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Chapter 3

You never get to relax. When you're in prison, you're constantly looking over your shoulder and worrying about what's going to happen next.

There was something about bonding over a giant ice-cream that broke down the barriers faster than weeks of getting to know someone ever could. He'd watched in awe as she'd tucked into the giant confection, uncaring that she was getting it all over her face, and matched her mouthful for mouthful because he wasn't going to be made to look a wimp by someone half his size. Both of them went way past the stage at which they'd started to feel sick.

William wondered if she knew that he'd never give up, even if it killed him. That he'd got through two years of prison through sheer determination alone. He'd surprised himself by not giving up on life, he wasn't going to give up on an ice-cream.

I'm impressed," she said, giving him a sideways look as they strolled back along the boardwalk.

"Why? Didn't you think I had it in me?" He walked beside her hands in pockets, keeping close. The sunny weekend had brought the crowds out and the seafront was bustling with people milling about, shopping, sunbathing, children shrieking and screaming. An organ-grinder with a real live monkey holding out a cup, begging for coins. Buffy dropped the change from the ice cream into it as they passed.

"No, it's not that." She thought about it for a moment. "If I'd ordered you another, you'd have eaten it, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," he replied, stepping aside as a couple of teenagers on skates shouldered between them.

Another short silence, and then she turned to him again. "Is that what it was like in prison?"

Her directness stopped him in his tracks. She stopped too, leaning an elbow on the boardwalk railing as she waited for him to answer.

"Yeah," he said, unable, or possibly unwilling, to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Prison was like that. You do whatever it takes to get through it, no matter how sick it makes you feel."

She watched him patiently as he spoke. "I'm still impressed," she said.

"Yeah, me too." He wasn't sure whether he was referring to himself or her when he said that. If it was him, it was the first time he'd thought of himself in those terms. He'd certainly never patted himself on the back and congratulated himself for surviving all this. All he could remember was the sigh of relief

"You should be," she said, turning to look at the sea. "Let's walk back along the beach."

Before he could answer she was running down the steps that led from the boardwalk to the sand, slipping off her shoes as she went. He left his boots on as he followed her, but she wasn't having that.

"No, William, take them off, the sand's lovely and warm, let yourself feel it."

He hesitated and shook his head. "I'm fine, let's just get back." It felt as if everyone was looking at him, whispering behind their hands, the children pointing. "Didn't you say you had work to do?"

"It can wait. Take them off, go on. You're not walking along this beach in those boots."

She dipped towards him as if she was going to do it for him and he sidestepped sharply at her sudden movement. But he managed to keep a grip on himself. Just a girl, just Buffy. She wasn't going to hurt him.

Buffy gave him a brief look of concern as she stood up. Slowly this time as if she didn't want to startle him again.

"What, you've got hobbit feet or something? Don't want me to see?"

It made him laugh, broke the tension, so he sat down on the steps and took them off, stuffed his socks inside and tied the laces together like he used to do as a child.

"You see," she said, "no hobbit feet. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

She didn't look as if she wanted an answer, so he didn't give her one as they negotiated the crowds clustered around the steps. Happy people enjoying normal things. He walked among them, felt the same gritty sand between his toes, the same sun warming his back, but he wasn't part of them, not any more. He wondered if he'd ever lose this feeling of being an alien in a world that now felt all wrong. A world that had left him behind. Wondered if he'd ever be able to walk by himself again without needing someone to follow.

"The ice cream," she said as the crowd thinned out. "It was just a joke, you didn't have to eat it all."

"Now you tell me."

"No, I mean it. Look, sit with me for a while. I need to talk to you."

The words caused a small thread of panic to ripple through him, as it had done just before she'd announced that she wanted him to stay, back at the house, and for a moment he couldn't remember whether she'd actually said it or not.

"Sure, you want to talk about the website?" he said, tentatively.

"No, there's plenty of time for that. I want to talk about you, if you don't mind, that is."

It was bound to happen. Of course she'd want reassurance that he was okay, like everyone did. So he'd tell her, because this story, he knew off by heart. Hadn't he been telling it for the last six months?

"No, I don't mind," he said, "but I warn you. I'm a very boring person."

"So, everything's okay then?"

"Couldn't be better."

"That's good."

The house was about half a mile from the town centre and they'd almost reached it. Here, the beach was deserted apart from a group of teenagers who were vainly trying to get a kite to fly. Buffy led him over the dunes away from them and towards the wall of the property, where she sat herself down, arranged her skirt over her drawn-up knees and patted the space beside her.

"Come on, and don't look so worried, William," she said, her hands shading her eyes as she looked up at him. "I just want to get to know you, that's all. Wouldn't you like to do the same with me?"

In another world, maybe. Another time, when he'd have been down on his knees in front to this beautiful woman and quoting poetry by now. There was probably the perfect line somewhere for the way the sunlight caught her hair as it lifted in the breeze. The way her eyes softened as she looked up at him. He didn't know what colour they were because he hadn't gotten that close yet, but they no longer held any fear. Her initial reaction he'd been expecting, but this quiet acceptance disarmed him completely. She didn't look at him as if he was a monster like most people did and she was the first woman since he'd come out of prison who'd heard his story and was still willing to sit in a secluded place and be alone with him.

God yes, this was a moment worthy of poetry. But he couldn't think of a single line. And even if there had been any poetry left in his life, the William who'd quoted it so eloquently just wasn't there any more.

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The hell he was okay. Buffy knew bullshit when she heard it.

"Earlier," she said squinting up at him. "I didn't mean to be so hard on you."

"Oh, when was that then?" he said picking at the knot he'd made out of his laces.

"When I said you felt sorry for yourself. Sounds a little harsh now, I mean, you have every right to."

"Naa, just what I needed, a good kick up the backside. Bloody knot."

Buffy watched him struggle with it, his fingers jerking and twisting as he cursed under his breath.

"Give them here," she said reaching up. "You're just making it worse, let me do it."

He gave it another token pull before dropping down beside her and handing them over. "Got no patience with that sort of thing."

"I can see that," she said, eyeing the mess he'd made. It wasn't going to be an easy conversation and she was glad of the distraction as she thought of the right thing to say. He positioned himself carefully so that he wasn't touching her, but she got the impression that he wanted to be close. As if he wasn't comfortable being out in the open. That figured, she thought as she freed the laces. Being locked in a tiny room for so long had to do things to you.

"Here, all done," she said handing the boots back to him. "I meant it, what I said before, William, Will? What do people normally call you?"

"You want the polite answer to that?"

"I'll call you William then?"

"Sure," he replied tying off the boot-laces and wrapping his arms around his knees. "I'll answer to anything."

The nonchalance didn't fool her either, it was far too studied, like a well-practiced drill. And his name. She should use his real name. Did you ever hear your real name in prison?

"You don't have to, not any more."

"No, I don't. Kind of got used to it though."

"I can imagine."

"No, you can't," he said quietly.

Buffy picked up a handful of sand and watched it run through her fingers, and scatter in the wind. She couldn't imagine what it was like to have your freedom taken away from you. To have your life spoon-fed to you with no control over it.

"I know what you were accused of William, and I know you were innocent." She turned to him. "I'm not scared of you. Is that what you're worried about?"

"I was." He laughed to himself. "Until I met you. Your mum said you were one tough lady, and after watching you demolish that ice cream, I'm thinking she was right."

"So you'll talk to me? I can't work with you if this is going to be hanging between us. I'd like to know I'm not going to offend you by asking you things."

"Yeah, it's cool," he said picking up a shell and inspecting it closely. "Look at that. It's beautiful."

"I know," she said taking it from him. "I paint pictures of them, on boxes and things, that kind of stuff's very popular right now."

"Yeah? So where do you sell them?"

"Couple of friends of mine have a New- Age shop on the boardwalk."

"That'd be Willow and Tara?"

"Yeah, mom's told you all the gossip then? Bet she didn't stop talking the whole journey down."

"Had some of their cookies earlier. And I like your mom, she's a nice lady."

"She's going back to work on Monday, so it'll just be you and me in the house."

"And you're okay with that?" A slight tightening again, as if he was on a journey of one step forward, two steps back.

"Just told you, didn't I?" she said.

He breathed again, his shoulders dropping as the tension released. It made Buffy realise just how unfair on him this conversation was when he was still so obviously unsure of where he stood in all this. The inward-facing body language, the clenched hands, the way he watched her constantly as if he was analysing every movement of hers, every facial expression, told her what an effort all this was for him. She'd summoned him to sit with her like a school principal about to read the riot act to a wayward student. And he still didn't seem as if he'd got the message that she wanted him to stay. Perhaps she wasn't saying it right? Or perhaps he just wasn't hearing it?

A silence stretched between them. One of those silences you can almost feel, where an awareness of the person you're with seems to grow until it's almost tangible. Neither of them were looking at the other, but as Buffy stared at the kite that had somehow managed to get airborne she could feel the energy coming off him. He radiated a strange kind of melancholy, like someone who's searching for something and is at that point of despairing that they'll ever find it.

Lost, that's how he felt. As if he was wandering in the darkness, and all she had to do was reach out, take his hand and show him where the road was. He wasn't touching her, but his unspoken plea for help hovered between them, making her skin tingle as it whispered to her. It was the lightest of things, but the weight of responsibility it placed on her shoulders was the heaviest she'd ever felt.

This was serious stuff. This was real, something that would make a difference, and apart from her mom and Gran, Buffy couldn't remember a time when she'd had to worry about someone else quite so deeply. And it was already too late not to worry about him. She may have been dragged here kicking and screaming, but she had a strong feeling that she'd just passed the point at which she was going to go willingly.

"You okay, Buffy? Gone kind of quiet."

He was watching her thoughtfully, and at least he looked more relaxed now. Leaning his head back against the wall, he'd unwrapped himself a little and looked less tightly coiled. One hand played idly in the sand, the other hung loosely between his knees. His face caught the glancing light as he tilted it back, causing fascinating highlights and shadows, and Buffy wished she'd bought a sketchbook with her to record it.

Be his link back to the world. Her mother's voice rang in her ears.

"Yes, I am okay." She stood up, shook the sand out of her skirt and slipped into her shoes. "And you're going to be too, William. Come on, I'll show you round the rest of the place."

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Her eyes were green, and from nowhere, the perfect line had popped into his head.

Oh, though art fairer than the evening air, Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.

Cheesy as hell, but that was William for you. Always ready with the sweet talk. And look where it had got him.

The gate was locked, so they climbed over the wall into the garden. He gave her his hand and helped her down, earning himself a curious look. Playing the gentleman because, even though he knew she was made of steel, she covered it with an endearing femininity that called to a part of him he thought was long lost.

