CHAPTER 1-- How They Met

“Hey! There he is!”

William Giles looked up from his brown bag lunch, eyes wide as the group of bigger boys began towards him. He pushed his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose. His scrawny legs that didn’t quite touch the ground from his seat on the wooden bench, swung back and forth nervously.

“Hey! New kid!” They yelled, coming to surround the smaller boy.

“What?” he sputtered in his thick English accent, his hands twisting together, bracing himself.

“You the new kid in Mrs. Henderson’s class?” They asked, challengingly.

“Um . . . yes,” William answered, his last word squeaking out in the form of a question.

The group nodded in agreement. “Stand up!” one boy barked.

William warily did as he was told, his face scrunching up in uncertainty.

Grabbing him by the collar of his dress shirt, two of the boys yanked him away from his lunch he had been enjoying by himself.

“C’mon guys, please don’t!” William pleaded with his fellow second-graders half-heartedly, fairly certain no amount of begging was going to convince these guys of anything.

“You talk funny,” the biggest of them replied, pushing William out of the way and into the chest of another bully.

The largest of the group, clearly the leader, grabbed the bag William had been eating from, emptying it’s contents onto the ground. The peanut butter and jelly sandwich he smashed under his foot. They picked his apple up from the ground, throwing it across the playground to splatter on the pavement.

William made a move to rescue his food, but the boys braced his arms in their firm grips. “My mummy made that for me,” William spoke.

“Ohhhhhhh,” another boy drawled out, “your mommy, huh?”

Seeing William’s reaction to their teasing only made them less merciful. “Are you going to cry now? Cry for your mommy?” They taunted.

“No!” William denied, eyes watering as he stood helplessly.

“Hey! Let him go!” a voice commanded from behind them.

The boys turned around to see a little girl in purple overalls and long blonde pigtails standing a few feet away, her hands on her hips.

The bullies looked at William, “You didn’t tell us you had a girlfriend!”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” William yelped, horrified at the idea of the girl with cooties being of any consequence to him.

“I said let him go,” the little girl demanded, her tone and body language firm.

The boys threw William to the ground, fixing his tie and jacket, but not letting him wander far. Then turned on the girl, “What are you gonna do about it, Buffy?”

Little Buffy sauntered up to William’s harassers, a smile playing over her lips. “This!” she bellowed, kicking the group’s leader hard in the shin. The boy hopped around the playground, clutching his leg. The others looked on in utter shock. “Anyone else?” Buffy asked innocently, winding back her leg for another strike.

At her offer, the teasers scattered, running from the little girl with the powerful punt.

Buffy wandered over to the little boy, “Are you okay?” she asked gently, offering him her hand.

“No!” he stumbled to his feet on his own accord, wiping away the angry tears streaming down his face. “Why’d you have to go and do that! Are you bloody stupid or something!”

Buffy was taken aback. “I was just trying to help,” she retorted.

“Now they’ll think I need a girl to protect me,” he quarreled.

“I didn’t stand up for you as a girl,” she replied. “I did it as a friend.”

“Well, I don’t need any friends,” he spat, wiping more tears off his face with the back of his hand.

Buffy’s eyes quickly went from clear emerald to stormy hazel. She stomped her foot, “You know what! Fine! Let those bullies beat you up! And . . . And you DO talk funny!” She pivoted on her heel and stormed away.

“Well . . . Well . . .” William searched his mind for a comeback to holler at her retreating form. Deciding on one, he squared his shoulders, “You have stupid hair!”

TBC

A/N: This is a little idea I’ve been playing with. I’m not totally sure where I want to go from here, but I just wanted to put this first chapter out to get a little feedback. It’ll be alternating between present day and flashbacks throughout their childhoods. We’ll be in present day next chapter.

CHAPTER 2 -- The Circumstances

A/N: This chapter (like many chapters to come) is half present day and half flashback. I didn’t do the flashback in italics because I thought it might be too distracting. The transition from present day to flashback is going to be signaled by this -> . . . . . (a bunch of dots).

A/N: Oh, btw -- I know nothing about the newspapers in Los Angeles. I tried to do research to find out what the leading L.A. paper was, but couldn’t find anything. So let’s just pretend that The L.A. Times is the biggest, hugest newspaper ever! :)


"Spike Giles -- Copyeditor" The fancy nameplate gleamed back at him from it’s place on his mahogany desk. "The Los Angeles Times -- California’s #1 Newspaper" was written in equally fancy script underneath. But the man in the Armani suit behind the desk made no acknowledgment of the writing. He was hunched over in his leather seat, his bleached head in his hands, seemingly zoned out.

“Winter Wonderland” filtered through his open office door. The chirpy Christmas carol was being blared from the next office over. Probably Harmony Kendall, the secretary, was to blame. It was a month until the bloody holiday and it had already started -- the songs, the shopping, the stale television specials. Under normal circumstances he would have probably started thinking about what to send home to the family in his place. But this year would undoubtedly be different.

“Spike,” a voice came from the doorway, causing him to jump.

“Oh, hey, Charlie.” Charles Gunn stood at the opening to his office.

“Hey, man, sorry to hear about your mom.”

“Thanks, mate,” he replied.

Gunn pushed the door mostly shut behind him, “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Spike shook his head, “No, it’s okay. She was hit by a drunk driver on her way home from the library.”

Gunn gave his co-worker his sympathy, “That’s tough. Especially before he holidays. Were you two close?”

Spike contemplated the question before answering. He thought back to the past eight years and the mere handful of times he had been home to visit. He contrasted that with the countless memories of Jenny reading to him as a child, going to the zoo, the constant hugs and kisses.

“We used to be,” he answered finally.

“Going home for the funeral I take it?”

Spike nodded, “I leave at the end of the week. I’ll tie up whatever lose ends there may be and be back in the office before Christmas.”

Gunn shrugged, “Why don’t you just take the month and stay home for Christmas? You’ve worked your ass off since day one and haven’t taken one vacation day. Angel won’t mind. I’m sure it’s going to be pretty hard for your dad.”

Spike brought Gunn’s suggestion to a halt, “No, I’d rather be back here. There’s too much going on.” He said with such conviction that Gunn didn’t fight any further. He wished him a safe trip home and left the office.

Spike ran his fingers through his hair, trying to wrangle his thoughts.

It wasn’t just his mother’s funeral that had him shaken. It was going back -- there. Back to her. Was she even living there anymore? Yeah, he assume so. Every couple months, one or both of his parents would offhandedly mention her in some form or another. Whether she was at a picnic they had attended or she had come to visit them. It was their not so subtle way of reminding him of her. Like he needed reminding.

Spike sighed, picking up his forgotten lunch from his desk as he shuffled through papers. Glancing at what he had in his hand, he dropped the sandwich as if it had burned him.

Spike sat there, staring at his lunch . . . .



Will sat alone at the outside lunch table, staring at the empty place in front of him where the lunch his mother had packed him should be.

He was in a weird place with a strange way of speaking and he didn’t have any friends. And he wanted to go home. Or at least back to his new home to see his mommy. He didn’t mind it in Sunnydale so much when he was with her. She always had him doing something fun.

Yesterday they had painted. When his dad had come home from work, William had accidentally gotten paint on his new work shirt. William had thought his dad was going to yell at him, but him mom had just laughed, taking her brush and painting a huge yellow daisy on his father’s shirt. She had then turned on Will, placing a big red dot on his nose. Then he and his father had taken up their own paintbrushes and they’d chased each other around the new house, getting paint everywhere.

It was times like that when he didn’t mind being in Sunnydale.

“Did those guys take your lunch again?” a voice asked, approaching quietly.

William whipped around. It was the girl from a couple days before. Buffy, he thought her name was. Funny name. She was approaching him warily. He just sniffed and nodded in response, not even bothering to hide the evident tears.

Buffy nodded in sympathy. Looking at the ground for a moment in contemplation, she soon perked up. Reaching into her own My Little Pony lunchbox, she pulled out the ham and cheese sandwich her mom had prepared for her that morning. Ripping it in half, she held one section out to William.

“Here,” she offered, “You can share mine.”

William jerked his head away, creating distance to analyze her offer. But his eyes instantly softened when he saw that it wasn’t a cruel joke -- that she wouldn’t throw his half of the sandwich down the grassy hill of the playground and tell him to “go fetch.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, taking the offered half and biting into it.

