By Moxie

Rating: R
Pairings: Present day William and Buffy
Genre: Fantasy? All human AU
Status: Work in progress
Summary :The premise is that William spent two years in prison for a crime he didn't commit and the story begins at the point at which he starts to rebuild his life. He'll find himself working with Buffy, sparks fly (of course) but she's got to get him to believe in himself again before he can love her. I'm thinking beach side setting, Victorian clapboard houses, antiques shopping anddressing up in costume.

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Chapter 8

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Six years worth of crying is a lot of tears to cry all at once. And not something you should do alone.

Lonely tears are hopeless tears, William knew that well enough. And a shoulder to cry on was more than just that. There'd been times when he would have given anything just for someone to be there. To hear the sound of his despair. And to tell him that they understood what he was going through.

And plenty of times when he'd wanted to cry, but didn't dare.

Like the sands shifting beneath a wave's gentle caress, the focus changed from him to her. To giving instead of receiving. Holding instead of being held. And he reached out for her with the kind of understanding that you can only give when you've been through it too.

Almost like a physical thing, he felt the last two and a half years finally loosen their hold on him, and start to slip quietly away. Time to look forward and to let the past take its place. It had happened, but it was gone. No need to keep living it. He understood that now.

"Let it go, Buffy," he said, pushing himself up. "I'm going to."

"Are you?"

She was staring at him intently, her gaze slightly unfocussed, as if she was looking way beyond what she could see in this room. But it could have just been the tears that gave her that far-away look. He could see they were coming, big time.

"I think so. It's part of me now, but not a part I have to keep living over and over. Bitterness just eats you from the inside, so does regret. We can't change the past, Buffy. All we can do is be the people we are now and go forward from here."

"You're glowing," she said bringing her hand to his face again.

He sat very still as she wiped away all traces of his earlier tears, wondering if she'd heard what he'd said. Her fingers moved with such care over his face that it almost made him want to start all over again. And this was Buffy, so there was no need to be embarrassed.

"It's your turn now," he said when she finally dropped her hand and sat back.

She started to shake her head, but made no protest as he slipped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her towards him.

"Come on, Buffy. I'll let it go if you will, what do you say?"

She cried for a long time, as he knew she would. At some point they lay down against the stack of pillows, her head on his chest, his arm still around her. The panic was gone, he realised as he brought his other arm up. At least with her it was. She trusted him enough to let him see this and it made him feel strong and reminded him that he used to be, once, and he could be again.

Because she needed him as much as he needed her.

"Tell me where I can find him," he said as the sobs finally subsided. "I'll go beat the crap out of him for you."

That got a shaky laugh out of her. He reached over her and pulled a tissue from the box on the bedside table.

"Here," he said handing it to her. "Feel any better?"

She sat up and blew her nose. "Yeah, I think so," she said, looking around at the torn papers on the bed.

"Mom's gonna freak."

"She'll understand," he said. And he knew that Joyce, of all people would.

Buffy sniffed and for a moment he thought she was going to get up and go, but instead she lay down again, and settled herself back onto his tear-stained tee shirt.

This time he did have a small panic. Before it had been a spontaneous gesture, an act of mutual comfort that had happened quite naturally, but suddenly he could smell the shampoo she used. Her hair was tickling his face as her head rested on his shoulder. He could feel every inch of her as she pressed against him, her chest rising and falling as she breathed in time with him.

A natural reaction to being this close to a woman again, he told himself, but he knew it was more than that. The panic was nothing new, but the reason for it was.

Falling in love. With the right person, it was just so easy.

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She could feel it. His heartbeat, slightly too fast, his breathing slow and measured, as if he was trying to do it without her noticing. Buffy wondered if he could feel hers too.

"Is this okay, me being here, like this?" she asked him.

His arm tightened slightly around her before he replied.

" 'Course it is. Why did you say I was glowing?"

"Did I? Oh, the lamp, kind of caught your hair. Made you go all angelic."

"I've been called some things, but never that," he said with a small laugh. "Dreamed about an angel once."

