The Other SideBy Meltha
Eleven
William sighed quietly and got up from the table, sitting down on the sofa once more and looking out at the countryside. An expression of sadness crossed his face, and for a moment, Buffy could have kicked herself for causing it.“You know, I never saw this place when I was alive,” William said quietly. “It’s rather a collection of all the lovely country manors that I’d read about in Dickens and Bronte and all the rest of them. When the real world became too much for me, I’d retreat here in my mind. When I came to this reality, I sort of took this place with me. It felt like home to me. And I needed that quite desperately for a very long time. Something, anything, comforting to hold on to.”
Buffy didn’t remember walking over to the couch and sitting down next to William. She merely found herself quietly resting next to him on the deep green leather, her own eyes staring at the sun-dappled moors beyond, watching the passing breeze making ripples in the tufts of long grass.
“It was… bad for you, afterwards, wasn’t it. I mean, Dru mentioned that you had a stronger connection to yourself than she or Darla do now.”
The soul nodded. “Yes, quite terrible. I did what I could to control the demon, reign it in so to speak, but, well, there was only so much I could do. It was… agonizing.” He shuddered. “But at least I kept Spike from ever siring anyone else. He’s never put anyone else here, made them go through what we’ve been through. It’s not much, but it’s something.”
A gentle hand rested on his shoulder for a moment before just as quickly pulling back. There was no reason to make this more complicated than it already was, Buffy reminded herself. William quivered imperceptibly from her touch, but forced himself to remain looking out the window.
“So… more soul was left inside Spike, right?” Buffy asked abruptly in an effort to break the silence.
“Not to begin with, no. About the same amount as Drusilla, really, though the strobe-light effect, as you called it, didn’t occur. But over time, the demon began to display some unusual characteristics, and, oddly, it began to… well, for lack of a better term, the soul remnants began to grow. The other Drusilla, the vampire, could see it happening, and it puzzled her. Puzzled us too, truth to tell. Spike was capable of loving her with a devotion and depth that simply isn’t normal in a vampire. Certainly Darla and Angelus never felt it for each other. Liam had a few theories about that, mainly that he hadn’t been able to feel love like that for any of the women he’d been… with,” William’s face turned a rosy shade at the word, “and neither had Darla, while Dru had more of a capacity for it, though she never had the chance to use it, and, of course, there was the problem of her mind. I actually did care for someone before I died, though the feelings turned out to be sadly misplaced. He thought maybe that ability stayed with Spike to some extent.”
Buffy’s face puckered in confusion. “Who’s Liam?”
“Ehm… that would be Angel. His human name was Liam,” William explained with embarassment.
“Wait… so, you and Angel’s soul used to hang out together?” Buffy asked in confusion.
“Well, yes, in a manner of speaking. He came here when he was first turned, although, rather like Darla, his version of Limbo was slightly less pristine. The ability to create comfortable surroundings seems to be linked to just where the rest of the soul would have gone after death. The second time he came back, though, he was on the same level here with Dru and me.” William hesitated for a moment before adding, “He was always talking about you. How much he missed you, how terrible he felt for what you were going through, how… much he loved you…” his voice drifted away.
A tear rolled down Buffy’s cheek at the thought of her old love. No matter how much time or space separated them, they would always have a bond.
“Oh, drat, now I’ve gone and made you cry,” William said in a tone that made it clear he was annoyed with himself. “That was the last thing I wanted to do. As if you haven’t been through enough already!”
“It’s okay, William. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m glad he had you two when he was here. I’m guessing… it probably wasn’t an easy time for him, either.”
William decided it would probably be better not to mention that Angel had spent those months nearly catatonic with grief and remorse, especially following the Jenny incident.
“Yes, well, he’s quite an extrordinary fellow,” William replied. “He’s heard about what happened to you, by the way. He’s arriving in Sunnydale tomorrow for the, ehm, arrangements.”
Buffy took in this new piece of information slowly. Arrangements. That meant a funeral. Specifically, her funeral. All at once, she felt incredibly tired and drained. “Do I still need to sleep?” she asked in a voice that lay bear everything she’d been through in the last few years.
“Not exactly. We can go for ages without it, but sometimes, when the spirit gets weary because of strain or worry, yes, we can sleep. It’s quite common amongst new arrivals. Would you care to retire for a bit, Buffy? Remember, you can recreate your own bedroom down to the smallest detail, if you wish, or any other place you choose. You can have a bed of soft, lily-scented clouds bathed in the colors of the sunset, or you can lay down on top of the sea, rocked to sleep by the waves, or maybe you’d simply like to be suspended in mid-air.”