“Maybe,” she started, hesitating slightly. “Maybe tomorrow you can eat with us,” she gestured towards her group of friends sitting on a bench together, anxiously watching their exchange.

William smiled at the funny little girl next to him -- the first time he had ever smiled while in his new school. “Okay,” he agreed.

TBC

CHAPTER 3 --

A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long! (I wasn’t happy with it at all -- then I fixed it to my liking!) Here’s how the current and flashback storylines will progress -- both will go in chronological order, the flashbacks providing the background and answers to the questions that arise in the present-day stuff. Hope I don’t lose anyone! And thank you soooo very much for all the updates!! Please, keep them coming -- I love the insights and suggestions!!! Although, I’ll give ya a hint -- this story isn’t going to be too, too angsty. (P.S. - Lisa, I promise to update more frequently so you’ll have something to come home to after work!! (I know how you feel!))


Spike wound his BMW through the streets of his old neighborhood. Not a thing had changed. Not a damn thing. Well, maybe it seemed a little smaller.

His drive was leisurely, and he looked out the window to the sidewalks as familiar faces passed by. Mr. McMullen was still the walking mailman. Spike was pretty sure the man had died thirty years ago; just no one had ever told him so he continued to hobble around with his mailbag every day.

Mrs. Fitzgerald still had those damn yapping poodles she took for a walk every morning. Spike used to mow her lawn every week and pull weeds for extra cash in high school.

Not one of the dozens of ex-neighbors that craned their necks to see inside the posh car recognized him. If it had been years ago and he’d been driving his old Desoto through the street, every one of them would wave as Rupert and Jenny’s boy drove by. Everybody would know him. He was the son of the high school librarian and computer science teacher -- both well-respected and loved members of the community. And he was the quiet young boy that helped little old ladies across the street and got straight-A’s.

And he was one-half of the neighborhood’s sweetest sweethearts. Not the most popular in school, mind you, but by far the favorite of the older adults of the neighborhood. Spike supposed the elderly couples had likened his and Buffy’s relationship to the innocent courting of their day. Because that’s what they had been -- sweet, G-rated innocence.

Oh, how things have changed.

Looming before him were two houses he remembered quite clearly. They were the homes of Willow and Xander. Granted, they had never spent much time at either house when playing, but he had stood outside of the neighboring houses waiting for his friends enough times to have the places memorized.

Spike couldn’t help but be flooded with memories of kickball games and Nintendo. Something about the past seemed so much simpler . . . . . . . . . . .



It had been a couple weeks since William had joined their group. He hadn’t had his lunch stolen since. The verbal abuse hadn’t stopped, but with Buffy, Xander, and Willow there, it really didn’t bother him so much.

Xander was more than thankful for the addition in their group.

“Man, I thought I was going to be the guy in this group forever,” he said, reaching out his hand to steal some of Willow’s potato chips.

“Xander! Get your own!” Willow laughed, slapping at his hand.

He shrugged, “I can’t help it! William’s lunch is the only other one within reach and he has all healthy stuff!”

“So, William,” Willow started, “What do you do for fun in England?” William smiled at the question while Xander and Buffy rolled their eyes. Willow had not let up since William had joined their lunch table and opened his mouth, revealing his distinct accent. She now peppered him with questions about his homeland every day. From what he eats, to what he wears, to what games he and his England friends play. He even gave her some English candy and some English money he had smuggled in on the plane-ride over.

“Well,” William thought over his friend’s question, “We play football,” he shrugged.

“Like Joe Montana?” Xander asked excitedly.

William furrowed his brows, “Like who?”

Buffy shook her head, “He’s from England, Xander. His football is our soccer,” she replied smartly, smiling in satisfaction when Spike and Willow gave her surprised looks. She didn’t tell anyone she only knew the fact because she had asked her mother about the differences between America and England.

TBC

CHAPTER 4 --

A/N: I couldn't believe all the reviews you guys gave me!! Thanks you sooo much! Please keep 'em coming!!!

Spike swung his car smoothly into the driveway of his father’s home, cringing as the gravel below kicked up against his freakishly expensive paintjob.

He didn’t get out of the car right away. Instead, he sat there, looking at the house. When he entered it was going to be different. His mother would not be there to greet him, hugging him and ushering him into the kitchen. It wouldn’t smell the same. None of those weird incenses and candles she liked to burn would be wafting through the house. The smell would have worn off days ago. Her stuff would still be there though. Knowing his father, it always would be.

Spike approached the front door. As welcoming as it looked, Spike hesitated, not sure whether to knock or just enter. He shook his head -- he was a stranger to his own bloody home. Sighing, he gently opened the door, poking his head around before allowing the rest of his body to cross the threshold.

Not seeing his dad, Spike turned around, letting the door shut loudly. His dad must have heard it, and came wandering into the living room. He looked like hell and was nursing a scotch in his left hand.

“Hey, Da,” Spike spoke quietly. Faced with the house and father he hadn’t seen in years.

“William,” Rupert breathed, sounding relieved to see him. He abandoned his drink on the counter to embrace his son.

Both men squeezed each other hard, and Spike allowed himself to be comforted in his father’s hug and allowed his true feelings to play over his features. But when Spike pulled back, his face was stone.

“I take it your trip was well,” Giles asked his son, pouring him his own drink.

Spike took the glass, nodding his head in thanks, “Yeah, fine.” Spike left the audience of his father to wander around the living room. In the middle was the coffee table he had hit his head on countless times as a kid. Spike walked over to the mantle. On it was numerous framed photographs of Giles, Jenny, and himself at all ages. Spike followed the pictures as they ascended in time. But he noticed the family progression stopped abruptly at his high school graduation. There was not one recent photograph of the lot of them. Not one. They were all of the family and William -- not Spike.

Holding out a hand to brace himself, Spike leaned against the mantle, closing his eyes. He breathed in and out rhythmically a few times before pushing away from the wall and joining his father at the kitchen table.

“These are all the cards that were sent,” Giles stated, pushing a pile of Hallmark sympathy cards to his son, “I thought you might like to see them.”

Spike nodded in the affirmative, but made no movement to touch them. They made the death of his mother all too real. He thought he had accepted the tragedy in the car on the way down, but as he sat there surrounded by his mother’s memories but not his mother, he came to the screeching conclusion that his mourning had yet to reach it’s precipice.

Spike pulled the cards toward him and shifted through the heartfelt wishes and attempted words of comfort. Some had even written their favorite memory of his mother inside the card -- proving that Jenny had brightened more lives than she would ever have known.

Spike knew for sure that she had been the saving grace of their family. His father and himself had always been the solemn bookish type. Jenny was what gave their home life. She never let Giles take himself too seriously and never let her son hole up in his room writing poetry. She had always told him that as a writer, he should revel in going out and finding new experiences. At the time he had scowled at her, telling her he wasn’t a sadist and had no interest going out to spend time with people he wouldn’t like.

Giles noticed the distracted reverie his son was in, “William . . .”

“It’s Spike now,” he interrupted.

Giles shot him a perturbed look, “Your mother may have indulged you in your flights of name-change fancy, but I will do nothing of the sort.” he sighed, “You may have despised yourself under that moniker, but your mother gave it to you.”

Spike was in no mood to fight and instead turned back to the stack of cards. Picking up the one that was on top of the pile, he studied the front. It was an intricate design of a bouquet of irises -- his mother’s favorite flower. He wandered who could have possibly have remembered such a fact. He opened it quizzically. The card was signed at the bottom by Joyce, Buffy, and Dawn Summers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .



It was a miracle. They had all made it to the fourth grade alive. Even Xander. But, if the actions currently playing out on the kickball field were any indication, two out of their group of four weren’t going to live to the next recess.

“You’re shirty!” William screamed, his face already red from the argument he had been having with Buffy for the past ten minutes. It seemed like all they did was fight anymore. He couldn’t help it. Everything she did just made him so mad. The way she flipped her hair, the way her lower lip pouted anytime she didn’t get her way from him, the way she ate her cookie at lunch . . . The list went on and on.

Buffy slammed her hands on her hips, “That’s not even a word, William!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“I’m going to pull your pigtail!” William warned.