"Did you?" She could hear his stomach gurgling. "Are you hungry, William?"

"Not really. Scoffed a bag of Doritos earlier, and that lentil bake was kind of…"

"Heavy?"

"Didn't like to say."

That made her laugh, and she relaxed a little more. His heartbeat was slowing back to normal, which was good because she was far too comfortable to move. She wriggled herself just a little so that she could listen to it properly, and she felt him lift his head.

"What are you doing?" he asked her.

"Stealing your cigarettes."

His hand went instinctively for his pocket, and she giggled.

"I'm listening to your heartbeat. And you're a bad boy for buying more cigarettes."

"You got that right. I can't give up just like that, Buffy. But I'll try," he added. "Does that make you happy?"

"Yeah, it does. Is that how you think of yourself, as bad?"

"Just something that happens. Bad people go to prison, so if you're in prison, you must be bad. Vicious circle."

There was a wet patch on his tee-shirt where he'd caught her tears. Buffy traced the outline of the mark. Would she have cried them if he hadn't been there to encourage her? She felt lighter somehow, as if giving voice to her pain had somehow helped to alleviate it.

"Why did she do it?"

Buffy felt him tense under her as she asked the question, so she quickly added. "You don't have to talk about it, I shouldn't have asked."

"It's alright. I don't mind. She had this bible bashing father, guess she thought she was going to get into trouble if they found out about what she'd done, but I really don't know why. It still doesn't make any sense. All I know is that I should have known better."

"No, William. You didn't do anything wrong."

"She was a virgin, Buffy, and all she got for her first time was a stoned drunk who fell asleep on her. By the next morning she was covered in bruises and they said I'd done them. Well, I might as well have. I should have seen her safely home, at least, but when I woke up, she was gone."

He'd been stroking her shoulder, all the way through his speech. Short, jerky movements that betrayed his growing agitation, and she could hear the distress creeping into his voice. Saying you were letting go of the past was one thing. Actually doing it was something else entirely. She hugged him harder to let him know she understood.

"We've all done things we regret," she told him. "You're not the only one. I thought I could make Liam want me by having sex with him in an alley way outside a club. That's how messed up I was over him. I ended up feeling cheap and he just walked away."

"Buffy?"

He was trying to pull her up, but she didn't let him. Instead she buried her face into the curve of his neck and hid.

"Buffy, you don't have to tell me this."

"Yes, I do."

He let her stay where she was, twisting himself so that she could get more comfortable, and bringing his hand to the back of her head. Lying very still, apart from the small circles his thumb was drawing in her hair.

Her voice deserted her as tears threatened once more. What were they? Tears of pity? Tears of shame? Buffy having a tantrum because she didn't get what she wanted? She just didn't know any more.

"Everyone knew about it," she continued when she'd got herself under control. "So, you see, you're not the only one who makes foolish choices that they regret. I know what it's like to have people whisper behind my back. Not nice, is it?"

"No, it isn't. Do you think you'd have been happy with him?"

Buffy lifted her head and shifted so that she was leaning back against his shoulder. William moved again to accommodate her.

"I don't know, I thought so but I was so fixated on him, I couldn't see past that."

"He doesn't sound like he deserves you. Sounds like a right jerk."

"Well, Cordelia's welcome to him." Buffy wiped her eyes again and waved her arm imperiously. "Liam Angelus, I formally put you behind me. Now you say it."

"Liam Angelus…ow!"

Buffy dug him in the ribs with her elbow, a little harder than she'd intended. "Sorry about that, but you know what I mean. Say something."

"Okay." He thought for a moment. "I'm looking forward to a brand new future. How does that sound?"

"Sounds wonderful. Tell me what you see in it."

"Me back out in the world, I suppose. Just getting on with life. Was thinking of going back to England, or the Far East, maybe. My parents have business contacts all over the place. Make a new start, that sort of thing."

She hadn't realised how hard they were holding each other. Even as he was talking about going away he was hanging on to her, his grip almost painful on her arm. What was it Tara had said? Don't question it, just go for it. She couldn't remember the exact words, but she did know that her heart had slithered right down into her stomach when he'd said he was going away.