Buffy wrinkled her nose a bit at the last suggestion. “I think I’ve had enough of being suspended in mid-air for one day,” she explained with a wry grin.
“Yes, yes I suppose you would have,” William chuckled. “Drusilla usually retires to a quaint little garden edged in roses and lilacs for a nap in a hammock. I’m certain she’d let you borrow it, if you wish.”
Buffy smiled sleepily, amused by the idea that she was half-considering using Drusilla’s bedroom. One whole heck of a lot had changed. “If it’s alright with you, I think I’d rather just curl up in front of the fireplace in here. It’s cozy.”
William smiled at her warmly, more than a little proud that she’d chosen his own favorite spot for her rest. “That’s perfectly fine.”
Slowly, so as not to disturb her with suddenness, a large, comfortable, down-filled pillow with a pale pink velvet case faded into existence on the floor next to the fire, along with a soft, warm counterpane of deep pink satin. The fire continued to crackle away quietly, though the light it shed dimmed, leaving the room lit only by a soft glow.
“I’ll just leave you to your rest. Sleep well, Buffy,” William said softly as he began to leave.
Buffy’s eyes shot wide open for a moment. “I know this is kind of a lot to ask, but, could you do me a favor?”
“Of course.”
“Would you mind not going? It’s just… I’m afraid I’m going to wake up alone in a coffin or something,” she mumbled in embarassment.
“What a dreadful thought! There’s nothing at all for you to be afraid of here. I assure you, you’re perfectly safe and sound,” he explained in concern. The poor dear has had so many ordeals in her young life that even here she feels threatened, he thought.
“I know. But, well, would you stay anyway? At least until I fall asleep?” Buffy asked, feeling rather childish.
Despite the panic attack the thought gave William’s Victorian sensibilities, he turned around and sat back down on the couch. “If it will make you feel more comfortable, of course I shall stay with you.”
“Thanks,” she said gratefully. Then she climbed under the blanket, settled her head on the soft pillow, and turned towards the fire. On a sudden whim, she brought one last thing into being to make everything perfect.
William watched her as the firelight made soft shadows and patches of brightness on her face and hair above the pink satin. Eventually, he knew she had fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep. Time continued to pass, and after a while, William quietly crossed the floor to her to take one more close look at her face by the firelight. He couldn’t help grinning merrily at what he saw. There, clutched tightly in the arms of the fiercest Slayer in four centuries, was a pink plush piggy.
“We’ll both look after her. Right, Mr. Gordo?” William whispered to the stuffed animal.
Whether it was the firelight or not he couldn’t be sure, but it certainly looked as though Mr. Gordo winked at him.
Twelve
How long Buffy lay asleep on the floor she was never sure. All she knew was that she awoke feeling deeply refreshed, like when she was a little girl and it was the first day of summer vacation. She yawned luxuriously, and as her eyes opened, she saw William’s form draped over the couch, his eyes shut tightly and a gray woolen blanket thrown over him.
Buffy smiled happily. At the speed of her thoughts, two plates of steaming chocolate-chip pancakes appeared on the table, accompanied by tall glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice, a bowl of vanilla whipped cream, and a dish of confectioner’s sugar. To her amusement, she saw William’s nostrils twitch as the aroma reached his nose. His eyelids sprang up without ceremony, and he was shoveling pancakes into his mouth in less than a moment.
“Hope you slept well,” he mumbled through a very full mouth.
She giggled and realized that here was the first place she had truly felt able to laugh in many months. No demons to slay, no portals to close, no friends in peril. Just her, a pile of chocolate-chip pancakes, and a friend. It felt plain nice.
“Very. No bad dreams,” she said with a smile. “Thanks for staying, though.”
“And thank you for the breakfast. I don’t believe I’ve ever had these before. Breakfast in my time was often as not a fried tomato sandwich.”
A companionable silence followed, broken only by the sounds of knives and forks scraping against plates. It was strange, but she felt a very comfortable bond with William, as though she had brought with her a bit of her old ally, but untainted by the stains of his vampire self. It was a warm feeling, like a piece of home. Home… her thoughts turned to what William had told her before her sleep. Today was her funeral. Suddenly, her appetite completely vanished.
“Is there something wrong,” William inquired with concern. At her lack of response, he nodded. “The funeral. I understand.”