She was small and sweet, and that made him 'He Man, Master of the Universe.' Or it would have, once upon a time, if he still went to that place. As she walked ahead of him, beckoning him towards a wooden structure by a small copse of trees, he noticed how see-through the sunshine made her skirt, rendering her legs clearly visible as the thin, flowery cotton swung around them.

He'd told himself that he'd never look at another woman again, and for two years he didn't have to. Then he'd worried about how he'd cope when he came out. He hadn't stopped fancying women just like that, not even if he had spent the last two years fending off the very insistent advances of half the male prison population. His heterosexuality was the one thing he'd been determined to hang on to, but it was a pretty useless prize. He was scared to death of women now. And most of them were terrified of him.

"See," she said, pulling back the door. "Hot tub. Gran installed it for us, but the town council wouldn't let us have it in the garden so she got Xander to build this for us."

The cover was off and a steamy mist hung over the water, which glittered invitingly as it caught the sun's rays through the open doors.

"Isn't it fab?" Buffy said as she showed him inside. "We've had some great parties here. There's loads of swimwear in the house, if you haven't brought any with you that is. I hope you'll use it while you're here."

"Who's Xander?" he asked, neatly sidestepping her question.

She didn't press him on the swimwear, or lack of it. Or hot tub parties. Instead she led him back outside again and answered him cheerfully.

"A very, very dear friend of mine. Runs a small building firm, well, more of a one man band really but he sometimes takes on a local boy to help when he gets busy. Does all the maintenance on the house, which means he's here a lot. Come on, I'll show you my studio."

He almost did have to run to keep up with her. Bright, perky and enthusiastic, three more words to add to his Buffy vocabulary. And who was Xander? Just exactly how dear was he to her? Questions he didn't have a right to ask, so he kept quiet and let her lead him to the place where she worked, where he'd find more clues about who she was.

The studio was in an outbuilding attached to one side of the house. It looked as if it might have been a barn or a stable at some time, as the ceiling was high with exposed beams and there was a half-floor that formed a loft area where hay might have been stored. Light and sunny and lined with shelves holding all the usual artists' paraphernalia. It wasn't too tidy but it had a kind of disordered charm about it. Several finished canvases stood against the walls and an easel with a new canvas taped to it took centre stage.

"That's the latest," she said standing back and looking at one of the paintings with a critical eye. "Oils take ages to dry, not my favourite medium but she really wanted it. Gonna put it in a big gilt frame, all stately home-like. What do you think?"

"Bloody hell." The appreciation was completely spontaneous. It was good, but then again, having met Buffy he shouldn't really have expected any less. "I think we ought to get that website up and running as fast as we can. How much do you charge?"

"One hundred and fifty dollars, maybe two hundred for a large one. Too much? And I really was only thinking of putting the boxes and stuff on the website."

He shook his head. "You can get way more than that. People aren't just buying a painting here, they're buying a family heirloom." He moved in closer and squinted at the other painting. It was a watercolour, a lot more delicate than the other, but it showed that she had a good mastery of a variety of styles. He didn't need his spectacles to see that. "You said it yourself, stately homes, big gilt frames. Appeal to people's vanity, their delusions of grandeur and you're on to a winner."

"I already thought I was," she said opening a small fridge and producing two cans of Coke. "Here, catch. So, you gonna make me a millionaire then? Come on, I can see those brain cells working from here, what are you thinking?"

"Well," he said turning around slowly and taking it all in. "You've got photos of all your paintings and stuff?"

"All the past stuff, yeah, I always take loads of photos. In fact, don't tell anyone, but I work mainly from photos." She giggled as she told him that. "All I need is an initial session with the model to get the pose and the face, and a few colour references. I take a whole bunch of photos and I do a series of sketches which they approve and then that's it, really."

One end of the studio was set up for the model with a wing back armchair, a dining chair and a one-armed sofa covered in plush red velvet. A few impressive looking ferns and what looked like an aspidistra stood against the wall in large pots. Heavy red velvet drapes adorned the backdrop which was painted with mock panelling and a trompe l'oeill window.

"I use the house too, just depends on what the client wants." Buffy wandered across the room and sat herself down on the sofa. "Come and sit down, you've got lots of ideas, I can tell. Get 'em out while they're hot."

All that talent gone to waste. One of his tutors had said that to him soon after he was arrested. William had been an ideas man, a real thinker, a problem solver and all that energy that should have gone into a sparkling career had been stamped on so hard that he'd thought there was nothing of it left. But the minute he'd walked in here it had all switched on again. Not gone, he thought with relief, just buried somewhere so deep that he hadn't been able to find it, until now.

"Lie down," he told her. "Like this." He bent his elbow and placed his hand flat against his head. "Lean on one arm."

She just stared at him for a second and then she caught on to what he wanted. "The classic pose," she said, hitching up her legs and bending one knee to complete it. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we need to get you into some of those dresses and take some pictures for the website. Do you do any advertising?"

"Not really," she replied arranging her skirt between her legs. "Goes mostly by word of mouth."

"Not anymore," he said, warming to his subject. "You got any good looking friends?"

"A few, you mean we get them all to dress up and pose?"

"Yeah." He tilted his head from side to side as he visualised what he was thinking. "We pose everyone in the costumes, soft filters, nice lighting. You paint them, then we put the photos and pictures on the website. Sort of 'Your Face Here.' Show them a beautiful woman and they're already halfway to thinking that's them."

Buffy sat up. "Or a handsome man. I love it, William. The whole costume and dressing up thing, it's all about selling an illusion, isn't it?"

"You've got the perfect set up here, the house, the beach. Do you do location shots?"

"I haven't yet, but I can see it." Buffy lifted her arm dramatically. "Enigmatic woman with parasol sitting on the dunes."

"Victorian Picnic," he said, walking across the room and sitting himself down in the armchair.

"French Lieutenant's Woman standing forlornly on the pier waiting for her lover to return," she added with infectious enthusiasm. "And talking of lovers, how about we do a naughty nineties spread? Late nineteenth century fin-de-siecle decadence. I've got the most amazing collection of period underwear, and the bedrooms would be the most perfect location."

That stopped him dead in his tracks. He wasn't allowed to talk about things like that. Wasn't supposed to be visualising her spread across the brass bed wearing satin and lace with little pink ribbons threaded through. Too dangerous. Always the question in the back of his mind, what if it happens again? The impossible had already nearly destroyed him once, what was to stop lightening from striking again?

"William?"

"Buffy?" Her face was in front of him, but he didn't remember her getting up, or moving towards him.

"They're all wonderful ideas. I love it."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. What happened just now? You were in full flow and then you just sort of froze."

He focused on her face, heck, he'd thought this was going to be hard, but he hadn't counted on making such a prat of himself. Thought he'd at least have been able to look normal on the outside.

"You sure you want to work with me?" he said in a shaky voice.

"After watching you just now? You wanna bet? I'm seriously impressed, William. The way you just picked up the ball and ran with it, the way we sparked off each other. We are going to make such a good team."

"If I can stay this side of crazy." He tried to get up but she stopped him.

"Is that how you feel?"

"What, crazy?" He leaned back into the chair and looked down at the hand she'd placed on his arm. It was shaking, but it wasn't her, it was him. "Pretty much sums it up."

"But you're not though." She kept her gaze steady, keeping eye contact as if she feared he was going to bolt at any moment. "You might feel it, but you're not."

"Okay, I'm not crazy. You still want to work with me?

"I do, and I'll repeat it as many times as you need to hear it."

He nodded in thanks, not trusting himself to speak. Her generosity, like her mother's was overwhelming, a gift that took his breath away.

"Was it something I said?"

He nodded again. "I have to be careful Buffy. When you mentioned the, umm, underwear, and the bed, well, I have to be careful about that sort of thing." Just talking about it made him uncomfortably hot, and not in the good way he'd enjoyed before his life took such an abrupt about turn.

"Why?"

"Pretty obvious, isn't it?"

"No." Buffy stood up and relocated herself to the arm of the chair as if she sensed that this conversation would be easier for both of them if they weren't staring at each other. "It's not obvious at all."

"I just can't."

"I don't understand," she said quietly. "Can't what?"

He'd only known her a couple of hours and it didn't seem fair to start dumping his problems on her like this, even though she'd said he could. He'd seen this happen to people who'd got so needy, so desperate for someone to talk to that they'd tell their problems to anyone. Seen them boring the postman to death. Waited patiently in the supermarket while they told the checkout girl their life story. William had gone the other way. Not daring to mention anything in case it breached the carefully constructed façade that he carried in front of him. He'd always worried that this would happen if he showed any kind of weakness, and it was happening now because he just couldn't fool these two women who were so determined to be kind to him.

"Remember what I said, on the beach? You've got to talk to me William. I'm new to all this, but I do want to help you."

"Okay." He took a deep breath, then spoke quickly, before his courage deserted him. "I'm just so terrified that it's all going to happen again. I haven't been near a woman since, because I just don't trust them any more."

"You did nothing wrong, William. And you do trust me, don't you?"

"I should have known better."

"And the other thing?"

"Of course I trust you. No question about that." The speed at which he'd responded to that surprised him, but he already knew it was the truth.

"So, what you gonna do, become a monk?"

She had a nice way of diffusing the tension, so he laughed dutifully. And she didn't push for which he was relieved. It was too soon to be telling her all this.

"Yeah, might as well. I'm sorry, it just gets me suddenly, out of the blue. Panic attack, or something."

"You were great just now William. I really did love all your ideas. So, pick it up again."

"What?"

"The ball. Panic's over, where were we?"

"Underwear?" The mad thumping of his heart gradually calmed itself as he remembered what they were talking about.

"Right, and I have a confession to make." Buffy jumped up and opened a drawer in one of the cupboards. "See," she said handing him one of the photographs that she'd got out. "Already got a commission for a sexy underwear picture."

Yep, he definitely hadn't stopped fancying women. His reaction to the photo told him that. The ladies were very attractive, and all the satin and lace that he'd thought about earlier was there. The corset was the only thing he could name, and he thought the little strappy number that the other one was wearing might be called a camisole, but it was the pose that really struck him. They weren't two ladies in a picture, there was more to it than that.

"Are they…?"

"Dead right, what do you think?"

"I think," he began, taking in the hand draped casually over a breast, another lingering possessively on a thigh. The half closed eyes, the strap that had slipped down revealing a smooth shoulder. The red lipstick and tousled hair.

He looked up and grinned. "I think you're going to need two websites."

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"Okay mom, you were right."