"I might no let you go," she said trying to keep her tone light.

"No?"

A mixture of hope and surprise, that's what she heard. Or maybe it was wishful thinking?

"Nope. You've got to design me the biggest and best website ever."

"I can do most of that from home, Buffy."

"Oh, that's great," she said, lifting her eyes heavenward. "Leave me to grow old here in this big house all by myself. I'm going to end up as one of those cranky old ladies, all shrivelled up and bitter, and the kids will be too scared to come and knock for Halloween candy because they'll think I'm a witch or something."

"Is that what you think?"

"At the rate I'm going?"

"I'd better stay then."

"You bet."

"Don't want you getting all shrivelled and stuff, not nice."

"I'll blame you if I do."

It went quiet, but neither of them moved. There were times to talk but this was a time to be still. A time to think.

Buffy listened to William's breathing evening out and deepening. What was this? she asked herself. Just two people who desperately needed something and happened to have come in contact with each other at the right time? Or was it more than that? And how would they know if they didn't try to find out?

She wasn't surprised at the speed of it. It had taken barely a glance for her to fall head over heels with Liam and that had sustained her for six years.

But that had been a big, passionate thing. A desperate wanting. A need to have and possess and never let go. She'd gone after him all guns blazing and really would have given him everything he'd wanted. If only he'd asked.

Straining violins and big orchestral numbers. That's what falling in love was all about. Blazing kisses under a harvest moon while the sky lit up with fireworks.

Just one giant cliche. Wasn't it?

William was the guy with the halo. But all she'd heard when the light had shone through his hair was the soft click of the last puzzle piece being put in place. All she'd seen was a place she could call home, and all she'd wanted to do was hold him, but without any thought of possession.

Not like she'd expected at all.

She let William fall asleep, even though it was too early to go to bed, then she got up, cleared the remnants of the file and put them back into the folder. Some of the pages were salvageable, some he'd ripped into such small pieces that they were beyond repair. Mandy, that was her name, Buffy caught a glimpse of it on one of the torn scraps. Did she even know what she'd done? Was she happily finishing college, totally unaware, or uncaring of the way she'd broken another human being? How could anyone live without a conscience?

Buffy swallowed down the anger. Finish William's portrait, that's what she'd do because there was no way she was going to sleep. Not with all these thoughts and feelings swirling around inside of her.

Liam and Cordelia, Tara's words, William saying he was leaving and her not wanting him to. She definitely neeed a good painting session to calm herself down.

Buffy held her breath as William settled himself into the pillows.

It's got to come from him, not me, she thought. He needs to know he can do this on his own. Needs to know that he's still entitled to love. But he needs to find that out for himself.

She stood and watched him for a while, smiling both at the picture he made with his mussed up hair and his face relaxed in sleep, and at the notion that Buffy Summers was turning into a philosopher in her old age. But it was true. She could take his hand and lead him, or she could let him find his own way, with a little gentle encouragement, of course.

The smile turned a little wicked as she leaned down and touched her lips very lightly to his. He didn't react and she was part disappointed, part relieved. Don't rush things, more sound advice from Tara. But don't move too slowly, either. Buffy thought. Life's just too short to hang about, or to repeat old mistakes.

"Over to you, William," she whispered and then she crept out and left him to sleep.

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She'd been kissing him for three days. At least, that's what it seemed like.

He'd heard her moving around, clearing up the file, even through his sleepy haze, and then he'd felt her lips on his. By the time his stunned brain had made sense of what was happening, she'd gone, and over the last three days he'd done nothing but re-live that moment over and over. Thought about it, analysed it, asked himself what it meant. And more importantly, what was he to do about it?

It was almost as if she'd made the first move, and now she was waiting for him to do something, he thought as he reached into the flower bed for what he hoped was a weed and pulled it out. Only he couldn't remember what to do. Couldn't work out if he was allowed to do this or not. Didn't think he deserved it. And definitely thought that she deserved better.

What would Joyce say? What was everyone going to say?