“Did you… were you there for yours?” Buffy asked tentatively. She didn’t want to pry.
William drew a deep breath and pushed the plates away, the table abruptly vacant again. “Will you come with me, Buffy? I’ve someplace to show you.”
She bobbed her head in assent, and suddenly she and William were seated on a bench under the shade of a yew tree in a silent graveyard. A large stone church stood in the background, it’s shadow falling across them in the early morning light. A single, unfamiliar birdcall from the branches above broke the stillness in the place, and Buffy realized that a low, simple headstone lay beside her. The inscription read “William Stevens, 1855-1880, Dearest Son.”
“You?”
He gave her a soft smile. “Yes. I was here. My poor, dear mother sat just where you are now, and my little sister knealt beside her, her head in her lap as they both wept.” His eyes sparkled more than usual, and he blinked rapidly. “Would it surprise you to know Spike came here once, as well?”
“Why?”
“I’m not quite sure. The shade from the tree is very thick, even at mid-day. He stayed in its branches, watching the picture of our mourning sister and mother over his now-empty coffin from above like some perverse angel. But… I believe his heart, demonic as it was, was moved. I swear I saw a tear trace his cheek,” he paused. “He left them alone. They never knew.”
No amount of blinking could disperse the tear that mirrored the path taken down his demon-self’s face so long ago. He turned away, embarrassed, but Buffy touched his shoulder gently, and when he turned, she stroked his cheek softly. The soul colored unmistakably, but she placed a quick kiss to his temple anyway.
“You miss them, don’t you?”
“Ehm, yes,” said the flustered young man before her. “Yes, I do. They remind me very much of your mother and Dawn. Perhaps it’s part of the reason Spike fought so hard to keep them from having to mourn you these last few months.”
“But, you did go to your own funeral? I’m not sure whether going would be a good thing or just… weird,” she confessed.
“It’s entirely your choice, Buffy. No one will think the worse of you if you decide not to. If you choose to go, we’ll accompany you, if you like,” he offered. “It’s not easy, though. I must tell you that.”
Buffy considered for a moment. Somehow, it felt right that she should be there, even if she couldn’t offer her loved ones any sign of her presense. “I know it won’t be easy, but, well, that hasn’t stopped me before. But I’d like it if the three of you were there, if you wouldn’t mind.”
William smiled at her with undisguised admiration. She was a strong one, no question about it.
“I’ll be beside you, for what it’s worth. Drusilla? Darla?” he called. “Would you come here, please?”
The two spirits walked out from behind the tree to answer his summons, Drusilla dressed in a snowy white gown and Darla in a pair of jeans and a tight, low, red sweater. Drusilla’s gaze seemed to read Buffy’s intent immediately, and the Slayer reminded herself that she was, after all, psychic.
The dark haired woman drew her into a sisterly embrace and murmured “Of course I shall go with you.”
“What? The funeral?” Darla asked. “Suppose I may as well tag along.”
Buffy smiled at the other blonde over Dru’s shoulder, happy in spite of herself that the other woman was coming as well. For all her prickles, Darla had an unvarnished, raw honesty to her that might be a help.
A hand rested lightly on her arm, squeezing reassuringly, and Buffy was stunned to see that it belonged to Darla. With Drusilla’s arm thrown gently around her waist on one side, Darla’s hand still pressing her arm lightly on the other, and William standing behind her, his hand daring to stretch out to barely stroke her hair in a comforting gesture, Buffy prepared for the arrival of her mourners. She hadn’t long to wait.
Thirteen
The tread of footsteps on the grass was heard approaching through the dense brush surrounding the site. Buffy was startled to realize that she was not to be buried next to her mother, nor in any of the other cemetaries she had patrolled, but it took her a moment to understand why. Of course. Her death needed to be kept secret from the very demons that were most likely to frequent cemetaries. Still, she couldn’t help thinking, this can’t exactly be legal, can it?The first figures to enter her line of vision were Willow, Dawn, and Tara. Her sister looked like a complete wreck, her eyes bloodshot and her steps unsteady from the dizziness caused by her blood loss from that night. She was barely being held up by the two other girls, one grasping an arm on either side of her, Tara’s expression one of deep sympathy and somehow reminiscent of Buffy’s mother during her kindest moments, and Willow patting Dawn’s back gently, murmuring words that came out hoarsely from a voice that had obviously been rendered raw through crying. Buffy made a move to go towards her sister automatically, but Drusilla gripped her waist a little tighter.
“Dearie, it might be best to wait. William did explain that they can’t hear or see you, yes?”