“I’m going to trip you in the mud and make your trousers dirty!” Buffy hollered, using his own British term against him. They stood there steaming at each other, until Willow pulled Buffy away to play with her. Willow -- always the non-confrontationist.

William left to join Xander on the see-saw, taking turns jumping off the wooden plank, sending the other violently slamming into the ground.

“Will?” Xander ventured, obviously nervous.

“What?” William replied, having forgotten about his earlier troubles for a moment.

“Do you like Buffy?”

William’s brows knitted together, “Well, sure, she’s my friend and all. We fight, but . . .”

“No, what I mean is,” Xander braced himself, “do you LIKE like Buffy? As in boyfriend/girlfriend.”

William almost swallowed his tongue and immediately opened his mouth to deny any fuzzy feelings toward Buffy, then quickly shut it. He looked across the playground at the strange blonde girl who was now playing hopscotch with Willow. He thought about how much he enjoyed making her laugh, like when he used funny sounding British words. And how he got a stomach ache when she cried, like when that bully Riley Finn threw a basketball at her and hit her in the face. William remembered how ready he was to take on Finn, a boy double his size, because he had hurt her, but didn’t because she had asked him not to.

Coming to his conclusion, William then uttered the two word that, had his father been there, would have gotten his mouth washed out with soap, “Bloody hell.”

TBC

 

CHAPTER FIVE --

Neither Giles man was sure just how long they sat at the table, sharing a drink in silence. But they were suddenly jolted by a clamor echoing from the living room. Giles stood and Spike craned his neck to see who was breaking into their front door.

In walked a form, weighed down by fruit baskets and food trays.

“Hey, Giles,” the voice chirped.

And Spike froze.

She continued to talk, muffled behind her stack, and blindly made her way into the kitchen. Plopping her parcels down onto the counter, she pulled away to reveal her face to them.

And God if it was at all possible, she was more beautiful then he remembered. From the large living room window, the afternoon sun spilled in around her, illuminating her like an angel.

Spike wandered how she could be so calm, so relaxed. She smiled at Giles, continuing her long list of instructions given to her by her mother.

Spike pushed himself further against the kitchen wall. She hadn’t seen him yet. And now, faced with her incredible presence, he wasn’t sure he wanted her to.

Buffy stuttered over her words, frowning at the distracted look Giles was giving her. “Giles, what’s . . .” He gave a telling, albeit slightly nervous, glance over her shoulder. She whipped around, her hazel doe eyes widening, as she came face to face with the boy from her past.

“William,” she breathed, her body frozen. She shook her head, eyes darting to the floor, composing herself. “You look different,” she stated, when she met his gaze again.

He’d daresay he did. Gone were the glasses he wore last time he saw her. He wore contacts now. He still owned a small pair of thin wire-rims, but he only wore them in the privacy of his own home where no one would see him. He used to have a messy flop of thick brown hair. But the day he had reached L.A. he had his unruly locks shorn short and bleached. And Spike was pretty sure he remembered burning every trace of tweed and every geeky dress shirt he had worn every day of his life. He had replaced his old attire with fitted t-shirts, jeans, and Armani suits.

He smiled softly, “You look the same,” he remarked. She still wore those cute little sundresses she had always worn. But, where eight years ago they were cute, on her womanly body now they looked downright sexy.

She worried her lower lip, “Yeah,” she finally replied, apparently not sure whether to take it as the compliment it was or not.

The three of them stood in awkward silence. Spike rocked back and forth on his heels. Buffy’s eyes danced across the floor. And Giles cleaned his glasses.

Buffy shrugged, “I guess that’s your car out there that everyone’s talking about,” she asked Spike.

“Yeah, a 2005,” he confirmed.

“Oh,” she replied quietly. “Well,” she wiped her palms on her dress, “I told my mom I’d just drop these off,” she gestured to the fruit, cookie, veggie, and sandwich trays that now decorated their kitchen. “I better be getting back.” Buffy looked to Giles, “Mom said if you need anything . . .” she trailed off.

Giles smiled and nodded in her direction. Next to Jenny, Buffy was his favorite girl in the world. All the Summers women had been endlessly helpful these last few days and had stepped up to aid a now aimless man.

Buffy looked helplessly around the room. “So . . . Bye,” she waved her hand awkwardly in their general direction before fleeing out the door.

Spike let go a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. He moved further into the kitchen to help his father follow Mrs. Summers’ direction about what trays went in the fridge and what didn’t. “You didn’t tell me you guys stayed close with Buffy.”

Giles shrugged, “Your mother had dropped enough hints. She and Buffy went shopping all the time. And I help her research items for the gallery.”

“Buffy’s working at Joyce’s gallery?”

Giles nodded, “She’ll own it someday. I suppose you didn’t know she graduated magnum cum laude from UC Sunnydale with a bachelor’s in art history.”

Spike nodded distractedly, “Yeah, it’s been awhile” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .



“Ewww! William!” Buffy toppled over, reaching her face as far away from him as possible.

He had done the most abominable, most disgusting thing he could have ever possibly done.

He had tried to kiss her on the cheek.

She had no idea where this boldness had come from. Apparently when it came to her, William refused to go half-way.

For the past week, he’d chased her around the playground, trying to kiss her. While Buffy was fleeing in horror, Willow sat on the swings smiling. She apparently found Buffy’s predicament sweet.

Now, as their class sat down on the carpet for story time -- a rare treat, William immediately sat down next to Buffy. Huffing, she immediately got up and moved to the other side of the carpet, seeking protection by Willow. Unfazed, William followed her around the carpet. Letting go a growl of frustration, Buffy again raised to her feet.

“Buffy and William, stop playing musical chairs and please sit down,” their teacher, Mrs. Stewart, scolded.

Startled by her teacher’s order, Buffy looked down at the only available space left on the carpet -- next to William. He gazed up at her and smiled in success. Sighing, she took her seat next to him, accepting her fate.

As the story progressed, their fellow classmates slowly dropped one by one down onto the soft carpeting, closing their eyes to the rhythmic voice of Mrs. Stewart.

And William and Buffy were not immune.

By the end of the story, most of the class had fallen asleep. Over in the corner, pressed up against the wall was William. One arm cushioned his head, the other was around Buffy. And she didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

They were snuggled up together in sweet dreams.

TBC

CHAPTER 6 --

A/N: And I’m back! So very sorry for the delay, but last week was my first week back at school, so there was the whole moving back in, getting books, reading, etc. But I am loving the support you guys are giving me, so look for me lots!



Joyce studied the man, no longer a boy, sitting across from her at the kitchen table. She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze, “William, I suppose it would be silly of me to ask if you wanted any hot coco. I guess you’d like a more adult beverage now.”

Spike smiled softly, “Never to old for those little marshmallows, Joyce.”

Mrs. Summers smiled brightly, and hummed her way further into the kitchen to heat her favorite boy up his favorite treat.

Spike sat back into his chair and breathed. He had never in his life wished for his L.A. office as much as he did now. Granted, he adored Joyce and, at his father’s suggestion, he had jumped at the chance to go visit her. But this constant spin down memory lane just had to stop.

For the past two days he and his father had done little else than receive the endless stream of neighbors that had come to give their condolences. Most of them, upon seeing Spike standing behind his father, couldn’t believe it was William Giles all grown up. They held up their hands three feet off the ground, telling him that they remembered him from when he was ‘this big’.

Spike jumped at the thundering slam of the front door. Swinging around the corner into the kitchen was a tall, slender girl with brown hair that swooshed around her waist. Spike couldn’t help but smile, the last time he saw this girl she was seven years old. She had to be about fifteen now.

She tossed her book bag into the corner and moved to raid the cupboards. Then, noticing Spike, she stopped abruptly.

“Whoa, strange man in the kitchen,” she remarked, looking to her mom for an explanation.

“Dawn, don’t be ridiculous, you remember William,” Joyce nodded in Spike’s direction, pouring the warmed milk into mugs.

The teen’s eyes bugged, “Will! Is that you?”

“Hey Lil’ Bit,” he greeted. “Though you're not so little anymore are you?”

“You’d be the only one to notice,” she grumbled. Spike chuckled, even at seven she had been fighting to be treated like an adult. Apparently some things never changed.

“Have you seen Buffy?” she continued on excitedly. Apparently no one had completely filled her in in the last eight years and she remained oblivious to the way his and Buffy’s relationship ended.