"I usually am, sweetie."

Buffy gathered up the dinner plates into a stack and carried them over to the dishwasher. "I know, but do you have to be so smug about it all the time?"

"Smug, me?" Joyce opened the fridge and stared into it. "Do you want me to do a supermarket shop before I go? Fridge is looking kind of empty."

"No, I can do it." Buffy picked off the pieces of meat that were left on the plates and deposited them in the cat's dish. "Where's Napoleon by the way? Haven't seen him all day."

"Poor thing. You know, I think he's pining for mom," Joyce said. "He's been behaving very strangely since she died."

"We all miss her, I guess." Buffy continued with her dishwasher stacking, looking around for anything she might have missed. "Pass me that cup, will you?"

"I told you he was a nice guy. Here."

"And I think I could have worked that out for myself."

"And how were you going to do that when you weren't even willing to meet him?" Joyce took a last look around the kitchen. "That's tidy enough, get the dishwasher going and we'll take our coffee outside. Mustn't neglect our guest."

Buffy finished her task as her mother poured the coffee. It was a pretty pointless argument and one she didn't need to go through again. Her mom always had some smart answer to everything she said anyway. "William's gone for a smoke and I need to ask you some things," she said. "Can we sit here for a while?"

"Of course we can," Joyce replied. "I never meant that you should do this alone, I'm only going to be a telephone call away."

"I know." Buffy joined her mother at the kitchen table and they sat quietly for a while as she worked out what she wanted to say. Her mother was pushy and quite overwhelming at times, but she was a good listener.

"That stuff I read about, on the website. How much of it happened to William?"

"I'll answer as much as I can, but you know, I can't tell you anything confidential."

"I know, mom, and I'm not asking you to. It would just help to know."

"Have you asked him?"

"I've said he can tell me anything, but I don't think he'd going to open up just like that, we've only just met. And he had a panic attack in the studio earlier. Just stopped dead in his tracks. Poor guy was so embarrassed about it."

"It's totally normal, Buffy. He'll be suffering a type of post traumatic stress disorder and you have to expect things like flashbacks. What were you talking about when it happened?"

"Umm, nothing in particular, just the website really."

"He's probably just worrying about whether he'll be up to the job. Just stress on top of stress. Were you okay with it?"

"Yes, it's not a problem, but mom, part of me wants to treat him normally and just tell him to get on with life and the other part wants to," she stopped for a moment, trying to think of the right words. "I don't know if protect is the right word. I want to hold his hand in all this but I don't want to make him too dependant on me. Does that make sense?"

"Yes it does, Buffy, and it's going to be a balancing act. He needs to find his self worth and you need to give him enough encouragement to do that."

"But I felt so mean this afternoon when I made him eat that ice-cream. He would have just kept going until I told him to stop. And he tells me he's okay, but I know he's not. You have to help me sort it all out."

"And I will." Joyce reached across and took Buffy's hand. "Don't panic, sweetheart. You've already got the biggest advantage you could have in all this."

"Which is?" Buffy looked at her blankly.

"You're a woman, and we're good at these things. Just feel your way gently, you won't get it wrong. And I can talk in general terms about anything you need. For instance it's quite often the most articulate people that get the least help, and I am being very generalised here. They can get away with pretending that they've made sense of, and come to terms with their experience because they can articulate it so well. It's not that hard to fool the experts."

"You mean, just tell them what they want to hear so they'll think you're okay?"

"I'm afraid so, Buffy. All a question of resources. They'll go to the ones who need it most."

"Okay," Buffy raised her hands but she didn't finish her sentence because William walked into the kitchen at that point. Both she and Joyce looked up at him, causing him to stop.

"I'm sorry," he said, half turning to leave again. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

"You weren't," Joyce said as she pushed back her chair. "Buffy and I were just coming out to join you."

"Actually, would you mind if I went to bed? Must be all this sea air, or something. I'm totally knackered."

Joyce smiled at the expression. "No problem, there are stacks of books in the sitting room. Grab yourself a couple to take with you."

"I'll show you." Buffy jumped up and called him over. "Come on, what kind of books do you like?"

"Anything really. Got any poetry?"

"I'm pretty sure there's a few, if not, I'll lend you some of mine. They're in my bedroom."

"Yeah? What've you got?"

"Mostly love poem anthologies."

"Goodnight, William," Joyce called to him as they let the kitchen.

"Oh, goodnight Joyce."

Buffy led him into the sitting room and together they perused the bookshelf.

"Just about everything here. This is a good one." Buffy picked up a contemporary novel that she'd put there herself. "Or this one, my favourite, Wuthering Heights. Do you like that sort of thing?"

"Ages since I read this." He took it from her. "Heathcliffe was a bit of a prat though, wasn't he?"

"He was not."

"Was too."

"Give it back then."

She was strangely disappointed that he handed it back so readily. Eventually he made a couple of choices and said goodnight.

It was only nine o' clock, too early to go to bed herself so she went back out to the veranda to join her mother.

"Weather's turning," Joyce said.

Buffy sat beside her on the swing chair and looked at the sky. "It's still very warm, how can you tell?"

"Years of experience," her mom said. "I can just feel it."

"Halloween next week."

"Willow and Tara will be busy then."

"I guess."

It wasn't a night for idle conversation and they soon lapsed into silence. Joyce excused herself around ten o'clock, reminded Buffy to lock up and left her alone on the veranda. Staring out to sea, Buffy pinpointed the strange little light that bobbed up and down on the waves. When she'd been a child she'd imagined that it was something magical, fairies in a nutshell boat come to take her away. Part of her had been terrified, making her hide under the blankets for fear that it was true, but another part of her had waited, and secretly wished that they would come for her. She was going to marry the fairy prince and rule over all fairyland.

He never did come. Expectations of love were dashed at a tender age only to be reborn again when Liam had asked her out. And sweet sixteen is no age to meet the love of your life, but she was so certain that she had. So certain that the fairy prince had taken flesh in this man that she adored, and who seemed to adore her. But even though he'd called her his fairy princess, mostly at her insistence, to him it was just a holiday romance. She'd gone back to town at the end of the summer and that had been the end of it.

Nights like this always brought back those sad, sweet memories. They seemed to hover on the still air. Her first kiss, the thrill of his skilled touch that both shocked her and made her want more. Promises that you make when you can't imagine there ever being anything better than what you have right there and then. First love that turns out not to be love at all. Something to be looked back on with fondness and just a hint of embarrassment.

You never forgive the person who first breaks your heart. That first time is always a special kind of pain, a loss of innocence and of trust. You never quite believe that it's not going to happen again someday. And wasn't that what William had said?

You can ache for a fondly remembered past, and yearn for the future of your dreams. Or you can cringe at the things that you did and be scared of what tomorrow might bring. Buffy felt herself drifting as she thought about it. William was so scared of history repeating itself that he was denying himself a future. In his mind it was already written, and it was a bad one devoid of any comforts that love might bring. But how could you live without love? How could you give up on it and even contemplate such an empty future, much less resign yourself to it?

She fell asleep on the swing chair and dreamed about the fairy prince who would one day sweep her off her feet. Granted he hadn't turned up yet, but the difference was that she hadn't given up hoping that one day he would.
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It wasn't the first time she'd done this. When she was younger her mom or her gran would have carried her indoors by now, but as she woke up and listened to the chiming of the distant church clock she knew that those days were well and truly gone. It caught her at odd moments. The gran she'd loved so dearly was gone and she'd never see her again. All she had left of her were memories and photographs and this house.

Buffy let herself into the kitchen, wondering if she was going to get back to sleep or whether she just ought to write off the night completely and go and start that painting of Willow and Tara. She had planned to give it to them as a Halloween present but that was doubtful now as she'd done nothing more than a few preliminary sketches and she didn't want to rush it.

She yawned, locked the door and hung the key on its hook thinking that she ought to go to bed. If she pulled an all-nighter then she'd be in no fit state to entertain William tomorrow and they needed to expand on those plans that they'd talked about. Strike while the iron was hot, call around to a few friends and see if they would pose for them. That reminded her that she hadn't rung Cordelia, and she cursed inwardly. This morning it hadn't seemed important, but now it was desperately important that William's secret be kept.

The shape standing at the kitchen counter took her completely by surprise.

"Gran?" She'd spoken aloud before her sleep-muddled mind could remind her that her gran was dead and it couldn't be her unless this was a ghost. That thought started her heart beating wildly so that it was a few moments before it filtered through that it was only William.

He was standing very still and looking straight at her. Barefoot, and clad only in his jeans she could just about make out the pale gleam of his chest and arms as he watched her.

"God, you made me jump," she said pressing a hand over her heart and groping for the nearest light-switch. It was just a small light that illuminated one of the glass fronted kitchen cupboards but it was enough to see him by. His eyes flicked distractedly to the source of light and back to her but he made no attempt to answer her or move towards her.

"Did you come down for a drink?" she said, relaxing as the ghosts in her mind fled to be replaced by flesh and bone.

Still no reaction, and it was then that she realised that even though he was looking at her, he didn't seem to be seeing her.

"William?" She spoke softly. It looked as if he was sleepwalking but she couldn't remember whether it was safe to wake someone in this state. She certainly couldn't leave him standing here though, so she extended her hand and called to him again. "William, shall I take you back up to bed?"

He'd dropped his gaze to her hand, but he lifted his head as she spoke.

"I told you, it's Spike now," he said in a calm, even voice. "William's dead."

"What did you say?" Buffy kept very still, her hand still hovering in mid air as her heart speeded up once more. The situation was so bizarre that she could almost believe that she was talking to a dead man. "Who's Spike?"

William frowned as if he couldn't remember himself, and Buffy ventured a step closer. It brought her near enough to see him clearly in the weak cupboard - light and what she saw made her breath catch in her throat. A thick, white ridge of scar tissue stood out across the width of his chest, just underneath his ribcage. It almost looked as if someone had tried to cut him in two.

She swallowed down the sudden feeling of nausea as she realised that snaking across the skin of his chest and arms were more silvery scars.

"What happened to you?" She said it more to herself because he still didn't seem to know she was there. And her heart went out to him. It bled for all his suffering and pain, and then just as quickly it turned to anger.

Anger at the woman who'd done this to him and anger at a justice system that would condemn an innocent man. Just at that moment she wanted to stand between him and the world and fight all his demons for him. To let them know that they'd better not mess with him, because she was fighting on his side now.

She curled her fingers gently around his and led him from the kitchen.

"Come on William," she said. "Let's get you to bed. And tomorrow, maybe you'll tell me who Spike was."