Buffy gave a curt nod, annoyed at being stopped.
“The strange thing is, though, that a few of them might be able to sense you if you’re very close. If you were to approach Dawn too abruptly, it might frighten or confuse her. Take your time, Buffy.”
“Yeah,” Darla put in. “The kid might flip if you just come storming up on her. Take it slow.”
“Thanks,” she said, glad that they’d managed to stop her. She suddenly noticed how unusual that was. Apparently, Slayer strength didn’t really count on this end of things. Of couse, she didn’t exactly have a body anymore, so that made sense.
By this time, the three mortals were standing beside the open grave, and behind them came a larger, slower group. Her coffin was being carried foreward by four bearers. The first two who were visible were Giles and Xander, walking beside eachother, their faces strained. Xander’s eyes were very red, and he was obviously trying hard not to cry.
Buffy’s eyes brimmed with tears at the sight of her friend in such turmoil, but it was Giles who actually made her cry in earnest. The man was crushed. He seemed to have aged fifteen years in a day. His face was haggard and covered in a fine mist of stubble. Most frightening, though, were his shoulders that sagged into a posture that Buffy had never seen him have before. He looked defeated. With a small sob, she buried her face in Drusilla’s neck as Darla wrapped her arms around the pair of them and William gently took Buffy’s hands in his.
When Buffy recovered enough to look up once more, the casket was almost directly in front of her, and she was stunned to see that the final two who carried her were Spike and Angel walking side by side, looks of grim determination etched on their faces. Spike’s gash from his fall off the tower was dressed, and judging by the slightly haphazard bandage it had been the work of Dawn. His eyes were glued to the grass, and she saw him biting his lip in an effort not to break down.
Angel, on the other hand, was staring directly ahead, his posture absolutely perfect, almost military, as though he was committed to bearing this burden with the utmost respect. Despite his proud carriage, tears flowed swiftly down his cheeks from his unblinking brown eyes, and there was a hollowness in his gaze that spoke volumes of his grief for her.
Behind them, following the casket, were Cordelia, looking an interesting combination of depressed and annoyed, Anya, whose injured arm was in a sling, Wesley, his head bowed politely, an African-American man she didn’t know who appeared to be feeling a bit out of place, an unknown dark-haired woman who kept jumping at the slightest noise, and…
“Harmony?” she asked in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, hi!” the spirit called in an inappropriately loud voice as she waved. “I heard everyone was going to your funeral, so I just thought I’d, you know, come along. See what everyone’s wearing. Check out the flowers they got you. That sort of stuff.”
Buffy shot William a look that was very close to total bafflement, and he shrugged apologetically, then whispered as quietly as possible in her ear, “Ehm, death doesn’t necessarily make the deceased any smarter.”
Buffy found herself stifling a laugh during her own funeral.
Harmony, wearing a flamboyant dress made of a yellow and green geometric print, remained standing with the mourners, examining them closely.
“Don’t you just hate Cordy’s new hair? Ugh, the other me didn’t want to say anything when she saw her in L.A., but whew, major fashion faux pas. Angel must not be paying her very much if she’s wearing those shoes out in public, either. They are so two seasons ago,” she babbled on. “I didn’t meet the new girl; what’s with her burlap dress?”
Buffy seemed to have developed a sudden bad cough while Darla stared at the ditz with a look of blatant disbelief written in bold letters across her face. Drusilla’s eyes had widened so much they seemed to be threatening to join above her nose.
“Harmony, could you do us a favor?” Darla asked tersely. “Could you just please put a sock in it?”
Harmony good-naturedly made a little key-turning-and-tossing-away motion around her mouth and directed her attention to the service. At least, she seemed to. It may have been that she was silently critiquing the wardrobe of everyone present one by one. In any case, she remained quiet as the funeral began.
The pallbearers carefully lowered her casket to the ground, stepping back, as Giles stood at its head. Buffy looked at the brown, wooden box that sat before her, trying to comprehend that her body was inside it.
“Xander made it himself. He worked all night,” Drusilla explained.
Buffy’s hand reached out to touch the wood, but her palm just slipped through it like water. It must have been horrible, she thought, having to build this for me. She looked at Xander once more with pity in her eyes.
Giles began to speak in a voice that carried to all those present, although it was very difficult for him to do.