“Yeah, Nibblit, she came over to the house a couple days ago.”

“Cool,” she replied, continuing by plowing through her long list of news bulletins, which including a long winded story about R.J Brooks and how they had a telling discussion during fifth period math class. “Oh, Spike!” she exclaimed, following her endless stream of consciousness, “My dance troupe is performing at the festival next week. As always, it promises to be the social event of the year. You gonna show?”

“Not likely, Bit. I’ll be back in L.A. by then.”

Dawn sulked, “Man, I bet L.A. is sooooo much more exciting than this crap town.” She perked, “Do you get to meet famous people?”

Spike laughed, and before he could answer, her mother ushered her up the stairs, reminding her she was still grounded from the previous week.

Silence fell over the house and Spike finished off his hot chocolate. Getting up, he placed the mug in the sink.

“I better get going,” he made his move towards the door.

Joyce moved quickly to cut off his hasty retreat, “Well Buffy was upstairs in the shower, I’m sure she’s out by now if you’d like me to go check . . .”

“No, that’s alright,” Spike interrupted, shaking his head. He hadn’t seen Buffy since the day she came over to drop off the food. He was certain she knew he was there and if she had wanted to see him all she had to have done was come downstairs.

Joyce nodded understandingly, “I’ll see you on Sunday then,” she said, referring to the funeral.

Spike thanked her again for her endless hospitality and she saw him to the door.

Once out onto the porch, Spike halted, taking in huge gulps of the cool afternoon breeze. Leaning his hands against the railing, he pushed hard against it as he attempted to collect his emotions. Every time he thought he had shed his last tear, he got that all-encompassing nauseas feeling again and the accompanying sickening heat that spread over his body. But Spike had a feeling the strong emotions he felt coursing through him now were not necessarily just for his mother, but for something else also.

Simpler times maybe. Lost innocence perhaps. Eight years ago, time sure didn’t seem simple. High school was harsh, heavy, and confusing. And when he was in L.A., he could easily convince himself that immersing himself in work was the best route for him. But being back home, seeing people and things long forgotten, trudged up doubts inside himself that he was not in the position to be entertaining.

That’s why he needed to get back to L.A. as soon as possible.

Behind him the front door to the Summers’ home open and shut quietly. Spike didn’t have to even turn around to see who it was.

“How are you?” she asked softly.

If it had been anyone else asking the question, Spike would have replied curtly, saying that he was fine and to not worry about it. But it wasn’t just anyone -- it was Buffy. And he could never lie to Buffy.

“Tired,” he sighed, rubbing his temples. “The bloody funeral isn’t even until Sunday and I’m already sick of it.”

The desire to reach out and touch her was almost overwhelming. Half of him physically yearned for it and the other half was just curious to see whether the simple placement of her hand on his arm had the same comforting effect it held years ago. He had a feeling it would, so he shook the notion off.

She must have sensed his inner battle because she took a step towards him, “Why are you so afraid of me, Will?”

Spike let out a shaky laugh at her question. He could try to brush it off as absurd, but Buffy would be able to tell it was a lie. She always could. Sighing, his eyes searched the heavens before moving back to meet hers, “Because every time I’m with you I regress to a gawky eighteen year old boy.”

She took another daring step towards him, “And what’s wrong with that boy? I fell in love with that boy.”

Spike shook his head violently, his voice turning stone, “No, that boy is dead.”

The harshness of his voice and the answering look on Buffy’s face, like someone had run over her favorite kitten, made him instantly feel like the biggest bastard on the planet Earth. The tone that had just come out of his mouth was strictly held for rival newspaper editors and lifelong enemies. Never for Buffy.

But he had to make her understand, had to convince her. He was different now. He was not, and would not be, the boy she knew. At the sickening feeling quickly rising through his body, he couldn’t help but question who exactly he was trying to convince -- her or himself.

With that he pushed off the railing he was leaning on and disappeared down the sidewalk.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Buffy sat on the top of the rusting iron slide. Behind her, Harmony Kendall stood in the highest rung, awaiting her turn. Sudden yelling broke out across the playground. Buffy halted, and joined Harmony in craning her neck to see the commotion.

A bunch of boys from their grade had formed a circle -- like a pack of hyenas going in for the kill. They were yelling at two other boys who stood helpless in the middle of the group -- Xander and William.

“Isn’t that your boyfriend?” Harmony sneered, giving Buffy a disgusted look that she would only perfect over the years. The principal had now permeated the throng of kids, breaking up the escalading fight.

“Yeah,” she shrugged, smoothing out the creases of her dress.

“Are you going to marry him?” Harmony sung, eyes wide waiting for her answer.

Buffy looked over at the far end of the playground, where William and Xander had retreated. They were both hunched over reading English soccer magazines.

Then, with nonchalant confidence, she made her decision, “Yeah,” she replied, letting go over the side rungs and shooting down the slide.

TBC
 

CHAPTER 7 --

A/N: Soundtrack songs for this chapter describe Giles’ and Spike’s feelings about what happened to Jenny. And Songgal -- thanks for the lyrics and keep ‘em coming -- they’re great and will be showing up at the beginning of future chapters!




So just tell me what I should do
I left everything for you
And I can't hardly breathe
'Cause I know I lost you from my world
From my...
- “She’s” Ryan Cabrera




Spike stood in his black suit.

It was sunny outside.

It shouldn’t be sunny.

The rain should fall and the clouds should hide the light in anger and the angels should weep.

Earth has lost it’s very own heavenly creature.

Jenny Giles is dead.

As he stood in one of Sunnydale’s many cemeteries, staring at his mother’s coffin suspended over a six foot ditch, he was painfully aware of every whisper floating over the gravesite. “Drunk driver,” “died instantly,” “those poor boys,” were among the most common.

A multitude of people had laid their hands comfortingly on his shoulder as the ceremony progressed. Spike didn’t feel or acknowledge a single one of them. His father, who stood on his right, was left to accept the words of regret and sadness.

But Spike didn’t feel sadness. No, he’d been feeling sadness for the past week. Now, all he was able to feel was pure anger. He couldn’t take one more person telling him that he or she was “sorry” for his mum’s death. Why the fuck were they sorry? They hadn’t mulled her down with a Range Rover while too drunk to recite the fucking alphabet and lived.

No, none of the people here at the funeral had killed her.

But someone had.

Spike stood in front of his mother’s mahogany coffin. It looked like his desk at the office. The constant feeling of rising bile in his throat had not ceased. His eyes were fixed on the place on the coffin where his mother’s face would be. Spike closed his eyes, both imprinting the scene on his brain and trying to forget it at the same time.

A large bouquet of daisies, her favorite, rested on the coffin. A large red bow held them together -- “Loving Wife and Mother” it read. Like that could fucking sum up all of who Jenny Giles was.

She was so much more than that.

So much more.

A form came to stand beside him. He didn’t have to turn his head to see who it was -- he knew. The gentle wave of vanilla that hit him was enough.

Spike’s eyes narrowed, “Who was it?” He asked just above a whisper.

She tried to act dumb, but the fake conviction didn’t reach her somber face, “Who was who?”

“The driver, Buffy” he ground out, “Who was it?”

Buffy hesitated, “William . . .”

“I know that everyone knows and isn’t telling me. It’s all they talked about for a bloody week, I’m sure.” Angry tears threatened to streak his face. “And don’t tell me I don’t want to know because I bloody well do.” His voice was dangerous, threatening.

Buffy glanced around them. The emotional ceremony had ended and people were returning to their cars. A handful still littered the graveyard, paying their respects. She was afraid to give him the information of who killed his mother, having a fairly certain idea of what he would do with it in his state. And it frightened her a little bit.

She wouldn’t have hesitated so much to tell the name to William. But this was “Spike” she was dealing with now, which he insisted on reminding her and everyone else of at every opportunity.

But it seemed Spike, unlike her William, was incapable of taking no for an answer. And that scared her more.

His eyes bore into her and she caved, “Riley Finn,” she spoke, bracing herself for his reaction.

“Fucking bastard,” he growled, storming off.

“William!” Buffy chased after him. Running, she caught up to him. Grabbing his arm, she turned him around. His hands were shaking in silent rage. “You can’t do anything to him that the cops haven’t already.”

“Yes I can,” he replied simply, removing her hand from his arm getting into his car. “I can kill him.”