 

Chapter 4

You can shout as loud as you like in prison, no one hears you.

William had already decided where he wanted to spend eternity. Here in the quiet space between dream and waking.

Dreams slip between your fingers and fade away. And memories come rushing back. But there's a place in between where you just are. Where there is no blame or regret. No what if, or if only. No why. No questions, no answers. Just a perfect place to be.

When he was in prison it was a brief stop on an intolerable journey. Two, maybe three seconds of lying on his bunk not knowing where he was, or why. When he could just be William waking to a new day. Then he'd remember and it would all come rushing back, and the weight of it would almost be too much to bear.

The sound of a vacuum cleaner whirring away somewhere in the house reminded him that he wasn't in that place any more and he took a little time to deal with the sense of relief that washed over him.

Glancing around, he took in the faded floral wallpaper, the chintzy lamp beside his bed. The elegant chair over which he'd carelessly thrown his clothes. So, he hadn't dreamed being here in this house, hadn't imagined meeting Buffy and he really had experienced that burst of enthusiasm for life again yesterday in her studio.

The vacuum cleaner stopped and gradually the sound of the pounding surf filtered through his consciousness. Further proof that this was real.

He was shocked to find it was nearly ten o'clock so he hauled himself reluctantly from the bed, pulled on his jeans and searched his bag for a clean tee shirt.

And every day, the reflection in the mirror was a little different. The hope was starting to show on the outside now. He still looked tired, but there was a hint of a smile as he combed back his hair and contemplated going down to the cosily ordered kitchen that smelt of coffee and old wood.

Prison had been a mess of jangling noise, hard surfaces and sickening smells but here, everything seemed to be designed to soothe and comfort. Clean sheets with their fancy fabric softener freshness, the knotted rag rug that felt so unfamiliar beneath his bare feet. The smell of the roses that still permeated the air and the soft light filtering through the gauzy drapes that blew gently away from the open window.

His senses were already gratefully adjusting to it all, but he was still having trouble convincing himself that this wasn't all a dream and he wasn't going to suddenly wake up.

Shaving could wait, he thought as he made his way downstairs. The grandfather clock chimed the hour as he went into the kitchen but there was no one there. No sign of Buffy or her mother, or of breakfast. Everything looked to have been tidied away but the percolator was still half full of luke-warm coffee, so he helped himself to one and took it outside, wondering where everyone was.

There was a bite to the air which made him shiver as he stepped out onto the veranda and contemplated the line of clouds strung out across the horizon. A change was coming, and not just in the weather. Here was the chance to get his life back on track, he couldn't afford to mess it up. When someone throws you a lifeline, the first few moments are the most crucial, and the hardest. A time when you need to put in maximum effort, but when you have the least energy to do so. Just like his nightmares of falling off the cliff, it would be easier to tell himself he couldn't do this, easier to keep hiding away and believe what he'd learned in prison. That he was just throwaway trash, of no use to anyone anymore. Now more than at any other time in his life, he needed to keep the faith.

The garden reminded him of England with its paved patio that gave way to an irregularly shaped lawn framed with flower beds. The small stand of trees where Buffy had showed him the hot tub were just passing the peak of their fall colours, and beyond them was the redbrick wall that they'd climbed over yesterday.

William set down his cup on the veranda railing and felt in his pocket for his usual breakfast. His gran had had a garden much like this, and as if to complement the memory her old black and white cat was there, hobbling slowly across the lawn, complaining to itself and to anyone who cared to listen, as it made its way towards him. He'd almost called it by name before he remembered that Mr. Tibbs was long dead and this must be Napoleon returned from wherever he'd been for the last few days.

He lit the cigarette, as the cat climbed the steps and scrutinised him. Evidently he was okay people as the cat deigned to let him stroke it and then jumped up onto one of the garden chairs.

"You been out getting some?" he asked it as it settled down to wash. Its answering mew made him laugh as he turned back to lean against a post and finish his cigarette. The sheer normality of it all was the real novelty. He just couldn't stop looking at a world that he'd been so worried wouldn't be there any more when he came out. This was what he'd fantasised about for two years in prison. A world full of beauty and grace and all those things you take for granted until they're taken from you. And at long last someone seemed to have heard his prayers.

It was Sunday and for the first time in his life William thought he might go find a church and say a thank you to a God who, it seemed, hadn't abandoned him after all.

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He hadn't even realised she was there.

Buffy pinned up the last of the photographs she'd been developing and stood back. A useful morning's work. Not terribly urgent, but at least it was out of the way and she could get started on the portrait now. And the hour she'd spent in the darkroom had given her time to mull over the events of the previous night.

A slight chill tingled along her spine as she remembered the calm way he'd announced that William was dead. He hadn't been talking to her, she'd known that by his lack of reaction to her presence, but he'd let her walk him back to his room, had sat on the bed for a few moments and then, at her request, had lain down and gone back to sleep.

All very bizarre and a little scary. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, but there was something very odd about being with someone who seemed to be in another world to the one you were inhabiting. And who seemed to have turned into a different person.

She'd started to get to know William, the slightly shy, hesitant young man who was trying to find a place for himself back in the world, but it was obviously more complicated than that. Now she had Spike to contend with. Just the name conjured up a hardness that she was having trouble equating to the person who'd sat opposite her in Hogeys, stuffing himself full of ice cream only yesterday. The man with the softly curling hair who'd offered her his hand as she'd climbed down from the wall, and then had looked embarrassed about it because she hadn't really needed his help.

William had all the mental scars, but she suspected that it was Spike who'd suffered the physical ones. She traced a line across her ribcage, her stomach flipping over as she realised how much it must have hurt, that and all the smaller scars on his arms. And where was Spike now? She'd already guessed that he was some kind of alter ego that William had hidden behind in prison, but was he still there? And even more worryingly, did she need to fear him?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door and she pushed all of the questions aside. Perhaps she ought to tackle William straight out about it, or maybe her mom would shed light on it for her. Either way she needed to know.

"Hold on," she called out as she checked that it was safe to open the door. "Okay, no problem, come on in."

The door opened and a familiar face peeped around.

Buffy had expected it to be William and it took a moment to register who it was grinning cheerfully at her from the doorway.

The man with the eye-patch held out his arms and she ran into them, almost flooring him in her enthusiasm.

"Xander," she said pressing her cheek against his shirt. "When did you get back?"

"This morning, Buff. You are not going to believe how great it was, you should have come with us."

Buffy disentangled herself and stood back. "How did Anya do?"

"For a first skydive, she was amazing." He shook his head, laughing. "That girl has serious balls."

"Damn. I wish I'd come." Buffy squeezed his hand. "Count me in for next time. Is it too early for a beer?"

"Well, I've got the truck, but I guess one will be okay."

"So you're okay to drive again?"

Xander nodded. "Yeah, passed the test, no problem.

"I'm glad," Buffy said. "Are you going to start on that weatherboarding?"

"Yeah, tomorrow, you'll want it done for Halloween?"

"Oh, please. And you are still coming to the open day, aren't you?" Buffy asked him as they climbed the steps. "I'm going to need everyone here if it's as busy as last year."

"Count me in." Xander thought about it for a moment. "Can I be Lady Chatterley's Lover?"

"No," Buffy replied, batting him playfully on the arm, "completely the wrong era. We're Victorian, remember? Gotta keep it all authentic, money's going to the animal shelter this year. But you could be the gardener, or something, I'm sure Tara could throw a costume together for you." She reached for the door handle, smiling back at him. "You could be Lady Buffy's gardener, and we could be having a torrid affair, right under my husband, Lord William's, nose."

"Lord William?"

"Yeah, guy who's designing my website." Buffy said. "He's staying here for a while and I figured I'd rope him in. Haven't asked him yet, but I'm sure he'll be up for it. What's wrong, you don't want to be my lover?"

They were still at the top of the basement steps, door closed. Xander was fiddling with his eye patch, a dead giveaway that something was wrong. The injury was still new enough to make him self-conscious, but never around her, before now.

She tilted her head at him, "What is it?"

"This William guy," he said, his face turning serious. "He's kind of why I'm here, Buff. Anya talked to Cordy and she told her he's some sort of jailbird."

Buffy didn't answer him immediately because she was momentarily entertaining a very vivid picture of strangling Cordelia with her bare hands. And she wanted to bite her own tongue for ever telling her in the first place.

Xander continued, "Says he's done time for rape. Is it true, Buff?"

"Yes, he's been in prison."

"Then what the hell's he doing here? Are you out of your mind?"

"Let me finish, Xander." Buffy took a deep breath, surprised at how angry his words had made her feel. "He was falsely accused and he spent two years in prison for a crime he didn't commit. He's trying to get his life back together and we're going to help him."

"We?"

"Mom and me. Come and meet him, he's a decent guy."

"Not what you said to Cordelia."

"Okay, I admit, I wasn't overjoyed at the idea myself, at first, and I may have made it seem…well, I didn't know him then, but mom convinced me to meet him, and he's nice. It's just a really sad story, and he doesn't need this, Xand. Dammit, I asked her not to tell anyone."

"Think the horse bolted long ago, Buff. She said you told her you wouldn't feel safe with him here."

"Well, I shouldn't have. And that's just the kind of prejudice he's having to face. People judging him before they've even met him. Don't you do it too."

"Just looking out for you, Buff." Xander reached out and rested his hand on her arm. "Like I always do."

Buffy covered it with hers. "I know, but you've got to trust me on this one. You only have to look at him to see he hasn't got a wicked bone in his body."

"Could be just an act. How do you know he's not going to pull a Jekyll and Hyde on you?"

"He's just William. That's all. He'd not hiding anyone else in there. Do you think mom would have asked him here if he was some crazed psycho?"

Xander gave her arm a quick squeeze, dropped his hand and sighed.

"The feeling is that there's no smoke without fire."

"Feeling, there's a feeling now?" Buffy closed her eyes briefly. "Just how many people know?"

Their voices had dropped to sharp whispers as the conversation became more heated, and Buffy looked around distractedly, almost as if she expected to find the whole town behind her, listening. She swallowed down the panic as a picture of William's trusting face flashed into her mind. He wouldn't want to stay here if he thought people were talking about him, but what the hell was he going to do if he left? Last night, when she'd first seen his injury, she'd felt a surge of protectiveness towards him that had surprised her. But she hadn't realised that she'd have to defend him quite so soon, or to her best friend.

And Xander had unwittingly touched a nerve. Jekyll and Hyde? William and Spike? She needed to find him just so that she could look at his face and reassure herself that he was the gentle man she was defending so vehemently. Suddenly, she couldn't even remember what he looked like.