“We each hold memories of Buffy in our hearts that we treasure, and that’s as it should be. What’s wrong is that there should be more of them: far more,” he spoke, his voice cracking slightly on the last word. Willow rubbed his forearm. “I didn’t want this duty, ever, but as her Watcher, I knew there was a strong chance that I would have to bury my Slayer someday. Buffy survived far longer than the Council ever thought she would. When I was first given this assignment, they told me to expect it to last no longer than six months at the outside. Of the Slayers in recorded history, Buffy wound up surviving longer than all but five.”
“It still wasn’t long enough,” Dawn said bitterly.
“No, no it wasn’t,” Giles agreed sadly. “I was supposed to see her as nothing but a warrior, but that was impossible for me. She was far more than that. As time passed, I loved her as deeply as I would have my own child.” His composure broke, and his tears felt like they were burning a hole in Buffy’s heart. “And I had a father’s pride in her.”
William gripped her hand all the more tightly as another sob wrenched itself from Buffy. Giles was staring at the casket, lost, unable to continue. As one, Spike and Angel both went to him, and in the midst of their pain, the three men who had loved her best clung to one another, drawing strength from each other, forgetting, at least for the moment, their past hatreds and feuds and becoming united in their moment of grief.
“I don’t know if I can stay here,” Buffy brokenly murmured. “I don’t know if I can do it. They’re in such pain.”
Drusilla touched her cheek as she said, “Yes, Buffy. They are. To love someone as deeply as they loved you is to open themselves up to pain, but there isn’t one of them who regrets loving you so much or isn’t the better for it. Look at them with your other eyes. See what it is that you’ve helped each of them to become. It may comfort you.”
William gave her an encouraging pat on the back, and Buffy shut her eyes, opening them on the same scene once again, but seeing things from the level of her spirit. She was almost dazzled by the brilliance before her.
Willow’s soul reached out over the whole group like a fog of light, joined closely with Tara’s, whose gentle radiance reminded Buffy of sunlight on a summer afternoon. Giles’s soul was like a beacon in the night, unwavering and strong. Xander appeared as a steady stream of luminousness, as did all the other humans, including Anya. Buffy had wondered if the ex-demon had a soul now, and the question was answered with a definite yes. Even Cordelia cast a glow around them all.
“She gets my vote for most improved,” Darla said approvingly. “She wasn’t so much to look at until about a year ago.”
There were three others that were obviously different. The first two were the vampires. Spike was still a grey shape, but light kept spiraling through him, sometimes softly diffusing his whole body with a faint light, sometimes concentrating itself around the areas of his heart and brain and gaining in intensity. Angel, on the other hand, looked like he was in the midst of a battle. His entire soul was present, but so was his demon, and they seemed to keep trying to swallow one another. The effect was strange, like a never-ending kaleidoscope of light and dark, and Buffy marveled at his ability to keep waging the war for so long.
The third unusual case was Dawn, who glowed as brightly as all the others, but there was something strange about her. Bouncing around inside her soul like a tennis ball was a single, neon green sphere.
“Is that… that’s the key?” Buffy asked in disbelief. “It looks like it was made by Nerf!”
“Don’t let its appearance fool you. It was every bit as powerful as you’ve been told. It’s dormant now. Had Glory opened that portal, it would have expanded to cover everything in the universe as you knew it. We, actually, would have been safe. There are some things not even it could destroy. But it would have done horrible damage to countless realities,” William explained.
Buffy continued to gaze at her sister, and a very strange thing started to happen. Suddenly, she began to remember bits of her life from before the monks had created Dawn. She found herself having two, separate, distinctly different sets of memories: one that included Dawn and one that didn’t. The effect was overwhelming. It wasn’t that her sister appeared any less real to her, but she could recall all the scenes of her existence that had been written over before.
“You’re remembering, aren’t you?” Darla said pointedly.
“Yeah,” Buffy said in amazement. “I can remember everything now.”
“Everything?” William’s voice asked in a tone that suggested there might be more to this than she first thought.
On an unknown instinct, Buffy turned her eyes towards the figure of Angel’s embattled soul. It was then that the second set of erased memories slammed into her so hard that she hit the ground. There weren’t as many this time: only a single day.
Fourteen
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Darla muttered as she looked at the girl who had suddenly fallen onto the wet grass.Drusilla and William were already in the midst of helping her to her very unsteady feet as she continued to stare unseeingly at everything around her.
“How… how did that happen?” she asked urgently. “How could I forget? What’s wrong with me?”