Buffy and an ex - con. Could he do that to her?

She'd kissed him on the lips. Why would she do that if it didn't mean anything…?

"Beer?"

William sat back on his heels and shaded his eyes. "Yeah, thanks Xander." He took the bottle and jumped to his feet.

"Where's Buffy?" he asked him.

"Slave driver's gone into town with Anya for more cleaning supplies. Reckon this is our window, come on."

"What about the flower bed?"

"Looks good to me," Xander said. "Come on, we've earned a break."

Xander hitched himself up onto the low part of the beach wall and William did the same. It was a bright, clear day, but the wind had a keen edge to it. A sure sign that the year was winding down in earnest now. The tide was out and a scattering of people pottered about. Most visitors sat by the steps in town and only the most dedicated came this far, especially at this time of the year.

Those who really loved the sea, William thought. To understand it you had to get away from all the commercialism and the crowds.

He'd made his nightly walk a ritual, and every time he did it he felt more in tune with it all. A completely different rhythm to anything he'd know for the last two and a half years. The need to reconnect went way beyond finding a job and learning to deal with people again, and he hadn't realised how much he needed to touch the real world once more until he'd come here.

The tides came and went. The moon grew larger night by night. The sun shone and sometimes it rained. The cliff was being eaten away by the incessant pounding of the waves and the trees would soon be nothing but bare branches. Everything was changing all around him, some things so fast that you could actually see it happening, others too slow to ever be noticed.

And he was changing with it. He could feel it now, after two and a half years of standing still and for most of the time, not being able to see it. And it was a wonderful feeling.

"So, how do you like it here?" Xander took a swig of his beer and adjusted his eye-patch.

William noticed he did that a lot.

"Great place. Buffy's a lucky woman."

"Sure is," Xander replied. "Big place for one person though. Told her she should rent it out and go live somewhere smaller. Would make herself a fortune."

"Can't see Buffy doing that, somehow."

"Nope, just like her gran. Stubborn as hell and once she sets her mind to something it has to be done yesterday. She asked you to go skydiving with her yet?"

"Yeah, but I'm not that stupid," William said, his eyes on the house just in case Buffy came back and found them shirking their duties.

"She'll get you," Xander said shaking his head and laughing. "It's no good saying no, that just makes her worse. You are dressing up for the open house aren't you?"

"Yeah, there was no way I was getting out of that."

"She's gonna need all the help she can get. We're not just there to be decorative. Gotta keep an eye on people, make sure they don't lift anything. Need someone in every room really. Can't trust people these days."

William stared out to sea. "No, you can't."

They both drank their beers for a while and then Xander caught him looking at his watch.

"They won't be back for at least an hour. Lucky for us the hardware store's right next to a shoe shop." He laughed again at William's expression. "We'll be lucky if we see them again this afternoon."

Another short silence, then Xander spoke again. Quietly this time and without the bravado or jollity that usually laced his speech.

"How long you been out?"

"Of prison? Six months."

"Was it tough? You know, inside."

"Pretty grim." William nodded to himself. "How long 've you had that?" He pointed to Xander's eye-patch.

"Three months, four days and fourteen hours," Xander replied without hesitation.

"Buffy said you were saving some woman from a mugger."

"You didn't buy the crocodile story then?"

"Naa. Painful?"

"Like you'd never believe." Xander put down his empty bottle, balancing it carefully on the wall. "Worse part, is everyone staring all the time, feeling sorry for me. Got to a point where I was thinking about leaving 'cos I couldn't stand it any more."

"That sucks."

"Yeah, it does."

William pulled out his cigarettes. "Mind if I smoke?"

Xander shrugged his indifference, waving away the packet when William offered him one, watching William as he lit up.

"What's she had to say about those then?"

"Who Buffy?" William exhaled and flicked the ash into the garden. "Wants me to give up, said I'd try."

Xander picked at his nails while William smoked his cigarette.

"If you ever want to talk," Xander began, looking everywhere but at William, "you know, umm, man to man, like…"

William got out another cigarette, looked at it, then put it back into the box. "Er, thanks…"

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"Do I need another pair of shoes?"