"Just me and Anya, I think." Xander was looking a little sheepish now, as if he hadn't quite counted on the reaction he was getting when he'd brought the subject up. "And calm down, Buff. If you believe him, then that's okay by me. You know I always trust your judgement."

"It's not a question of believing it, Xander. He's innocent, bottom line."

Xander nodded briefly, rubbing his hand over the eye patch.

Buffy raised her eyebrows at him. "You're gonna milk that for all it's worth, aren't you?"

He grinned, back to his old self again. "Sure am." Then he opened the door and waved her through. "Okay, let's meet the guy and I'll be sure to tell Anya to keep quiet about the prison stuff. You know what this town's like for gossip."

"I do." Buffy started through the door but stopped again. Xander was her friend, and you didn't abandon your friend no matter how noble the cause. "Don't let's fight about this, Xand. And I was just joking about the eye and the sympathy thing, you know that, don't you? How is it really?"

"Awful, I hate it. But it's happened, and I'll live with it. Thanks for asking."

"Oh, Xander. Come here." Buffy opened her arms and hugged him again. "You're my best friend, heck, you saved my life, and I'll never forget that. You know I'll always be here for you, don't you? Anything you want, you've just got to ask."

"And the same for you," Xander said, hugging her back. "Come on, enough with the mushiness. Get me that beer, then I'll come say hello to this William guy."

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Don't get too comfortable. He'd been telling himself that since he'd arrived, but his body had other ideas. Bit by bit he felt himself relaxing into the easy routine as he strolled along the sea front. The beach was virtually deserted under the stormy - looking sky, just the occasional dog-walker and an elderly jogger who looked as if he might expire from a heart attack at any moment. It reminded William how unfit he'd let himself become and he thought that maybe it was time to start getting back into shape. Lose the scrawny look.

He lit up his last cigarette, took a drag and remembered his promise to Joyce to cut back on the smoking. As he pitched the empty packet into a nearby bin he thought that maybe that could be part of the makeover too because he seemed to be spending more money on cigarettes than food these days.

It was the kind of place where people said hello to you for no other reason than they were passing by, and after a while, instead of leaning on the rail and looking determinedly out to sea every time someone came towards him, he found himself responding. As if it was the most normal thing in the world to make idle chit-chat with perfect strangers on a peaceful Sunday morning. Which, of course, it had been at one time. In a past that felt as if it had happened to someone else.

And when he sat down on a bench overlooking the sea an old man sat by him and insisted that he share his newspaper. William politely declined because he wanted to get back to the house, but the old man looked so disappointed that he took the offered section and kept the old man company for a while, because one thing he understood well, was loneliness.

So they sat there, side by side, neither of them speaking and when he finally excused himself he felt good for having done it. Happy to have had something to give back for a change. Generosity is a gift that is better for the sharing. Buffy and her mother had been extremely generous to him and he already had enough to share with someone else. And feeling useful gave life meaning.

Yes, he told himself. Definitely time to get up off his backside and start contributing again. On the walk back his mind overflowed with the possibilities opening up before him. No one knew him here, or what he'd been. If they looked at him it was because he was a stranger, and no other reason. The mocking voices and pointed stares were all in his own head, and it was time to let them go.

People talked about getting their head together and he was beginning to see what they meant. His life had been scattered into a thousand - piece puzzle, but with a little patience and a lot of encouragement it could be put back together again.

Even the priest at the church seemed intent on helping him. Maybe it was a sign, maybe not, but he'd looked as if he was about to lock up and instead had diverted himself sorting hymn books for the half an hour or so that William had sat there just staring intently at the stained glass window over the altar. Scenes from the life of Christ, from what he could make out, ending with the agony of the cross and then the brilliance of the resurrection. The symbolism made William smile. Someone up there seemed determined that he listen and even though he'd never really believed in what he'd always dismissed as 'religious mumbo-jumbo,' it was strangely comforting.

William finished up his morning's jaunt at the gas station because he couldn't resist the temptation to check out Liam Angelus, only to be served by a very ancient old man who seemed to have no idea where anything was and, after a lengthy discussion, still managed to give him the wrong cigarettes. On impulse he also picked up a box of chocolates as a thank you present for Joyce and a candy bar for himself, since he'd missed breakfast. Then he made his way back to the house, more than looking forward to seeing Buffy again.

Motivation. That was the key. Something to get up for in the morning. Somewhere to go, and somewhere to come back to. And someone to return to as well, he realised as he walked round the back of the house to let himself in. A man would go anywhere, do anything, if there was someone special enough waiting for him.

He heard laughter coming from the kitchen as he reached to open the door, Buffy's and a man's. And he spotted the pickup truck tucked away at the side of the house. Of course, a girl like her would have to have a boyfriend, no surprise there.

And there was one of the very few good things about having low expectations of life. It meant you didn't get so many disappointments either. He was here to work and heal a little and that was enough. Any extra attention he got from the enchanting young woman that was Buffy Summers was just a bonus, and he'd take it and simply be grateful.

William fixed a smile on his face, opened the door and walked into the kitchen.

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"William."

Buffy jumped up when she saw him, grabbed him by the arm and ushered him in. "We were wondering where you were. Come and meet Xander."

She kept hold of his arm as he exchanged formalities with Xander, and then slid along the bench seat next to him when he sat down. He hadn't been gone for more than an hour or so, but in that time the conversation she'd had with Xander on the basement steps, and the panic she'd felt at the thought of William having to leave, had somehow magnified itself in her mind so that all sorts of foolish thoughts had started to build up.

What if he'd come back and heard them talking? What if he'd just decided to leave without telling her? Perhaps he knew he'd been sleepwalking last night and was embarrassed about it?

Because Xander was with her she'd managed to resist the temptation to go to William's room and check that his things were still there. But his growing absence had make her so agitated that she was just on the verge of making an excuse to go upstairs, when he'd walked in.

And, thankfully, she could see that he was still William. Exactly the same person she'd talked to yesterday. Same voice, same face, same hair. Looking rather surprised at the attention she was giving him, so she forced herself to calm down and asked him if he wanted a beer.

"Thanks," he said taking off his jacket and then half standing up as he looked for a place to put it.

"Let me," she said taking it from him. "I'll put it in the hall, Xander, get William a beer, will you, there should be more in the fridge."

Once out in the hall Buffy took a few calming breaths as she hung the jacket on the coat stand. It was a similar feeling to one she'd experienced as a child when she'd lost her mother in a department store. Her mom had only been out of her sight for a few minutes, but in that time Buffy had managed to convince herself that she was never going to see her again and by the time they'd been reunited she'd been hysterical.

She maybe needed to phone Anya herself and tell her how important it was that William's secret be kept. He still had a lot of stuff to work out, and he wasn't going to be able to do that by himself in some dark basement.

She had a good view of him and Xander as she stood in the kitchen doorway. They'd struck up a conversation, or rather, Xander was relating one of his tales in that manic way he had. The eye-patch made him self-conscious so he covered it by being even more animated than he usually was. And by making endless wisecracks about pirates, just so that he could get them in first, she suspected. William was listening to him, a slightly incredulous look on his face and Buffy thought she ought to get back in there before Xander started on his Long John Silver impersonation.

She took a moment more to study William before she did so. The way the light played off his features was endlessly fascinating. It would make a striking portrait, and one she was determined to do before he left. And that brought her thoughts full circle as she went back into the kitchen.

"Was just telling William how I got the pirate look, Buff." Xander turned back to William. "Very trendy, you know. And the women go crazy for it. You really should try it."

"Xander." Buffy walked across to the fridge, opened the door and peered inside. Her mom hadn't been joking about it being empty. "Remember that little conversation we had about good taste?" She closed the door again and picked up the phone. "Looks like it's going to have to be pizza, that okay with you two?"

Both men nodded enthusiastically. "Any requests?" she asked them as she read the number off the fridge magnet.

William shook his head saying he'd eat anything and Xander was easy as long as it didn't involve olives. Pizza ordered, she sat down again, next to Xander this time.

"So, did Xander tell you he was a hero?"

"No he didn't, Buff," Xander butted in. "Come on, don't spoil my street cred, here." He slid off the bench as he spoke. "I'll just go unload that wood while we're waiting for the pizza. And don't believe a word she tells you," he said pointing a finger at William as he turned to go. "It was a crocodile, okay."

"What did he tell you?" Buffy asked William after Xander had gone.

"Said a crocodile escaped from the zoo."

"Oh, haven't heard that one before."

"So, what really happened," William said. "Guess he doesn't like to talk about it?"

"He likes to talk about it, just not about it, if you know what I mean," she replied. "He's a hero through and through is our Xander. A woman was being attacked and he was straight in there. The mugger grabbed him and, well, I won't go into details but that's how he ended up with the patch."

"Sounds bad." William wasn't looking at her, instead he was fiddling with the chocolate box and studying the contents list intently.

"It's okay to talk about stuff like this, William," she said when she saw how uncomfortable he looked. "Women get attacked and Xander's a good man. He won't judge you unfairly."

William's head flicked up. "So you've told him? About me?"

It wasn't so much the look of panic as the flicker of disappointment in his gaze that made her get up and walk round the table to him. She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"You're going to squash those," she said, nodding at the way he was nervously squeezing the chocolate box.

"They're for your mom. Is she still here?"

"She's gone to visit her aunt, but she'll be back soon."

He was pulling away from her hand ever so slightly, but she wasn't going to be put off. She sat on the bench seat but with her back to the table so that she could see him better.

"I know you'd rather no one knew, but I told a friend about you before you came, and she told Xander's girlfriend, Anya. I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have done it. I know how important this is for you, now, but I didn't realise it then. Can you forgive me?"

The only real reaction she got to her speech was to the part about Xander having a girlfriend, which puzzled her. She definitely saw William's hand still for a moment on the chocolate box as she said the words and then he went back to his task of squashing them. Eventually she took them from him.

"William, talk to me. Come on," she said, leaning towards him and forcibly catching his eye. "I feel bad about this."

"And you shouldn't have to," he replied, pressing his lips together and closing his eyes. "You shouldn't feel bad because of me."

He started to get up, but she pulled him down again. He gazed impassively at the hand clutching his arm. "I should just go," he said in a blank voice. "This isn't fair to you, I should have known it."

She squeezed harder, no longer worrying about holding him carefully. All she was worried about now was that he wanted to run away from her because she'd messed things up.

"If you run away now, it'll be because of me. How do you think I'm going to feel then?"

She could see from his expression the internal struggle he was having. He pulled away again but she held on.