“Now, now, don’t distress yourself, dearie,” Drusilla comforted her gently. “You couldn’t possibly have remembered. The day was erased completely from your memory, just as it was from every other living soul’s memory with the exception of his,” she said as she nodded in Angel’s direction. It was then that Drusilla’s eyes widened in shock.
Angel had sensed something; of that she was certain. His face was turned directly towards them, almost as though he were trying to see them. Grief was still written large across his face, but with it now mixed confusion and recognition. Slowly, she saw him sniff the air, trying to detect the scent of whatever unseen force was present.
William, after making certain that Buffy was once again well enough to stand, had edged uncomfortably away from the others, and he was now standing none too far from Angel. He, too, noticed the change that came over the vampire’s face, and though he was not possessed of Drusilla’s extra gifts, he knew at once that Angel was aware of their presence. Instead of stepping back, he moved closer to the tall man, studying his face almost as though he were planning to paint his portrait. Whatever he saw there, it didn’t settle his mind.
“You lucky sod,” he murmured quietly, far out of hearing of anyone.
Angel’s eyes continued to sweep the area where Darla and Dru were standing with the still-stricken Buffy, but he could see nothing.
Buffy, however, could. She could see a night when a long famine of tea and crackers had been broken by a feast of cookie dough mint fudge chip ice cream. She could see the drowsy, contented look he had given her that morning when her head had lain over his beating heart. She could see the pain in his face when he told her that all of this would be as though it had never been for everyone but him. She could see the wild, futile hope in his eyes as he pressed his lips to hers and she vowed never to forget.
And she could now recognize the agonized, forced vacancy in those same eyes when moments later she had coldly told him they shouldn’t see each other again. It was too much even for her.
“Please,” she whimpered quietly, “please, just… get me out of here… please?”
Strangely, it was Darla who took control, moving them in a breath of time from the cemetery to a green, flower-bedecked valley surrounded by towering, snowy mountains. The Slayer was still holding onto Drusilla’s arm, and she had begun to cry once more, tiredly, as though she had forgotten how to do anything but cry. Drusilla cradled her gently, smoothing her hair back and allowing her to take as much time as she needed, softly whispering her a soothing litany of nonsense words.
Several minutes passed before William rejoined the group. He had stayed behind with the living long enough to see Angel dismiss his momentary revelation as a figment of grief while the others had lowered the Slayer’s body into the ground. Considering the level of sorrow that had filled the tightly knit group as the first spade of earth had drifted down onto the handmade casket, he couldn’t help but think that Buffy’s exit had been well timed. She had seen enough unhappiness in her life without having to witness her loved ones crying tears she couldn’t dry. Responding to his own thought, he produced a simple white cotton handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to Buffy with a bittersweet smile.
“Much nicer than Kleenex, I think you’ll find,” he assured her.
Buffy took it gratefully and dabbed at her eyes. Darla regarded her intently from a handful of paces away, oddly quiet. She was remembering her own time with Angel, a few brief moments that could have stretched on for days or weeks, perhaps even months before her eventual death if fate and a certain law firm hadn’t intervened. Drusilla caught her look from above Buffy’s bowed head, and the brunette’s face crinkled in sadness. She had fought extremely hard with her other self that night, desperate to keep her from siring the woman before her, but the vampire’s profound loneliness had won.
“I’m sorry,” she mouthed at the deceptively fragile-looking soul before her, but Darla dismissed her guilt with a casual wave of her hand.
Buffy had calmed somewhat now. She sat on the grass wearily, plucking buttercups and thoughtlessly dismantling them between her fingers. William was soon seated beside her.
“Are you alright?”
“Why didn’t he just tell me?” She had passed from sadness into anger with lightening quick speed. “I could have done something! We could have…”
William shook his head sadly at her. “No, Buffy. There’s really nothing you could have done. Angel made a tremendous sacrifice, there’s no doubt of that, and yes, perhaps it would have been better if he had spoken to you first before settling on his course of action, but he was only trying to protect you. And he did.” He paused briefly before adding, “It was difficult for him, but it was right.”
“Yeah. Right. You know, sometimes, ‘right’ really, really stinks,” she complained bitterly.
“Yes, I suppose it does,” William agreed.
“No argument here,” Darla added half to herself.
For several minutes, the group simply stayed where they were, each pondering his or her own melancholy thoughts dismally. The occasional bird trill seemed completely out of place, and perhaps mirroring the group’s mood, a few clouds obscured the sunlight, casting a grayish tinge on the verdant hillside. No one seemed able to break the silence, for no one had the heart to. No one, that is, except…
“Hey! You guys left me behind! Took me forever to catch up. So, what did you think? Geez, you like, saved the world; couldn’t they have popped for something a little nicer than cheap, pink-dyed carnations? Talk about tacky…”
Four heads swiveled as one towards the ditz, various expressions of total disbelief scrawled on their faces. And then, it happened.