"What kind of question is that?" Anya looked at her sideways, her foot poised over a bright red stiletto pump. "Since when did any woman have too many shoes?" She slipped into the second shoe and went for a stroll across the shop. "Do you think Xander will like these?"

"Are you kidding?" Buffy said squeezing her foot into a very practical ankle - high boot. "How about these?"

Anya spared them only a brief glance. "Great, if you're going hill walking in the Himalayas. Which knowing you, you might be. You're not thinking of wearing them to the Bronze, are you?"

"To the After Halloween Party?" Buffy wriggled out of the boots. They were too tight anyway. "Don't know if I'm going this year with William being here."

"Oh, I forgot," Anya said making a bee-line for a black, thigh - length boot. "He doesn't like people staring at him." She picked it up, tilted her head at it, and took it back to the seat. The assistant scurried off to fetch her the other one. "And they probably will. But he's got to be used to that, right?"

"I don't think you ever get used to that sort of thing, you just learn to live with it. Oh crap, it's Cordy."

There was no point in taking evasive action since Cordelia had already seen her. She faltered slightly, as if she was thinking the same thing as Buffy, then she squared her shoulders and came over.

"Hi guys." She waved cheerily and the smile was a little too bright, but she looked happy, Buffy noticed. In that I- have- a- new- man kind of way that only another woman would spot. "So, what's new?"

Buffy arranged her mouth into an equally bright smile. "Cordelia," she said reaching for the discarded stilettos that Anya had left on the floor. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Well, you know, busy. Oohh, nice shoes."

"Yeah." Buffy stood up, lifted one foot and looked at it critically. "Was thinking of buying them for the Bronze on Sunday."

"I thought you said you weren't coming." Anya paused momentarily in her struggle to zip up the boot over her jeans.

"I didn't say that." Buffy sat down again. "If William doesn't want to come, then I'll just go by myself."

"And we all know what happened the last time you went to the Bronze by yourself."

Cordelia and Buffy both froze in mid gesture, while Anya continued with her life and death struggle with the other boot. She lifted her head, took in the two pairs of wide, staring eyes and put her hand over her mouth.

"Oops," she said with an apologetic giggle.

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"You don't mind us leaving early, do you?" Anya rose from the table, walked around to Xander and slipped her arms around the back of his neck. "I need to get Xander home so I can show him my new shoes."

"Go," Buffy said. "You guys have been great today, house is looking wonderful. Gran would definitely have approved."

"Always glad to help," Xander said getting up and slipping his arm around Anya. "So, what colour are these shoes then?"

She leaned in and whispered in his ear.

"Whoa. Bye Buffy, William." Anya gave a squawk as Xander swung her up over his shoulder and strode towards the door.

Buffy dashed after them and handed the dangling Anya her purse and the carrier bag containing the shoes. "Bright and early on Saturday, please. The house opens at ten."

"We'll be here," Xander shouted back. "And thanks for the food."

"You're more than welcome."

William knocked back his wine and started gathering up the dirty plates. Good food, relaxing company, he'd forgotten what it was like. Sitting around a table feeling suitably stuffed, chatting and laughing. Slowly sliding into that wonderfully mellow state that invariably comes when you're on your fourth glass of wine. He still felt as if he was skirting around the edges of it all, but Xander and Anya were nice people, and they made him feel welcome.

If he was a friend of Buffy's then he was a friend of theirs, it was as simple as that, and rather humbling in a way. An unexpected gift.

He stacked up the dishwasher while Buffy went out after Xander with his car keys, which he'd left on the table in his haste to get Anya home.

"Nice people," he said when she came back in.

"What, even Anya?" Buffy fetched a cloth and wiped down the table, then she stood by finishing up her wine while he put the last of the plates away. Napoleon sat hopefully by his dish so William dropped a handful of cat-biscuits in as he passed by.

"He has you wrapped right around his paw," Buffy said. "Soft touch."

"Well, it's those eyes," William replied. "And yeah, even Anya. She's kind of blunt, like you said, but you know where you are with people like that. They tell it like it is, so you're not always wondering what they mean."