She said she loved me, but she had somewhere to go
She couldn't scream while I held her close
I swore I'd never let her go
Tell me what you wanna know
Oh come on, oh come on, oh come on
There ain't no motive for this crime
Jenny was a friend of mine
So come on, oh come on, oh come on

I know my rights, I've been here all day and it's time
For me to go, so let me know if it's alright
I just can't take this, I swear I told you the truth
She couldn't scream while I held her close
I swore I'd never let her go
- “Jenny Was A Friend of Mine” The Killers


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .



William shuffled quickly down he hallway away from his locker, determined to get to Geometry without incident.

Hearing the crowd of students in front of him and seeing the group part dutifully further up the hallway, William became fairly certain his goal would not be achieved.

Down the hall they strode, their letterman jackets side to side. Riley Finn and his cronies Graham Miller and Forrest Gates.

William made the fatal mistake of putting his head further parallel to the ground, trying the “If I don’t see them, they won’t see me” mentality. But that only succeeded in pissing them off. But if he had stood there by the lockers, dutifully waiting for their beating, it would only amuse them. Either way, the results would have been the same.

“Hey, Giles,” Finn slide up next to him, grabbing him around the neck more roughly than what was necessary.

“Captain Cardboard,” William replied under his breath.

Forrest halted, “Wait, what did you just call him?”

“I think he just called you a name,” Graham told his friend.

“And just where do you get off, Giles?” Riley asked, pushing him into the rowof lockers behind him. “You got nothing. Except that hot girlfriend of yours. Maybe I should give her a go myself. I doubt you got nothing good for her.”

“I doubt he even had the balls to fuck her yet,” Gates spat, eliciting laughs from his friends.

William’s face was hot with anger, “You just shut up. You’re not good enough to even speak her name.”

If he hadn’t been facing away from them, he was sure they would have ripped the glasses off his face like they usually did. Instead, they settled for throwing his books out of his hands and punching him in the stomach.

Chuckling, the group continued on down the hall, leaving Will crumpled on the floor.

Maybe he should go to the library. Going to see his dad in the library was always a safe haven. He suspected that not one of those stupid lugs even knew where the library was.

Thinking of his father caused his self-esteem issues to surface. He must be such a disappointment. Couples have sons in hope that they’ll be strong. Stand up for themselves. Be the type of strapping young man that parent’s dream of.

His mum and dad had done nothing to lead him to that conclusion, but how could they not help but wish from someone better? They had always supported him in all his endeavors, but even William couldn’t help but overhear the conversation between his parents a couple nights ago.

Through the thin walls separating his bedroom from that of his parents, Will had heard his father express his desire for Will to stick up for himself more. His mum had told his dad that he had always been a “sensitive boy” and asked him if he would prefer some sort of dumb jock for a son. His father had replied of course he didn’t, but showed concern for Will’s ability to survive in the world with no one to watch out for him. Jenny said that Will had survived this far, and would do just fine. Giles had told her to stop coddling her son and maybe he would learn on his own.

His mother had come into Will’s room after the argument, had seen the tears on his face.

Now, as he crouched down on the floor, trying to gather his books as passing students kicked them away from him, he looked up to see his mother standing in the doorway of her classroom, watching him with an encouraging smile on her face.

“Well, well, what is this?” a voice teased flirtatiously. William pivoted on his heels, to find himself at the feet of his angel, who was waving a peace of paper that she had picked up off the floor at him.

“Hey, missy, mitts off. That one’s not finished yet,” he swiped the unfinished poem out of Buffy’s hands.

“Oh, come on, Will,” she pleaded sweetly. “You promised.”

“On your birthday,” he replied, getting up from the floor.

She opened her mouth to further object, but was interrupted by Willow and Xander.

“Hey, Buffster, Will, what’s going on guys?” Xander joined them in their trek to class.

“Will won’t show me his poem. It’s about me you know, that should give me some sort of artistic license over the thing,” Buffy pouted. “I’m his . . .” she trailed off, looking at her boyfriend, “what was it again?”

“My muse, sweetheart” he finished, relieving her of her books and slipping his hand into hers.

“Yeah, his muse, so I say I should get to see it whenever I want,” she stated her case to Willow. William squeezed her hand, and Buffy turned, giving him a beautiful smile.

How in God’s green earth such an angel had deemed him worthy of her attention was beyond him. But he had decided long ago not to question such a gift and vowed to move heaven and earth to make her happy.

TBC

CHAPTER 8 --

A/N: No flashback in this chapter -- it’s (hopefully) a bit of a heavy one, and I really needed it to stand on it’s own.



I said I’m gonna buy this place and burn it down
I’m gonna put it six feet underground . . .
Because I’m gonna buy this place and see it burn
Do back the things it did to you in return
He said oh I’m gonna buy a gun and start a war
If you can tell me something worth fighting for
Oh and I’m gonna buy this place, that’s what I said
Blame it upon a rush of blood to the head
- “A Rush of Blood to the Head” Coldplay





The BMW’s tires squealed against the pavement as Spike peeled down the road. He was surprised that his could still remember where to turn to get to Riley Finn’s house. His blinding anger must have opened up some dark recess of his brain to retract the information. It never even dawned on him to think he may not live with his parents anymore.

Whipping his car to park hap-hazardously across the driveway, Spike launched himself up the porch, his fist pounded against the door.

The man who quickly answered didn’t look particularly surprised to see him.

“Will,” Riley started raggedly.

“It’s Spike now,” he growled, pushing past him into the house.

Riley nodded his okay, closing the door behind them.

He crossed the room to stand in front of Spike.

Momentarily shaking himself of his rage, Spike stopped and took a good solid look at his surroundings.

The room they were in was cramped. Every piece of furniture seemed off-centered. Empty beer bottles and potato chip bags littered every available space. A half-eaten Hungry Man microwave meal sat on the coffee table. The television was on mute, playing some old football game on ESPN.

And the person in front of him was not Riley Finn, high school jock -- the boy who tortured him in school. The man there now wore a beaten jersey and old basketball shorts that failed to hide the ankle bracelet around his left leg or the thirty pounds he’d gained since high school graduation. And it wasn’t muscle.

The fight drained out of him.

They stood there in silence, Spike lost in his own thoughts and Riley’s eyes darting around the room.

Spike’s eyes were unfocused, “Her funeral was today.”

“I know.”

“I came here to kill you,” he continued quietly.

“I know.”

“You made my life a living hell.”

Riley scoffed, “Good to know you didn’t come out of it bitter.”

“No,” Spike shook his head, his voice becoming uncontrollable as it rose in fury, “I came out the winner apparently.” He stormed over to Riley, “But what I can’t figure out is where my fucking prize is!” he screamed, hot tears streaming down his face. “Was it when you ran my mother over and fucking kept driving! You know you probably would have gotten away with it if you hadn’t of wrapped your car around a fucking pole! You always were a dumb fuck.”

Riley shook his head, “Rant all you want, I’ve heard this. Buffy already came and saw me.”

Spike jerked, “Buffy? What does Buffy have to do with any of this?”

Riley sat down on the recliner, “She’s a sweet girl, Spike. I wasn’t any good to her.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed, his voice dangerous, “You better the fuck mean in high school.”

Riley chuckled bitterly, “Didn’t you hear? We dated.”

“You went out with her?” Spike’s jaw ticked, he curled and uncurled his fists.

Riley nodded, “For a couple years in college. I would have thought that under the circumstances everyone would have told you.”

“And what circumstances would those be?”

Riley met his eyes, seemingly ignoring his question, “You left her,” he stated.

“And it was the biggest fucking mistake of my life!” He roared.

With that one exclamation, many things that Spike had been feeling over the past couple days shot to the surface. Feelings about his parents, L.A. . . . and Buffy.

Riley had tortured him all through school, ruining his life. His anger towards Riley and his henchmen had caused him to run away -- run away from Sunnydale and, more importantly, from Buffy. Then the fuck had gone on to date Buffy, which was an action inexcusable in itself. Then, he had killed his mother. Spike had left Sunnydale to escape this sort of anguish, but he hadn’t. Riley had stayed here and killed Jenny. Spike wandered if he had stayed, would it all be different. Riley wouldn’t have dated Buffy, that was for Goddamn sure.