"It would be easier, wouldn't it? To just run away. Go back to your basement and hide. Why bother ever coming out again? Is that really what you want to do?"

"You don't understand, Buffy," he began.

"No, but you're going to make me." She felt bolder as he relaxed once more and she took his face, turning it to her so she could make herself perfectly understood.

He looked guardedly back at her and at that moment she knew that they were both hovering on the brink of something so important that she couldn't afford to make a single mistake. His whole survival depended on what she said next.

Buffy wasn't aware of anything but the look in his eye and the sound of her voice as she spoke. It was a moment frozen in time that she knew she would remember for the rest of her life. She had to make it simple. So simple that there would be no room for misunderstanding, and it needed to be an offer that he couldn't refuse. Because he couldn't afford to say no.

"Here's my hand William." She slid it across the table to where his was resting. "If you take it, I won't let go. And you have to promise me that you won't either. What do you say?"

The world stopped turning as she waited, because all she could do was wait. She'd thrown out the lifeline, but it was up to him to take it. Up to him to hang on and pull himself up.

It seemed to take an eternity before his hand moved and covered hers and she twisted her fingers so that they were laced with his so that he'd really get the message that she meant what she said.

"I won't let go," she whispered, leaning her forehead on his shoulder. "Promise me you'll stay."

He nodded, but that wasn't good enough.

"No," she said. "I want to hear you say the words, and I think you need to hear yourself say them too."

It was a simple statement but she heard the conviction as he spoke them. And whatever demons he'd been battling to get to this point, it seemed as if he'd made some sort of decision at last.

Relationships are often made or broken in the time it takes to draw a single breath. Sometimes the smallest of gestures tell us more about a person than a whole lifetime of knowing them can. And startling revelations are sometimes bestowed upon us in the most mundane of places. But the leap forward you make when they happen can be quite amazing.

Buffy the kitchen counter psychologist learned that sometimes just being there was enough. That all her fears that she wouldn't know how to do this were unfounded because she'd somehow always known what she was going to say at that precise moment. As if the words had been waiting for her.

Buffy the artist learned that people were more than just images and masks and fronts. More than the sound they made when they spoke. True art came from looking deeper and capturing what was inside.

And Buffy the friend felt the warmth of his hand and the sureness of his grip. The smell of his skin as she rested against him. She was close enough to hear his heartbeat and his breath, as he inhaled and exhaled, warmed the back of her neck and made her nerve endings tingle.

To really understand someone you need to crawl into their skin and put it on. If you can't do that you'll never know what moves them. You'll never know why sometimes they laugh and sometimes they cry. Never know how heavy their burdens are.

Buffy lifted her head once more and looked at William. The space between their hands had been mere inches, but that small gap had felt like a chasm a million miles deep. One mis-step and neither of them would have come back. She'd jumped out of aeroplanes, hunted monsters in Scottish lochs, and nearly drowned in a dark cave, but never had she been as scared as the moment before he'd reached for her hand.

"Make me understand," she told him, still holding on. "I want to know everything that happened to you."

He blinked back at her and nodded his head, his eyes suspiciously bright so she let go of him. She wanted to cry too, to release the intense tension that had built up in the space of a heartbeat, but Xander was coming back. She heard his footfall on the veranda decking and then, at the front of the house, her mother's car pulling up on the drive. The world, it seemed, had started turning again and was rushing back to them with a vengeance.

Buffy jumped out of her seat and busied herself finding plates for the pizza. William wiped his eyes and straightened his hair. The door opened and Xander and normality returned to the kitchen once more.

"So," Xander said, moving over to the sink to wash his hands. "Did she tell you how big the crocodile was? Hey, have you ever seen those old Tarzan films?" He turned around as he scrubbed soap up his arms. "You know, the ones where he wrestles that giant crocodile, and you can tell it's a fake? Well, it was nothing like that."

Buffy wasn't listening. Everything was still focused on the man sitting at the table, and the connection she'd just made with him. And the realisation that he was going to get through this, because he had her to help him.

And the most important thing of all was that now he definitely knew that too.

 

 


Chapter 5

They let you out, you walk through the gates, but in your mind, you're still there.

William sat on the wall at the end of the garden and watched as the sun melted into the place where the sea met the sky. Another day over, he thought as he pulled his jacket around him against the chill of the evening, and one he would remember for a long time to come. The honesty of her words, the feel of her palm against his. Every time he thought about it he found himself looking down at his hand, because it felt as if she was still holding it.

That was the power of one human being reaching out for another. A simple gesture that told him everything he needed to know and everything he wanted to hear.

The wind ruffled his hair, the waves crashed onto the shore and somewhere behind him a church bell rang. There was a house half way up the cliff and the lights were going on one by one as its occupants settled in for the night. The world all around him was going about its business as it had done before he'd gone to prison, and as it had continued to do while he was inside, locked in a place where time stood still.

A place full of ghosts flitting uselessly at the edges of society. Forgotten wraiths who neither affected nor interacted with the world. A static place where you contributed nothing and learnt nothing of value. Where your ambitions and horizons were so firmly limited that you became nothing but an automaton, doing what you had to in order to survive. But mostly just doing what you were told.

He hadn't been able to feel it, see it or hear if from where he was, but now he was back in the world, at last. Part of the human race again. Instead of four walls, there was a limitless horizon. There was texture and substance. And he sat, on the old brick wall, at the centre of it all.

The sound of footsteps on the gravel path made him turn around and he spotted Buffy coming towards him. He waved to let her know that he'd seen her because he already knew that she worried about how jumpy he was. She was carrying two mugs full of something hot, judging by the steam that was rising, and was accompanied by Napoleon who limped steadfastly along beside her, unwilling to be left out of anything.

"Made you some tea," she said, holding a cup up to him. "You do like tea, don't you?"

"Love it, thanks," he said, reaching down for the offered mug. "Did Joyce get home okay?"

"Yeah, phoned a while back. Do you mind if I join you?"

"Please do," he said shuffling himself along to make space for her. "Do you need any help?"

He'd sat himself on the highest part of the wall because he wanted to get a good view of his surroundings. It was well over six feet tall at this point but Buffy had no problem pulling herself up beside him. She twisted her legs round and let them dangle next to his.

"It's getting cold," she said, hugging herself

"Yeah," he replied. "Never got used to the way the seasons change so suddenly over here. Autumn lasts for three months in England, but here one minute you're sunbathing, the next day it's winter coats."


"You're in the wrong part of the States then," Buffy said, pausing to sip her tea. "What made you come back?"

"To the States, you mean? Don't know really. Guess I just wanted to connect with my roots, or something. Stayed and got my degree. Couple of lucky breaks. Things were good."

"Before…?"

"Yeah, before."

He picked up his mug and warmed his hands on it as they sat side by side. Despite the connection they'd made it was still hard to talk about these things. Still felt like he was on the shrink's couch whenever it was mentioned. And even though she'd said she wanted to know everything, she seemed to know just when to press, and when to fall back.

"I think he wants to come up," he said peering down at Napoleon who was pacing at the base of the wall and meowing pathetically.

Buffy looked down too. "Oh he knows what to do," she said. "He can't jump up any more, but he'll go to the low part and walk along, he's just being lazy."

"How old is he?"

"Nearly as old as me. Can't remember a time when he wasn't here."

"He's bloody ancient then."

"Huh?"

Buffy pulled a face at his comment, laughing good-naturedly, and William hastily backtracked. "For a cat that is. Think I'll help him up," he said, jumping down into the garden. Napoleon was duly deposited on the wall and William pulled himself up and settled down next to Buffy again. The cat immediately wormed its way onto his lap and settled against his chest, so he wrapped his arms around it to stop it falling off.

"Gran had one just like this," he said rubbing the cat's head. "Mr. Tibbs he was called."

"Does she still have him?"

" No, got himself run over long ago."

"That's sad," Buffy said, and she reached over to join in the stroking. Napoleon went into a frenzy of purring at all the attention and it made them both laugh.

"He's always been here," Buffy said. "Like my gran, and this house. I always knew that wherever I went and whatever happened, they'd always be the one constant in my life. Kind of a fixed point that I could always come back to. Do you know what I mean?"

"I do," William said, not looking at her. "You grow up thinking things are going to stay the same, but they don't, do they?"

"No, they don't. But I'm lucky to have the house. It's like a kind of anchor, keeps me grounded. Somewhere I belong. Do you have anywhere like that?"

He didn't have to think about that one at all. "I used to have," he began, "but, when I try to remember, it doesn't feel like it's mine any more. Feels like it all happened to someone else."

"Could you go back?" Buffy said, tilting her head at him. "Reclaim your past, or something. Don't know how it works, but wouldn't that help?"

"Tried it," he said, shaking out the handful of fur that his vigorous stroking had pulled out of Napoleon's back.

"And?"

"I felt like a bloody alien."

He closed his eyes as he thought about it. How everything had looked so familiar, yet felt so different. After two years of sensory deprivation he'd been expecting to make some adjustments, re-learn some things, but he hadn't been prepared for the shock of seeing the places and people that he loved so much, through completely different eyes.

"I have the memories, the photographs. Granddad's dead now, gran's still there, but it just didn't feel the same. Guess I couldn't relate to it all any more."

"And you resent that?"

"Bloody right , I do." It came out a lot harsher than he'd intended and he saw her flinch. "Sorry about that. It's not your fault," he said quietly. "Shouldn't be shouting at you."

"No problem," she said, looking at him intently. "Do you still feel like that?"

"What, when I'm actually feeling anything at all?"

"It can't be that bad, William. I refuse to believe that."

She shook her head as she said it, pulling at the strands of hair that lifted about her in the wind. He could just about make her out in the darkness that was quickly enveloping them now. Darkness that was becoming less about nightmares and things that go bump in the night, and more about the security of a world narrowed down to just the parts he could reach out and touch. It hid him from sight and stopped people staring at him. His rational mind had been telling him all day that no one really was looking at him with anything other than curiosity, but it was still a relief to be able to hide away, at last.

And she seemed determined that he wasn't to feel too sorry for himself, so he straightened up a little and agreed with her.

"Guess it can't. Gotta stop with the negative talk."

"Close your eyes, William."

"Why?"

"Because I say so, that's why."

"Good enough reason," he said closing them and immediately reopening them as he wobbled dangerously. "Whoa, nearly fell off." Napoleon reacted to the sudden movement by gripping him painfully with sharp claws through his jeans, then gave him a disdainful look and extracted himself to walk away, and perch further along the wall.

"Try it again."

He did, and the same thing happened again. "That's a weird feeling," he said, "but I don't understand what I'm supposed to be doing."