"Got that right. Shall we open another bottle?"

He was halfway through a shrug when he remembered the pep talk she'd given him on being positive. "Yeah, why not? Want me to do it?"

"They're in the basement, come on, I'll help you choose one. Granddad left this stack of really old bottles, all dusty and expensive looking. Shall we crack open one of those?"

He followed her down the steps almost tripping over Napoleon who never seemed to be very far behind.

"1949?" William wiped the label with his sleeve and held the bottle close to his face, squinting at the writing. "God, I was right. This'll be valuable stuff, Buffy."

"Let's drink it then," she said her eyes gleaming.

"You should get someone in to do an appraisal." He looked around. "There must be over a hundred bottles here."

"It's not all wine. There's whiskey, Brandy…"

"Bloody hell, you're sitting on a fortune. It's all yours?"

"Came with the house." Buffy put the bottle down. "Okay, Mr. Sensible, we'll drink the cheap stuff. But you and me are going to drink a bottle of this together someday."

"Have to be one heck of a special occasion."

"Oh, it will be."

He shouldn't get too drunk, he cautioned himself. Not that he didn't like getting drunk, but this was the first time he'd been more than a little tipsy in company since that night. And he was already spending far too much time thinking about Buffy as it was.

Nice and easy. That's how he'd describe it. They fit and they flowed and they moved around each other exactly how two people should. And it didn't hurt that she was absolutely gorgeous, and she was kind and generous, and her backside wiggled in a very endearing way as she made her way up the stairs.

"Here," she said when they were back in the kitchen, "do your manly stuff and open the bottle, then we'll go sort those costumes out."

"I'm going to look a prat," he said as he popped the cork. "Pass your glass over."

"Negativity," she sang as she took the full glass from him. "You're gonna look great. I'll do you a portrait, in full costume if you like. You can give it to your gran, or something."

"She'd love that. Still think I'm going to look daft, though."

"Well, let's see. Shall we?"

She was gone before he'd found his glass and poured himself some wine, so he hurried after her. Definitely a born leader was Miss Buffy Summers, always out in front. He found the attic door open and called up the stairs.

"Yeah, come on up," came the muffled reply.

The quarter turn steps were typically steep and his footsteps echoed on the floorboards as he negotiated them. Napoleon shot ahead of him, his strangely elongated shadow dancing along the walls. The whole house resonated very strongly of bygone days with all its authentic furniture and Victorian bits and pieces, but strangely, it was here, where there were no visual distractions, that he felt it the most.

Bare walls and wooden floors, a short corridor when he got to the top with two doors leading to what he presumed to have been servants quarters at some time, made him feel as if he were really stepping back into the past. One of the doors was ajar, so he pushed it open and found Buffy kneeling in front of a wooden chest, its contents spilled around her as she sorted through it.

"Here," she said flinging a large white object at him. "Try that one for size."

"You want me to try this on?" He held up the shirt.

"Yep," she said disappearing back into the chest and extracting Napoleon who was settling himself down on the stack of clothes. "Get your kit off. Isn't that what you Brits say?"

"What, here?"

"I promise I won't look," she said blithely, her speech slurring slightly. "There's a tie. I'm just going next door to get you some pants and a jacket."

Why so shy all of a sudden? he asked himself It wasn't as if she hadn't seen the scars already. William pulled his tee-shirt and sweatshirt over his head in one motion and slipped into the shirt. The material was soft, the way cotton gets when it's slightly worn and a vague smell of lavender lingered in its fibres. He closed the cuffs and buttoned up as he walked across to the large mirror propped against the wall.

Definitely putting on weight, he thought as he looked critically at the reflected image. His cheeks were never going to look full, but he was losing the death-mask look that he'd been sporting for quite some time now. The tie he had no idea what to do with, it didn't look like a modern tie, so he waited until Buffy came back.

Napoleon hopped back into the chest as William crossed to the window and looked out into the night. It would be a fabulous view during the day, he thought, stepping into the box-like alcove. There was a window in front and one to each side of him, making what was effectively a one hundred and eighty degree lookout post over the sea.