Spike studied Riley again. He was out of college, obviously not using whatever degree he had received, living with his parents. He was a fat alcoholic who had hit rock bottom and was in no position to be on the up anytime soon.

Riley had afflicted more pain to himself than Spike ever could. In the long run Spike had won -- the quintessential geek had beat the school jock. But it was a bittersweet victory.

Riley broke the long silence, “I guess neither one of us really left high school did we?”

Spike jolted at the sudden noise. “I am nothing like you,” he spat.

“Well,” Riley looked over his clothing -- the same warm-up sweats his coach had given him in twelfth grade, “I may have not left it physically. But you sure are mentally holding on,” he challenged.

Without a response, Spike threw himself off the couch and out the door, slamming it behind him.


_____________________________________


It was 2AM and pouring rain by the time he made it to Willy’s, drank until he was cut off by the owner himself, and made it to Buffy’s.

The irony of getting drunk after seeing the man who drove drunk and killed his mother was not lost on him.

But the alcohol hadn’t even begun to distort his thoughts.

He needed answers. He wanted them now.

Pounding up the steps to the door, he beat his hand against the wood.

He could hear footsteps running down the stairs to quickly cease the noise. Throwing open the door, Buffy stood in her pajama. She looked prepared to give him the sharp side of her tongue, but Spike didn’t give her the chance.

“Did you sleep with him?” he delved.

Buffy took in his rugged appearance. Alcohol was on his breath. He was still in his suit from the funeral, but the tie was gone, half his dress shirt was untucked, and the first few buttons were undone. His hair was beginning to form tight curls, the rain having had washed out the moose. “William . . .” she started.

“Did. You. Sleep. With. Him.?”

“No,” she answered, “I haven’t been with anyone since . . .” She stopped. If he was allowed to get angry, so was she. “But so what if I had slept with him?” She crossed her arms, “I wasn’t yours anymore.” She raised her chin defiantly, but her voice softened, “It’s been eight years, Will. You haven’t been back here in eight years. You don’t get to swoop back into town with your . . .”

He braced himself on both sides of the doorframe, leaning in.

She didn’t back away.

His stance was as demanding as his tone, “Is that why you tried to stop me from going to see him today? Do you still have feelings for him?”

“Is this all you’re concerned about?” she asked incredulously. “Did you even know Xander and Willow were at Jenny’s funeral? Xander brought his wife, whom you’ve never met, and Willow cried on the shoulder of her girlfriend.”

“Well excuse me for . . .” he sobered, “Wait! Willow’s gay!? How much did I bloody miss!?”

Buffy closed her eyes and shook her head before leveling her gaze to him, “A lot, Will. A lot.”

She shut the door in his face.



I need some sleep
You can’t go home like this
I tried counting sheep
But there’s one I always miss
Everyone says I’m gettin’ down too low
Everyone says “You just got to let it go”
You just got to let it go
You just got to let it go
- “I Need Some Sleep” Eels

TBC

CHAPTER 9 --

A/N: Yes, I’m back! I feel terrible that Return To You was on a bit of hiatus. You guys were giving such fantastic reviews, but I hit writer’s block. But I find that working on another story (Back Together) cured me. So, I’m pumping out the updates on both. I hope I haven’t lost anyone!

A/N: Now I know I have this story rated R -- and that’s for chapters like this. I don’t think it gets NC-17, because I meant for it to be more innocent then that. (‘Cause remember: This is William sex, not Spike sex (we’ll get to him later)). But just a heads up.

A/N: This was meant to be just a flashback as part of another chapter, but once I got going, the scene just kept growing and growing, so I made it it’s own chapter, with the next (present day) chapter to soon follow.

A/N: (Last one, I promise) I’m not completely happy with how this chapter turned out. Their first time is extremely important, but I didn’t want it to be this long. But, even at the length it’s at I feel like I’m leaving out important reactions and such. I was going for awkward innocence. Please let me know if I am remotely successful, it would be very helpful.




Flashback . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


“Do you really love me?” Buffy asked softly.

They were sprawled out on William’s bed after finishing their English homework for Romeo and Juliet, William having helped her grasp Shakespeare by acting out the scenes with her, much to her delight.

Will straightened at her words, leaning up on one arm to better face her, “Of course. Buffy, you’re my world.” And she was. There was no reason to get up for school in the morning besides the promise of seeing her. She looked at him with that angelic face of hers. She was wearing one of those sundresses he liked. This one had light pink flowers on it.

She leaned down to kiss him and he met her halfway.

“Show me?” She reached out to caress his face, gently taking off his glasses and setting them on the nightstand next to the bed.

William’s body couldn’t help but get excited. The only time she took off his glasses was when she let him make-out with her. The last couple times they’d done this, he’d been able to put his tongue in her mouth and touch her breast through the flimsy material of her shirt. He hoped they’d do it again.

Her hands slid up to his shirt. Bunching up the material, she pulled, satisfied when William came down with an “Ooff” on top of her. Unfazed by their ungraceful movements, she yanked him down to her mouth. Not minding the somewhat rough handling, William daringly opened his mouth and slid his tongue against her lips, almost choking in surprise when she immediately complied, moving her own tongue against his.

“Please, Will,” she asked against his lips. “Show me how much you love me.”

Now just comprehending her meaning, William nearly gave himself whiplash pulling back in surprise, taking hold of the hands that were now starting down his chest. “What?” he sputtered. “You mean . . .”

Buffy lowered her head and blushed a little, nervous about saying it aloud. They were both soon to be eighteen. A bunch of kids at school had done it and it didn’t seem like there was a time when her and William weren’t together. And although she was certain she’d be with him always, she didn’t want to wait anymore. She wanted him to be her first and only.

William was still blinking at her, shocked. “But my mum and da . . .”

“Are at Parent-Teacher night and won’t be home for hours,” she injected. When he didn’t respond right away, Buffy flushed brighter, and looked away. He didn’t want her. But why? She thought they loved each other? She had overheard Cordelia Chase in the bathroom one day, saying that guys always wanted it. There must be something wrong with her.

“Buffy,” he spoke her name and waited until she looked at him. “If you’re not sure at any time, you just say the word, alright?”

She responded with a beautiful smile, nodding her head in agreement and settling herself back against the pillows, waiting for him.

She was apparently letting him take the lead for a while, having been the instigator -- a move that had him nervous. William had no idea what to do when it came to sex. But he’d read a lot of books -- both medical and the ones his mother kept on her bookshelf with pictures of pirates and scantily clad women on the covers. And he knew it wouldn’t feel good for her at first. Not as good as it would feel to him. And he was sure it would feel great. So sure he was starting to shake with the anticipation.

Slowly reaching out, careful as if he might hurt her, he played with the straps of her dress. When her doe eyes continued to look back at him innocently, he continued by taking the thin material off her shoulders and leaned down to kiss the skin there. When she sighed and tilted her head to bare her neck to him, he peppered slow, hesitant kisses all over the area.

She ran her fingers deeply through his dark hair, a caress she knew he liked. Usually when they were at her house watching tv, she’d sit behind him and do this. His eyes would drift shut and his head would fall back. And she liked the purring sound he made.

Trailing her hands down, she came to the buttons on his shirt, her little tongue sticking out the side of her mouth in concentration as she undid each one. Pushing the shirt off him, he beheld her in absolute wonder -- as if not believing this was truly happening.

He tenderly lifted his hands to her breast, peeling away the fabric of the dress. He softly saw to them with his mouth, causing her to hold him to her. He pulled back.

“Effulgent,” he whispered, a smile at the corner of his lips.

Buffy gave him her own wistful smile, “What?” Possibly her most favorite thing about him was when he was struck with bouts of inspiration. Well now, it’s that and his stomach, she thought, blushing.

“Another word for gleaming,” he replied.

“Oh,” she answered, tracing her hands to his belt, smoothly undoing it, “I think I like that one.” She lifted up her hips, shimmying out of her dress, unconsciously grinding herself against him in the process.

Will yanked his trousers off, now both completely naked. He moved back to kiss her. She froze, “Will, do you have . . .”

“Oh, yes, of course,” he answered, fumbling for the condom. “I’m sorry, Buffy, I almost forgot.”

She kissed his brow, “It’s okay, I did too.”