"It's a game we used to play," she said shuffling herself closer. "Like a leap of faith. You just have to trust that you won't fall off."

"But what if I do?" he asked her.

"Trust me, come on," she said closing her eyes and holding out her arms. "See, I can do it."

"Well," he said, slowly reaching out his arms as Napoleon watched them with interest. "I didn't spend my youth sitting on walls pretending to be an airplane."

"You don't know what you missed," Buffy replied as she sat perfectly still, gracefully poised, like a diver about to do a front somersault off the high board. He could see that because he was cheating and still had his eyes open. She made it look easy, so why couldn't he do it?

"Are you cheating?"

"No."

"Because if you are, I'll push you off myself."

His eyes snapped shut. "Okay, no cheating. Now what?"

"We sit here until one of us falls off."

"And that's it?"

"What more do you want? If you'd rather be somewhere else, William, then feel free."

Would he? It wasn't the balancing act so much as the worry that someone might see them perched idiotically, there on the wall, like a couple of statues. And the fact that it left his back so exposed. Anyone might be in the garden sneaking up on them. He'd got used to being in a constant state of red alert and it was hard to drop his guard and trust that there wasn't a madman with a knife behind him right now.

He swallowed the feeling down, telling himself that it was just him and Buffy, sitting on a wall. If anyone saw them they'd probably just look, maybe laugh, maybe even comment, but nothing else. In the real world people didn't normally attack you just because they didn't like your face, or because they thought you were looking at them in a funny way. He knew it happened, but not to the extent that you had to live your whole life in fear of it.

And what more did he want? Where else would he rather be? Rather than sitting next to this amazing young woman? Nowhere, he thought. Nowhere at all, so he let out a deep breath and concentrated. She was right, it was easy once you believed it was going to be.

"You want me to start chanting or something?" he said entering into the spirit of it.

That made her giggle. She leaned back slightly as she laughed and brushed against his arm which was stretched out behind her. He tightened it to stop her falling, but she wriggled away.

"No touching, it's against the rules."

"There are rules now?" he said moving his arm away slightly but leaving it where it was because he really didn't like the thought of her falling six feet into a flower bed.

"Yeah, if you're going to fall, then make sure it's forward into the sand. Hurts less that way. Believe me, I know."

He opened his mouth to reply but Napoleon chose that very moment to try and reclaim his place on his lap, and, feeling insecure around these strangely behaving humans decided that he ought to anchor himself by using his claws again.

William swore as Napoleon hit a particularly sensitive spot, and lost his balance. He didn't mean to knock Buffy off, but he'd just instinctively grabbed her arm as he fell, taking her and one very surprised cat with him down into the cold sand below.

--------------------------------------------------------

Buffy had fallen off the wall hundreds of times but William hadn't. She knew just how to land, but he didn't. His colourful swearing told her that.

"I think I've bloody squashed 'em," she heard him muttering.

She rolled over onto her back, gasping for breath and stared at the sky. "Please don't tell me you've squashed my cat."

"Not the bleeding cat, my cigarettes. Bloody mangled."

"Nothing important then."

"No," he said, leaning up on one elbow and holding up the dented packet. "Nothing important. Sorry about knocking you off, you okay?"

"I'll survive." She brought the back of her hand closer to her face and then sucked at it. "Caught my hand on a stone, think it's bleeding."

"Oh heck," William said sitting up and reaching for it. "Let me see."

"It's nothing." Buffy lay still, a faint smile on her lips as he inspected the graze. "I've had much worse."

"I shouldn't be allowed near women," he said as he pressed a tissue he'd found in his pocket against the wound. "Press it hard, that'll stop it."

She took her hand back together with the tissue, and duly did as she was told.

"It really is only a scratch, I'm not going to bleed to death. Do you know anything about the stars, William?" she said neatly changed the subject. "What's that one?" She pointed straight ahead and he lay down beside her and looked in the direction of her hand.

"Haven't a clue," he said. "Can find the plough and that's about it."

"The what?" Buffy narrowed her eyes to try and pinpoint what he was talking about.

"Big dipper. It's called the plough in England."

"That's cute. Only one I know, too."

The sand was soft and fine beneath her with just a few stray grasses growing through. She wriggled herself comfortable and let out a deep sigh. William turned to look at her.

"Guess you won that one, then,"

"Guess I did. Want to come skydiving with me?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I haven't completely lost my marbles," he replied.

"Meaning?"

"No way are you getting me jumping out of a bloody plane."

"You should try it. Really you should. There's this moment," she paused as she remembered it. " Where it feels like you're hovering in mid air. Just before you go into freefall. Like a split second of weightlessness. It's like nothing else."

"I know."

She looked at him, confused. "So, you've done it before."

"Sort of."

He had one arm flung across his face, but his free hand was lying very close to hers so she bit her lip and took a chance. When she'd held his hand earlier it had been a symbolic gesture, she hadn't literally meant that they were to walk about like a couple of courting teenagers, but it seemed right to reach for it now. He reacted with a bit of a start, but only a small one. She gave it a squeeze and encouraged him to continue.

"I'm listening."

He kept his face covered as he spoke. "I have this recurring nightmare. I'm falling off a cliff and it's weird, because it's like, terrifying, but a great relief at the same time."

"Yeah?"

"The fall is the price you pay for that one split second where everything's perfect."

"That's very poetic, but the price sounds way too high."

"Suppose so," he replied, "but I don't write the dreams, they just happen."

"Do you have any others, nightmares, I mean?"

"Not really. Bits and pieces from prison, that sort of thing. I didn't disturb you last night, did I?"

"No, not really."

They were both quiet for a moment as they contemplated the stars. Finally William spoke.

"You said not really."

"Did I?"

"Yes, was I talking in my sleep or something?"

He sounded a little nervous as he asked the question and Buffy wondered if it was too soon to ask him about Spike, or even whether it was any business of hers at all. Then she remembered how disturbing she'd found it all.

"Do you remember anything about last night, William?"

"After I went to bed? I read for a while and then went to sleep." William dropped her hand, flipped himself up into a sitting position, and looked down at her. "What did I do?"

Buffy sat up too. "You were sleepwalking, and you met me in the kitchen. Don't you remember any of it?"

He shook his head. "Not a thing. Bloody hell."

She could just about make out that his eyes had gone very wide.

"Was I decent?"

"Decent?" she said, puzzled. Then she realised what he meant. "You had your jeans on. Why, do you normally…"

"Yes, no, I mean I don't..." He shook his head, disbelieving.

"Perhaps you should wear something in bed while you're here then, just in case it happens again?"

"I will. God, this is so embarrassing, what did I do?"

"You had a conversation with me."

"I did?"

Buffy was glad it was too dark for them to see each other's expressions. She hugged her knees and rested her chin on them. Just remembering it had started her heart racing again, and she had no idea how he was going to react to her knowing about Spike. There was only one way to find out.

"It wasn't you I was talking to. You asked me to call you something else. You said that William was dead and I had to call you Spike."

The silence stretched between them for so long that it became uncomfortable. Buffy moved in closer towards him, shifting forwards onto her knees and trying to make out his expression.

"William?" she said to the silhouetted shape in front of her. "We don't have to talk about this now. If you're not ready, then that's cool."

"He's not someone you want to know."

"Is he who you were in prison?"

"Yes, and you don't want to know this, trust me, you don't."

"Yes I do, but tell me when you're ready. I don't shock easily."

He gave a humourless laugh at that, then stood up so abruptly that he nearly pushed her over. He walked a few paces then stood with his back to her.

"Did you see it?"

"The scar, you mean?" Buffy stayed where she was, still kneeling in the sand. "Yes. It looked painful." She cringed inwardly as she said that. Empty, hollow words that he must have heard over and over. Words that sounded good, but that didn't really mean anything. He didn't respond, so she tried again.

"It made me angry, when I saw it."

He turned his head briefly at that so she stood too and made her way towards him.

"I wanted to go kill him, whoever did that to you."

"So did I."

"Will you let me see it? Not now, I mean. But some time?"

They were standing very close. She was still slightly behind him, shivering now as the wind got up. She couldn't see his face but she could feel his anger. See how wound up talking about Spike and the scar had made him. His shoulders were shaking with it.

"You're cold," he said finally turning to look at her again. Then he started to strip off his jacket. At first she thought he was going to show her the scar there and then and she almost opened her mouth to tell him no, but then she realised what he was doing.

"No, don't take it off," she told him. "I'll share it with you."

He stopped moving, the jacket halfway down his arms. "I don't mind," he said. "I'm warm enough."

"So why waste all that lovely body heat," she replied, trying to get some humour in her voice. "Come on, got the keys to the gate in my pocket. Let's go back the easy way."

He collected the mugs from the wall and then there were a few awkward seconds of him opening the coat and her deciding what the best way to do this was. Finally, she slipped an arm around his back and he draped his over her shoulder. They made their way back, both of them trying not to trip the other up. It wasn't the most comfortable of positions and his jacket wasn't really big enough to keep her warm, but at least he knew now that she still trusted him, even after he'd implied that he might have a not so pleasant side to him.

And it felt surprisingly good being in a man's arms again. Boyfriends had come and gone over the years, but she'd never had the sense of wanting to hold on to any of them. Pleasant interludes sometimes finished by her, sometimes by them, but never with any great angst or regret over the break-up. Except for Liam. He was the only one she would have walked to the other end of the earth with if he'd asked her. But he never did.

Buffy opened the gate and let them in and they both paused for another look at the moon. She could hear William's heartbeat as he brought his other arm around her and held her. Nothing more than a friendly hug, she told herself, comfort needed, comfort given. She rested her cheek against his chest and let him warm her, slipping her spare arm across his waist, just below the scar as they stood quietly and contemplated the splendour of the heavens.

"Quite a show, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she replied. "And sometimes you just have to stop and look, don't you? It's like the universe wants your attention, so it puts on this display that's so jaw-droppingly awesome that you're just dazzled by it, and you can't do anything else but listen."

"It's magic alright. Couldn't see the sky from my cell window. All I could see was a brick wall."

He tightened his hold and she did the same. He wasn't going to be able to erase the pain completely. Time would help in dimming the memory but, like the scars, it was always going to be a part of him.

Their voices dropped to whispers, appropriate to the quiet intimacy of the night.

"I'm sorry, William."

"I know." His voice carried an edge of regret, that was almost heartbreaking in its intensity, but she also heard the gratitude and the relief. Signs that he was on the journey back.

And sometimes a moment just catches you and holds you in place. As if it had always been there, waiting for you to step right into it. A moment when you see more clearly, and you hear exactly what is being said. A moment when you feel so close to someone that you never want to let them go.

