted her leg in the direction she assumed was near his mouth, only to be pushed away harshly.

"No."

"William." A sharp intake of breath and he emitted a coo of pleasure, however inhibited. "Please."

This time there was no refusal. There was nothing. The vampire exhaled deeply, as though his unlife depended on it. Then the touch came, softly, as though afraid she would retract the request voiced at her own lips. When she did not, he finally growled a deep acknowledgement of sweet surrender, lowering his head to catch the blood escaping the wound with his tongue. Buffy could not help but moan. His touch was feather-light, cautious, loving, and fearful. And sinfully erotic.

Then the taste got to him, overpowering gentlemanly reserve and drawing out long repressed primal instincts. She felt his ridges emerge, fangs delicately pricking her skin. Her failure to retreat pushed him over some final threshold, and he clamped down on her leg, not biting, but suckling as much of her essence into his mouth as possible. Rumbles of approval scratched at his throat, lips and tongue tasting greedily, hand coming to rest on her thigh until he could draw no more. Finally, he released her, licking the wound closed before moving up her body and raising her shirt to give the other abrasion the same treatment.

And she couldn't take it anymore. With a strangled cry, Buffy twisted in his grasp, straddled his lap and brought his lips to hers - not allowing him even enough time for reconsideration to slip from game face. There was no restraint in his response: he kissed her eagerly, hungrily, his mouth devouring hers. The swell that had been accumulating in her chest finally triggered and exploded. Her teeth scraped his lips and tongue, teasing the jagged points of his fangs mercilessly. An inward roar of triumph as William moaned into her, unable to stop his hands from exploring her, holding her face to his. All the sweet richness of a first kiss combined with the agonized frustration of being separated so long soared with liberated ecstasy. She felt him unquestionably harden against her, and whimpered her compliance as she reached to draw his shirt over his head.

The action alone sent him flying back from the pivotal edge, and he tore his mouth away, panting as he captured her wrists to sharply halt the advance. William closed his eyes, composing himself, shaking his head with a stifled sob. "No," he said softly. "I can't, luv. I-"

"It's all right," she assured him. "I want to." With a cautious breath, she reached uncertainly to grasp him, and was stopped with authority.

"I don't," he returned, unable to maintain hold on her eyes. "Please..."

Buffy's lip quivered. "You don't want me?"

"Oh, pet. It's not that. You know it's not." Tentatively, he used the grip on her wrist to guide her where she needed no further verification, but drew away when the sensation became too overwhelming. He edged away from her and made a futile attempt to stop breathing. "See? It's not that. But we can't. We can't, and you know we can't."

Tears clouded her eyes as she nodded her reluctant understanding, scooting further away to allow him space. "I know," she replied raucously. "But I'm so tired of doing what I'm supposed to! I want...I want-"

He put a finger to her lips with a sad smile and planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Won't fix anything," he rationalized. "It'd make things worse when this bloody mess is over with and Ripper and I go back to the old country." The vampire sighed. "Sex doesn't solve problems, pet, especially ones like ours. If anything, it'd just make a whole walloping bunch of new achies to deal with."

There was no way this person had ever been Spike. The words sent Buffy down a labyrinth of still balancing error and confusion. Stunned, she shook her head. "Wow. You're really not him. Every time I think I've got it, you go and blow me clear out of the water."

William chuckled. "I know. Never thought I'd pass up a good shag, either. But soul's got me all responsible-like. Gotta think."

Buffy smiled dejectedly. "And smart." A quaking breath shuddered through her. "You're right, of course. We can't. Not after..." When pain crossed his features and his eyes darted downward, she reached for his chin and forced him to meet her gaze. "Not that. I'm over...well...yeah, I guess. I'll never be completely over it, but right now, I'm as close as I've ever been."

William nodded without conviction and fought to look down. "You're much stronger than me," he whispered. "You astound me."

A reverent though brief grin crossed her lips. "I'm not," she retorted. "I just pretend to be. One way or another, this will end up tearing me apart."

The vampire nodded again and sighed. "It'll take both of us with it," he returned. With a slightly uncomfortable fidget, he reached and handed her the discarded pants on the floor. "Best to slide back into these."

Buffy coiled the material in her grasp and blinked in surprise as he turned his back to allow her privacy. As if he hadn't seen her a thousand times before. As if minutes earlier they hadn't been making out like freshman, feeling each other up and seconds away from forfeiting all control. She was touched beyond approach, and more confused than ever.

When she was ready, she touched his shoulder and edged forward to lie down again. He did not shrink back when she reached for him, bringing him to lie behind her. Body to body, his chest against her back. It was only when she guided his arm across her stomach that he began to struggle.

"Don't," she pleaded, her voice rendering his body helpless to do anything but warm up to her. "Just...lie here with me."

There was nothing for a minute, then a sigh of relaxation fanned her ear, arm around her middle constricting with the reassurance of her presence. A few more minutes before his fingers started to play against her skin. Soft, feathery touches that made her ache with ungratified need.

"Are you real?" the vampire asked softly, running his hand through her hair, down her cheek and back again.

"I don't know," Buffy whimpered. Fatigue settled in to claim her, and she fought it. Sleep had no right to rob her of these sensations. Not when the moments shared now would be the last forever. However, she could not help the droop of her eyes, the blinks that became harder to recover from. "Who is anymore?"

There was no reply. Nothing for her to focus on to remain awake. When William ran his hand over her eyes, she succumbed to exhaustion and fell promptly asleep.

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