He touched his forehead to hers, and she gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

When he entered her she gasped, grabbing onto his arms, “It hurts, Will,” she whimpered.

“I know, sweetheart. Just hold on, please. It will be better, I promise.” But it was an empty promise because Will had no idea how long it would take. He just held still, closed his eyes, and prayed it would be soon.

But he lost control for an instant and surged his hips. He heard her gasp in shock and stiffen under him. He looked at her wide-eyed, apologies ready to fall from his lips.

And just like that she look up and graced him with her smile. “Do that again.”

Figuring he must have done something right, Will repeated the action. Getting the same response from her and loving the surprised look that crossed her face every time, he steadily built the movement’s frequency and strength.

“Will, I love you.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but found himself incapable of speech, utterly and hopelessly lost in the rhythm and feel of her. He responded instead by smashing her mouth with his, muffling the sounds of their completed pleasure.



Later, they lay next to each other in bed, hands caressing anywhere they could find, talking about anything and everything. The current topic of conversation being Parent-Teacher Night.

“I wonder what you’re mom will say to Finn and Gunn’s parents,” she giggled, picturing Jenny with the parents of the boys who so openly tortured her son. “I hope she tells them off.”

Will’s face darkened and Buffy instantly wished she hadn’t said anything.

“Oh, Will, I wish you would just ignore them.”

But he couldn’t. By their continual mean-spirited jests, they were questioning his manhood, or whatever you wanted to call it. Questioning his ability to function as a man. And it wasn’t just them. It was the whole town. The rest of them didn’t do it knowingly, but they still treated him like a little boy. The nice little Giles boy who never did anything wrong and would grow up to be a replica of his father. The community my be accepting of such a fate, but his peers were not.

And William wanted more than that.

It never bothered him before. But in the past couple years, it had. He hadn’t said anything to Buffy about it. She knew that it bothered him, but had no idea to what extent.

But just for tonight, for Buffy, he’d block it out.

“Sleep for awhile? Before you have to go home?”

Buffy nodded sleepily, burrowing her body into his and quickly drifting off to sleep.

Pushing the negative thoughts away, William reached his arm behind him, setting the alarm to go off in a half-hour. Then, turning back to his goddess, he brushed blonde locks away from her face, placing a kiss on her forehead. He whispered to her how much he loved her, before lying back onto the pillow and falling asleep himself.

TBC

CHAPTER 10 --



Well I been thinking about the future
But I'm too young to pretend
It's such a waste to always look behind you
Should be lookin' straight ahead

Yeah, I'm gonna have to move on

'Cause every once in a while
You think about if your gonna get yourself together
You should be happy just to be alive
And just because you just don't feel like comin' home
Don't mean that you'll never arrive
- “Move On” Jet




Spike slid out if his car, jogging up the winding walkway to the house. Knocking on the screen door he stepped back, hands jammed in his jeans pockets, rocking on his heels.

Seconds later, a somewhat familiar redhead answered. Her hair was shorter, cut in one of those stylish bobs. She was wearing some make-up -- more than he’d ever seen her wear before. The sweater and jeans she wore was incomparable to the loose overalls he had known her to wear. Spike smiled. Little Willow had grown up.

“William,” she exclaimed in surprise. “I . . . I thought you’d be gone by now.”

Spike smiled, apparently her nervous bumbling hadn’t changed and he was glad it hadn’t, “Decided to stay around a little bit longer.”

“Oh . . . Well, that’s great.” Willow glanced nervously behind her.

Spike grinned at his friend’s fidgeting, “That her?”

“Is that who?” She answered instantly. “There’s no one else . . . Here, I mean.”

Spike shook his head at his friend’s flustered response. “Your girlfriend, Red.”

A wash of relief rushed over her features, “Oh, so you know.”

He chuckled, “Yeah, Red, Buffy told me.”

“Oh!” she gleamed, “You talked to Buffy!” She motioned him into the house.

“Yeah,” he replied noncommittally. “Look, I’m sorry about the other day, Red. At the funeral. I didn’t even say hello.”

“Oh! No! That’s okay, really,” she interjected.

“No,” Spike insisted. “No it’s not. You were there for me and I ignored you. There’s no excuse for that.”

“Baby? Was there someone at the door?” A warm woman with shoulder-length brown hair and a bohemian skirt entered the living room. “Oh, hi,” she smiled.

“Tara, this is William. We went to high school together,” Willow motioned to Spike.

He was glad she left out the “he used to date Buffy” part of the introduction that seemed to be forever glued to his name.

“It’s Spike now,” he added.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” Tara offered, her soothing voice full of understanding.

“Thanks,” Spike responded. There was something about this girl’s condolences that seemed deeper and somehow more well-meaning than the numerous apologies he’d been getting the last few days. He instantly liked her.

Willow led the group of them over to the dining room table. “So,” she sat up brightly, “how is Buffy? I haven’t talked to her in a couple days.”

Spike seriously doubted that. Even at their busiest, Willow and Buffy had talked every night before bed. A lot had changed since he left Sunnydale, but not so much that he doubted that this was a ploy by Willow to get his side of the Spike-Buffy dynamic.

“Well, from what I can remember, she seems to be doing just fine,” he answered finally.

Willow looked at him quizzically.

“I may have been a little drunk the last time we talked.” He took in his friend’s fretful look. “Don’t worry, Red, she put me in my place right proper.”

“Oh,” she said flatly, “That’s good, I guess,” she added, always trying to find the silver lining of every dark cloud. “Have you seen Xander yet?”

Spike shook his head, “Was thinking about going over there. I’m afraid he’ll be a bit more tougher of a sell than you, Red.”

Willow nodded in understanding, “He was always a bit . . . defensive when it came to Buffy and forgiveness never was one of his strong points.

Spike sighed, getting to his feet, “I better get going. I’m meetin’ my dad back at his place. I’ll see you around, Red,” he accepted her hug.

“I’m so glad you came home,” she told him.

Spike, not quite sure he shared her sediment, simply replied, “Thanks.”

When they finally broke apart he nodded at the other woman, “Tara.”

“It was nice meeting you,” she smiled softly.

“Oh, Spike, how long were you planning to stay in town?” Willow called after him, leaning out the door.

“Just until I make some amends, then I’m back to L.A.”


TBC (next chapter -- flashback -- what happened between Buffy and Spike)

CHAPTER 11 --



Where is your heart?
'Cause I don't really feel you
Where is your heart?
What I really want is to believe you
Is it so hard
To give me what I need?
I want your heart to bleed
And that's all I'm asking for
Oh, where is your heart?

It seems so much is left unsaid
So much is left unsaid
But you can say anything
Oh, anytime you need
Baby, it's just you and me
Oh yeah

I know that you're true to me
You're always there
You say you care
I know that you want to be mine
-”Where Is You Heart?” Kelly Clarkson



Flashback . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


“What?” Buffy breathed, feeling as if she’d been hit in the stomach and the back of the head simultaneously. It took all the strength in her body not to double over in agony.

“I know you think we’re going to get married right out of high school and live happily ever after, but we’re not, so get it out of your head!” Spike barked defensively, even though she hadn’t given him a reason to use the tone.

He was breaking up with her.

Buffy felt the bile rise to her throat. She took a step away from him, one hand griping the porch banister. “What’s going on? Don’t lie to me, William.”

When he had arrived, she had answered the door and smiled that bright smile and looked at him with those big doe eyes of hers that reflected absolute trust and love that he almost lost his nerve to do was he was about to do. How big of a mistake was he about to make? But he had to. “I’m leaving,” he answered finally. “On Thursday, I’m leaving.”

“But that’s graduation,” she countered.

He nodded, “As soon as they hand me my diploma, I’m gone. I’ve been accepted into a school in Los Angeles.” He distanced them further. If he got any closer he was sure he would rush to her, begging for her forgiveness on being such an idiot.

She met his eyes and the pain in them matched his own forlorn soul, “But I thought --”

“What?” he snapped again. “That I’d go to UC Sunnydale? With everyone else we bloody graduated with? No, I’m not staying mama’s boy William forever -- a bloody joke to everyone in this town.”

“Not to me. You were never a joke to me. And if I had any misguided notions in my head of us spending the rest of our lives together it was because you put them there!” Tears of hurt and frustration rolled down her face. “You lied to me!” Her voice broke, “I thought we loved each other?”