At that moment Buffy knew that all William wanted or needed was to be standing there with her, staring at the sky. Even as she was tightening her hold, he was relaxing against her. Her breathing was erratic as she struggled with the intensity of it all, but his was slow and even. She kept hold of him because if she let go she was going to panic and run away. She almost felt like an intruder. A voyeur, watching in fascination as another human being went through the process of healing. Hope welling up, faith being restored, they were so in tune with each other just then that she knew exactly what was happening to him.

Sometimes your only task is to simply be with someone and to bear witness for them. So that when they ask you later if it really happened, you can tell them it did because you felt it too.

Buffy kept very still and let William decide when to move. He did eventually and they walked back to the house in silence, stepping back into reality as the porch lamp illuminated them.

Every time this happened she was going to know him a little better, feel a little closer to him, feel more comfortable and more relaxed around him. An emotional journey of this intensity would tie them together in a way that could probably never be untangled. The full force of it hit her as she turned the key in the lock and let them both back into the kitchen. She'd thought there'd be talking, maybe tears. She'd do a lot of listening, dispense sage advice, shake her head in disgust at the terrible things that had happened to him. But she hadn't reckoned on having to go through everything he'd been through. Hadn't reckoned to feel it this much. Hadn't reckoned on his ability to communicate the pain to her quite as successfully as he did. Or on her willingness to receive it as much as she wanted to.

"Hungry?" she asked him as she opened the fridge and then closed it again because she remembered it was empty.

"I'm always hungry," he replied. "Can I help?"

"Yeah, catch." She threw a packet of pasta that she'd found in a cupboard at him and he fielded it expertly.

"Got anything to go with this?"

"Tin of tomatoes, tuna, what do you need?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You've got to be a better cook than I am, right?"

"That's not very likely," he said as he joined her and stared into the cupboard. "Got any garlic?"

"There's some hanging in the back porch. You know, for vampires," she said, attempting a joke.

"You can't be too careful these days," he replied dryly. "You go fetch and I'll put the pasta on."

She did as she was told, glad to be by herself for a few minutes as she pulled a clove from the string of garlic hanging by the back door. Special moments, like the one they'd just had can pass so quickly that you're left wondering if they really happened at all. She took a few breaths to calm herself. He hadn't really opened up about Spike either, all he'd done was make it worse by telling her that Spike was someone she wouldn't want to know.

All very confusing. She was growing closer to William, who semed to be changing before her very eyes, but she still didn't know if she needed to fear Spike.

Every moment they spent together brought her a new understanding of the person he was and the person he'd been. And these steps needed acknowledging, he needed to know that she'd seen it, and that he was doing okay.

"There you go," she said as she handed him the garlic. "I'm glad one of us can cook, Mom said we had to remember to eat."

He pulled at the skin of the garlic with his fingers, smiling at her words. "Got a knife?"

"Yeah, here." She found him one and handed it to him. "So, what have you learnt tonight?" It was almost a throwaway line and she busied herself opening a bottle of wine as she spoke.

"That you have better balance than I have." The garlic went into the pan of sizzling olive oil.

"Anything else?" Buffy reached into one of the glass fronted cupboards and took out two wine glasses.

"That you have a budding career in prospect as a new-age therapist?"

"You think?" she said pouring them each a generous glassful of wine. "Anything else?"

"That I'm not the only crazy one around here?"

"Comforting, isn't it?" She handed him a glass. "Come on, let's have a toast."

He put down his wooden spoon and turned to face her. "To what?"

"To your journey back. May I say I'm honoured to be your travel companion."

She hadn't expected it to come out like that, and neither had he expected to hear it, by the look on his face. Slightly embarrassed, she held his gaze nevertheless. "I mean it."

"I know," he replied, clinking his glass with hers. "I know."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

After dinner Buffy declared that it was only fair that she clear up since he'd cooked, so William went outside and sat down on the porch swing for a cigarette. He let himself drift as he filled his lungs with smoke and blew it out into the crisp night air.

She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever set eyes on. But then, when you're drunk, every woman is the most beautiful you've ever seen. Puffing determinedly on the joint that was being passed around, bottle in hand, hanging on to his arm, pressing herself against him. The signals were pretty clear. She was there to have a good time, and so was he.

Plenty to celebrate. A good degree under his belt, starting Grad School. One of the professors had gotten him some contract work upgrading the lab computers. Pretty routine stuff, but something to put on his CV.

They stumbled down the corridor trying doors as they went. Some were locked, some were open but already taken with couples who were way ahead of them. Backing out giggling their apologies, her hand in his, they continued their search until they found a room that was empty.

It was over within minutes. Sprawled across the bed, they panted for breath. She'd told him she was on the pill so he didn't need to go find a condom, but she hadn't told him that she was a virgin. And he felt bad, because her first time shouldn't have been a drunken fumble in the dark with a stranger. To top it off he then, very unromantically, passed out, and when he woke up, she was gone.

He threw up in the toilet and then asked around for her. Someone told him she'd gone home hours ago and it was now two am, so he decided to leave finding her until tomorrow. He had no idea where she lived, or even her last name so he made his way back to his apartment, crawled into his own bed and fell asleep again.

At five in the morning he was woken up by the police knocking on his door. The accusation made him laugh, but his smile soon faded when he saw how serious they were. A few people came out to watch as they took him away, some muttering, some pointing. Someone called out to him but he couldn't hear them because they seemed very far away, and the world seemed suddenly made of treacle.

Every step was an effort. Every word sounded wrong. And no-one believed his story. They just kept saying over and over that the person they were talking about, was him. He spoke, but no-one seemed to be able to hear him and after a while he couldn't even hear himself. The world flipped on its axis and became a place of lies instead of truth, darkness instead of light and the louder he shouted, the quieter his voice became.

Until one day it was just him, alone, and screaming silently in the dark.

He stubbed out his cigarette on the wooden decking, flipped it into the garden and went back inside.

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The phone rang just before Buffy went to bed. After an evening in front of the television they'd both gone up early, and now William was taking a bath and she was lying on her bed trying to read a magazine, but really going over what had happened earlier in the garden. A large step forward in their relationship, but one that had left them both floundering as to what to do next.

How did you have an intense emotional relationship with a man who wasn't your boyfriend? How did you touch someone, get really close and still keep it platonic? She thought of Xander, but that had somehow always seemed different. After the attack she'd been there for him, but so had Anya and his family and a whole bunch of other friends. William seemed to have no-one to get close to, right now. Except her.

She'd only known him a day and already they'd bonded. There was no other word for it, she was in this for the long haul, no matter how it turned out. Even if he left tomorrow and she never saw him again she'd never forget him. Never forget the look on his face as she'd reached out for him, or how he'd felt as he'd held her in the garden.

She picked up the phone and chatted with Joyce for a few moments. She'd left her favourite earrings and wanted Buffy to mail them to her. Buffy promised she'd look in the drawer as instructed, but her mom was unusually insistent, even for her, so she told her that she'd look straight away, and put the phone down.

Making her way to Joyce's room took her past the bathroom and the sound of water running into the old cast iron bath. There were other bathrooms in the house but this was the only original one, installed when the house was built and her grandparents' pride and joy. The bath was free standing with claw feet and very deep. A great place for a long relaxing soak.

The earrings were just where Joyce had said they'd be, lying on a buff folder with a name neatly written across the front. Buffy was starting to close the drawer when she realised whose name it was. She opened it again and pulled out the folder.

William Denham, Case-notes.

She read the name again and looked around, almost as if she was afraid that someone was going to catch her looking at it, then she walked back to the door and closed it. Her fingers were trembling as she lay down on her stomach on the bed and opened it up. It was full of loose sheets, some handwritten, some typed. Reports, transcripts, statements.

Thank you Mom, she whispered as, with a pounding heart she started to read the things she'd been so desperate to know.

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"You wanted to see?"

William stood very still as the girl sat up in bed. She groped for the bedside light and he saw her push back her blonde hair and blink at him.

"William?"

He lifted his hand and traced the line of the scar before looking up again.

"You said you wanted to see it."

"William, it's the middle of the night." She slipped out of bed, pulling down the tee shirt that came to the middle of her thighs. "Are you awake?" she asked him.

He frowned, puzzled at her question. "But I thought you wanted to see it."

"I do, William, you want to show it to me now?"

She moved slowly towards him and he looked around him wondering why the room looked so different. It was too big and the bunks were missing.

He lifted his hand and then let it drop again.

"If you like."

"Come here then."

He felt her hand in his and her voice was soft and kind so he let her take him and sit him down on the edge of the bed.

"William, it's Buffy, can you hear me?"

She was kneeling in front of him now, holding both of his hands, and she looked like an angel.

"What happened to you, William?"

He shrugged his shoulders and looked down at her hands. They felt familiar in his, but he couldn't remember why.

"Were you in a fight?"

He looked around again, wondering who she was talking to, and trying to work out if this was heaven or not. She was an angel, so this must be.

"Spike?"

His head jerked up and she moved back, but he tightened his grip on her hands and kept her in place. "Who wants to know?"

She froze, looking at him warily. "It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you."

"William's dead, I killed him."

"I know, but only for a short time. William's back now."

He looked at the hands he was holding, turned them over and ran his thumbs over the palms. She shivered.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked her.

"No, no I'm not. Let me take you back to bed."

She was tugging lightly on his arms, pulling him up and he let her take him. He'd never believed in guardian angels, until now. He stared at her back as she led him away, wondering where her wings were, and why he'd never seen her before.

This room didn't look right, either. He looked around for his cell-mates, but they weren't around. That was good, he didn't want them to see her. She was his, and only his.

She pulled back the quilt and pointed to his jeans.

"Do you want to take them off?"

He did as he was told, and then her hand was rubbing his arm.

"Get in bed, you need to sleep."

He nodded, he was very tired, and when he was this tired nothing made any sense. So he lay down and felt the soft quilt drifting around him as she tucked him up. But then she was leaving and he panicked because he thought he'd never see her again so he sat up and tried to get out of bed again.

She was back, pushing him down again, soothing him with soft words and this time he caught her hand so that she couldn't leave.

"Don't go," he said, pulling her hand to his chest and holding it there. "Please stay."

He heard her sigh, felt the bed dip as she climbed onto it, and then he felt her settle behind him, her arm across his chest where he was still holding it and her other in his hair.

"Go to sleep," she whispered, so close that it made him shiver.

The hand stroked his hair, the voice soothed him, and the warm body wrapped around him made him feel safe, so he did as she said and drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

tbc...

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