Buffy started to giggle. It was the smallest sound at first, a mostly-swallowed sniffling that began from her nose and threatened to boil over to her mouth. When the tremors of laughter shook her belly, she exploded into a chorus of guffaws that proved highly contagious as the other three slowly gave way to their own chuckles.
“What? What’d I say?”
By this time Buffy had fallen over completely and was grasping her sides as they ached, rolling about helplessly until her head banged against William’s knee and she left it nestled there as peals of laughter continued to escape her. Thankfully, due to everyone else’s merriment, William’s abrupt intake of breath and sudden coughing attack were overlooked completely.
“Nothing at all, Harmony sweetheart,” Drusilla managed to choke out at last. “So, you enjoyed the nail polish, I see?”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah! See?” she said wiggling her violet fingernails before her. “Goes perfectly with the dress, too. It’s so hard to decide what to wear to a funeral when you’re already dead, don’t you think?”
Darla bit her lip quite hard in response as she looked at the others pleadingly.
“Yes, well, I can see the dilemma there, I suppose,” William tactfully interposed, trying to change the topic before Darla imploded from trying to restrain her frustration. “How are things going with that new arrival you were showing around? What was his name?”
“Jose. He just got turned in Columbia two weeks ago. Adjusting pretty well, though. And such a babe!” she squealed happily. “He totally dotes on me. Kinda like you and Buffy. Well, maybe not that much. I mean, you’re completely in love with her an stuff. But him and me and you and her should double date some time! It’d be so much fun!”
William was suddenly much paler than Spike. “I… um… that is…”
Buffy’s head had immediately snapped up from the ground. “What?”
His face now having progressed from paper white to beet red, William was suddenly highly interested in the botanical structure of a nearby violet. Harmony looked on in complete cluelessness, which was actually her normal expression. Buffy was regarding William with disbelief.
At long last, Darla rolled her eyes skyward and practically hollered, “You can’t possibly be that stupid! Of course he’s in love with you! He’s been in love with you for two and a half years! For crying out loud, William, you were tucked away alone with her for the whole night, and you still didn’t tell her? Why did you think Dru and I cleared out to begin with?”
“Darla…” Drusilla interrupted quietly.
“I get that you’re shy! I get that you’re a Victorian romantic who swoons over things like the shape of her wrist bone and the size of her front teeth! I get that the one and only kiss you ever got when you still had a heartbeat was immediately followed by you falling down dead! But, William, for pity’s sake…”
“Darla!” Drusilla fairly screamed, sounding surprisingly like her other self for a moment. “Leave him in peace!”
But it was far too late. The place where William had sat only moments before was nothing but empty air now. He had completely disappeared.
“You know something, Dar?” Harmony said in a superior tone. “Sometimes, you can really put your foot in your mouth.”
Fifteen
Mouth agape, Buffy looked from the slightly self-righteous Harmony to the obviously angry Drusilla and then the suddenly uncomfortable Darla in quick succession.“Darla,” Drusilla whispered in a voice that was teetering on the edge of control, “that was completely uncalled for.”
Darla opened her mouth to reply, but the brunette gave her a warning look and she closed it once again.
“Buffy and I need to have a few minutes alone. Excuse us,” Drusilla said in a commanding tone as she strode purposefully towards the slayer and helped her to her feet, slipping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her away from the others.
No sooner had the two of them begun to walk than the valley was quickly replaced by a spring garden. Lilacs in full bloom stretched in rows for as far as the eye could see, roses of pink and white and yellow nodded their heads sleepily in the warm breeze, and the perfume of lilies of the valley and violets filled Buffy’s nose. Butterflies danced lightly over the flowers, and the dull hum of large, fuzzy bumblebees followed her down the white gravel path. Taking note of a large hammock stretched between two blossoming cherry trees, Buffy quickly realized this must be the garden that Drusilla sometimes rested in that William had mentioned earlier. For quite a while, she silently followed where Drusilla led. A look at the other woman’s face told her in an instant that she was composing herself after the scene with Darla.
At length, the two of them entered through a gap in a box hedge and found themselves in the midst of a rectangle of green grass surrounding a small reflection pool. An ornate, carved-stone bench stood by its edge, and Drusilla motioned for Buffy to sit beside her on it.