“We do. But Buffy,” he pleaded desperately, “I need to get out of here -- by myself. Prove that I can make it well enough on my own.”

“So that’s it,” she crossed her arms in disgust, “Because of some male pride issue your fleeing from your life, your family, from me?”

He couldn’t explain it any differently, to make her see. And to continue to stand at a stalemate would only torture them both. “I’ll see you at graduation Buffy,” Spike tore himself off the porch. In his haste he failed to see her face fall and hear her last whispered plea.

“Don’t leave me. Please.”

Will walked determined to his car, forcing himself to ignore the overwhelmingly strong tug of his heart to turn around and run back to his girl. The tears streaming down his face - the tears he didn’t want her to see - kept his strides even.






Three days later, Buffy watched from her metal folding chair among her fellow graduates as William Giles’s name was called. Approaching the podium, walking across the stage, and accepting his diploma, he slowed as he exited the stage. Easily finding Buffy in the crowd. Buffy met his eyes, not bothering to hide the suffering that showed so plainly.

Will passed the seats that his other classmates were returning to and continued to walk away.




Fifteen minutes later, Xander strolled up to his friend, who was resting against the door of his Desoto a block from their alma mater. “So what’s with the double-oh secrecy? You ask me to meet you here and not tell anyone about it. What’s up?”

“Congratulations mate,” William held out the keys to the car behind him.

Xander choked on air, “Wait, you’re giving me your car!”

“I’m taking a taxi to the airport, I’ll get another car when I make enough money.” He placed the keys soundly into his hand.

“Will . . . I just can’t . . .” Xander continued to sputter.

“I just,” William interrupted, “need to go to L.A. with a clean slate. Tabula rasa and all that rot.” Xander seemed less than convinced. “Just watch it for me while I’m gone,” he amended. “Feel free to drive it whenever your parents make you crazy,” he tried to get his friend to smile.

“You’re really doing this,” Xander studied him, only now truly grasping the idea that he many never see his childhood friend again.

“I am,” William answered, beginning his trek down the street to the awaiting taxi. “Take care of her while I’m gone.”

“The car or Buffy?” Xander called to him in seriousness.

“Both.”






When Buffy and her family arrived home from the ceremony, a large bouquet of daisies awaited her at the doorstep. Picking them up, she let her family filter into the house while she lingered behind.

Across the street a taxi sat waiting. Though the glare of the sun offered no view inside the car, she knew who it was and hugged the flowers to her chest as if they would ease the pain found there.

“Okay, I’m ready,” William spoke from the back seat.

And the taxi pulled away.



I'm gonna get me outta here
I got me some cash
I'm heading back to LA
I'm gonna get me outta here

I'm sacking the man
cause the man is a thief
I'm kicking the plan
before the plan kicks me
I'm gonna get me
Get me out of here
I'm gonna get me
Get me out of here
- “Get Me Outta Here” Jet

TBC
 

CHAPTER 12–

A/N: You guys were so amazing with your reviews for the last chapter. I really took them to heart on how I’m gonna write the story. Thank you for the e-mails.

A/N: Additional line added in Chapter 8. There really isn’t a need to go back and read the chapter, as I have recapped the line in this one, but I haven’t updated in so freakin’ long you may need to go back and refresh anyway :)


And when there's nowhere else to run
Is there room for one more son
These changes ain't changing me
The cold-hearted boy I used to be
- “All These Things I’ve Done” The Killers





The slam of his front door caused Giles to jolt, spilling some of the bourbon from the glass he held onto the front of his wrinkled shirt.

His attention was torn between saving his outfit and William, who was stomping around the room determinedly. Will ceased his pacing for a moment, taking in the scene of his father before him. Suddenly he marched toward his father, who lurched backward in surprise, the alcohol in his system causing his head to spin momentarily. Giles watched helplessly as his son seized the liquor bottle in front of him and made his way to the kitchen, not sure whether he planned to join him in a drink or chuck the bottle against the wall. Giles seriously hoped it was the former.

He relaxed a moment, and went to take another sip. Seconds later he heard the sound of liquid swirling down the sink.

Giles’s eyes followed his son confusedly around the room, “Will, that liquor you just poured down my drain was from my wedding day!” He moved to stand of angrily, decided better of it when his stomach lurched in response, and set himself back down.

“And would Mum want you drinking it now?” Will questioned.

“YOU were drinking it yesterday!” Giles hollered back.

Will was silent for a moment, “Well I’m done now.”

“Bloody doesn’t well mean I have to be,” he grumbled. Rupert Giles had gotten accustomed in the last few days to the zigzagging of his son’s moods. He learned it was better to just flow along with them rather then fight against them. If he tried to fight them, William would just rebel and do something drastic.

Will moved to the front door, his hand on the knob, “Come on.”

Giles sighed, tired and weary, his framed visibly deflating, “I don’t want to go out there, Will.”

Spike’s emotionally-driven physical tirade finally wavered, “We’ll make a pact,” he said finally. “Anyone who gives us condolences or looks at us sorry, we’ll . . .” he searched around him then picked up a soccer ball from behind the door, “hit ‘em with this.”

That got a chuckle out of his father. Inhaling deeply, he nodded slowly, “Alright, William, you win,” he pushed himself up out the chair he had made his residence for the past couple days. Sleeping in his and Jenny’s bed had been too painful, so he had taken to the recliner in the living room. The couch next to him was still mussed from the other night when William had sensed his father wasn’t upstairs and had brought his blanket and pillow down on the couch. Silently he set up his own makeshift bed in the living room, unwilling to leave his father alone. It was at that moment, as Giles watched his son situate himself next to him in the dark, that he felt he had his son back, that there was some bit of William left in that Spike exterior.

Locking the door behind him, Giles followed his son outside, his eyes squinting painfully against the sun, which he hadn’t seen in days. Spike made his way to his car.

“No, Will,” Giles stopped him, “Let’s walk,” he angled his head towards the sidewalk that stretched down past a row of cheery houses.

“Okay,” Spike conceded, falling into step with his father.

They silently meandered their way through the streets, Spike never needing to use the ball tucked under his arm, eventually ending up at a small park, which was momentarily deserted.

Looking around the park, Spike made his way over to the swings, sitting down on one and letting his legs rock him back and forth.

“Do you remember when I used to take you here?” Giles asked, hands in his pockets, approaching his son.

Spike nodded, “You used to swing with me. Mom would sometimes come by and watch us.”

Giles nodded in agreement, “She was always afraid you were going fall.”

“That’s because I usually did,” Spike replied with a grin. “I still do,” he added quietly, his demeanor insinuating that he was no longer talking about the swing set.

Giles sat on the swing next to him and joined him in the rhythmic motion. Spike dropped the ball on the ground in front of him and lightly kicked it around.

“You may not have been close to your mother towards the end, but I was.” Buffy’s words rung in Spike’s head. It was true Spike hadn’t stayed close to his family. Buffy had. She had known his own mother better than he had during the last years of her life.

Spike shook his head, “God Dad, I’m such a bloody wanker. How could I not have called? Come visit? When was the last time I was home for fucking Christmas?”

“You mother knew what you did was important,” Giles replied gently.

“But that’s just it, Dad, it wasn’t. And it’s still not. Not as important as her.”

“Or Buffy?”

Spike’s head shot up, “She has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh but she does. You’re finally realizing what’s really special in life, straightening out your priorities. And as much as I wish it was, this new change in attitude is not due to just you. It’s her.”

Spike opened his mouth to argue, but didn’t. It had taken him to hit rock bottom and his mother’s death to shake his current foundation. And it was Buffy who was making him question if he even wanted to rebuild it again.

“Decide now,” Giles stated.

“What?”

“I understand why you would gravitate towards her. Buffy is safe and familiar. But decide now if she’s more important than whatever you have going on in L.A. Because if you get involved with her and then decide she isn’t . . . . Let’s just say she’s not the only one in this town who would never forgive you.”




Come up to meet you, tell you I’m sorry
You don’t know how lovely you are
I had to find you, tell you I need you
Tell you I set you apart
Tell me your secrets, and ask me your questions
Oh lets go back to the start
Running in circles, coming up tails
Heads on a silence apart

Nobody said it was easy
Oh it’s such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said that it would be this hard
Oh take me back to the start
- “The Scientist” Coldplay


TBC