“Now, you mustn’t think I’m upset at all with you, dearie,” Drusilla began gently, patting Buffy’s hand calmingly. “I’m afraid I let my temper get the best of me for a moment back there. Darla spoke out of turn.”
“Yeah, I kinda got that,” Buffy answered carefully. “So, um, what she said…”
“Is entirely true,” Drusilla finished for her. “Yes, William does have feelings for you. Very deep ones, truth be told. But it should have been he that told you, not Darla. William still carries some, well, scars is perhaps the best word to use.”
Buffy frowned into the pool, barely taking the time to notice that it mirrored both her and the usually reflection-free Drusilla. “I see.”
“No, dear heart, I don’t believe you do,” Drusilla sighed softly. “And I’m not really the one to explain all of this, but that’s not why I brought you here. William is very, very dear to me, Buffy. When he first came here, he was so completely distraught that almost nothing could calm him. I tried to help ease the transition for him, but considering I was the last thing his human eyes had seen, it was a long time before he began to feel comfortable with me. Eventually, though, he became one of the strongest souls here, and I couldn’t have asked for a kinder or more gentle friend.”
“Really?” Buffy asked, startled. “I mean, William is sweet and all that, but… strong?”
“Don’t let his shy ways fool you. That soul has a heart as brave as a lion and determination to match. After the shock wore off, he delved more deeply into Spike than many of us would ever have dared with our own other selves, and from that he was able to save many, many lives that would otherwise have been lost to the demon. Not all his battles were victories, of course, and when he failed his agony, both physical and mental, was particularly intense. It never stopped him, though. That’s why bits of him have bled through into Spike.”
Buffy played absent-mindedly with the hem of her skirt as she tried to understand all of this, and then it slowly dawned on her. “When I saw that look in Spike’s eyes, the one I’ve seen in William’s sometimes here, that was his soul, wasn’t it?”
Drusilla nodded. “There have been times when William has almost completely inhabited Spike again, even though it may have been only for a few minutes or even seconds. William always stayed close to Spike. His affection for me helped make the feelings between the other me and Spike far stronger than most vampire bonds for all those years.”
“So, you two, you’re not,” Buffy began hesitantly.
Drusilla laughed happily. “No, no. William is more like my brother than anything else, and I love him dearly, but I am not in love with him, nor he with me.”
“Oh, because, well, you know, the other set of you were pretty tight.”
“Um, yes, that they were,” Drusilla said as she blushed slightly more pink than a nearby rhododendron.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to embarrass you or anything,” Buffy apologized quickly.
“Oh, that’s alright, Buffy. It’s a perfectly natural question to ask,” Drusilla said, though she was still a bit flustered. “In any case, my feelings for William are part of why I’ve brought you here.”
“They are?”
“Yes,” Drusilla answered, drawing herself up straighter and looking at Buffy steadily. “I suppose you would call this the ‘shovel talk’.”
Buffy blinked rapidly. “Huh?”
“William is a dear friend of mine and has a beautiful heart, but he’s also very vulnerable where you are concerned. It would be easy for you to hurt him. I’m asking you not to do that.”
Buffy regarded the other woman for a long moment. “Dru, you don’t have to worry about that, I promise. I kind of get the feeling William has had his heart stomped on a few times?”
“Considering his first love humiliated him, told him he was beneath her because his family wasn’t wealthy, and treated him as though he were something nasty stuck to the bottom of her over-priced shoes and his second love killed him less than five minutes after they first met, I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say yes,” Drusilla agreed sadly.
“Whoa. His love life has been about as rocky as mine,” Buffy responded with a sympathetic gulp.
Drusilla nodded as she put a stray curl back over Buffy’s shoulder. “I can sense him, of course. He’s dreadfully upset and deeply embarrassed, and he’s gone off by himself, remembering all of those old hurts and feeling old scars bleed.”
“Can you show me where he is?” she asked quietly.
Drusilla smiled broadly, pleased with her question. “Close your eyes, and I’ll send you to him.”
“Thank you.”
With that, Buffy shut her eyes, and when she opened them, Drusilla was left sitting in her garden, quite alone except for the singing of a meadowlark.
“I do hope I shan’t need that shovel,” she mumbled to herself as she climbed into her hammock, more than ready for a long nap. “I’ve never been entirely certain what one is supposed to do with it.” She paused. “Although, perhaps, I could get in a bit of practice with Darla.”