"Hey, you've got a widow's walk," he said, hearing her coming back into the room behind him.

"It's just a widow's window, really," she said. "Poor lonely wife could stand up here and stare out for hours on end, just waiting for the ship bringing her husband back from the sea."

"And sometimes they didn't come back."

"So they'd still stand here, for the rest of their lives, never giving up hope that one day the ship would return. Sad isn't it?"

He jumped as her hand went to his shoulder, smoothing down the crumpled shirt.

"Think I need to iron this," she said. "Did you manage the tie?"

"No, will you…"

Words completely failed him as he turned round and saw that she'd changed too.

Somehow he'd imagined her in a Gone With The Wind style crinoline, since she was supposed to be Scarlett O'Hara, but instead the gown she was wearing was a slim-line, sleevless affair with what looked like a bustle sticking out of the back. The plunging neckline gaped open because the dress was unfastened and to complete it all she'd put on a very sexy-looking pair of long, white gloves that came up past her elbows.

Don't panic, he told himself firmly.

"You like?" she said, doing a twirl. "Oh, fasten me up."

The buttons and loops would have been fiddly at the best of times, but with the way his hand was shaking right then, it was nigh on impossible. He got it done, at last and tried hard not to stare too much at the smooth line of her bare back, and her bra strap.

"Green suits you," he managed at last. "Will you do this tie for me? I haven't a clue."

"So, you don't remember your former life as a Victorian Gent then? Bend down."

He stooped so that she could reach him and kept still as she deftly tied the strange article into a series of soft, loose folds.

"Told you I'd look a prat," he said inspecting the effect in the mirror. "Tara was pretty insistent about it, wasn't she?"

"You do not look a prat," Buffy said batting him on the arm. "You look very handsome, now get this on."

"You're just saying that," he said as he pushed his hands into the sleeves of the jacket. "Are these all originals?"

"Yours is, but Tara made my dress." She stepped up again. "Clever isn't she? Come here, collar's all wonky."

"Thought you'd be in one of those crinoline affairs."

"God no, dangerous things," she said, folding back the collar and smoothing it down with the flat of her hand. "The wind used to catch them and blow women right over. One of the reasons bloomers were invented. And they were always knocking things off shelves and stuff. Very popular for the portraits though. " She picked off a few specks and stood back.

"My god, William. You really look the part. Tara was so right."

"Will I do?" He struck a pose and she burst out laughing.

"Jeans, off. There are two pairs of pants that'll go with the jacket. Wear the pair that fit you best and I'll alter them properly tomorrow. Meet me in my bedroom and I'll do your hair for you."

She disappeared before he could ask her exactly what she intended to do to his hair, calling back that he should bring Napoleon down with him when he came.

"Bossy thing, ain't she?" he said to the cat who'd popped his head out of the chest and decided to take an interest in the proceedings. "Bloody beautiful though." Napoleon tilted his head. "You wouldn't notice, you're only a cat," William told him.

He caught a last glimpse of himself as he collected up his clothes and found his wine glass. His boots didn't look very Victorian, not middle class anyway, but he put them back on because he didn't have anything else to wear, and they still hadn't been clothes shopping for him.

A few weeks, he thought. That's all that separated the middle class Victorian gentleman who looked back at him in the mirror from the sad, pathetic recluse with nothing to live for.

It was a long way to come in so short a time, and still something of a shock. But it felt right, and it felt good. And he could almost see the old William again as he gazed at himself. William, who was going to start his own business and be a millionaire by thirty just to spite his parents. William who spouted poetry at the drop of a hat. William who got ridiculously drunk at parties and slept with girls he hardly knew.

He was ashamed of that, like he'd been ashamed of a lot of things since. But, it was all part of him now. Part of the unique package that made up William, Spike, it made no difference what he called himself, or what he looked like. This is who he was. People could accept him, or not, that was their problem. There were only a few peoples' opinions that he cared about anyway, and one of them was waiting downstairs for him. She'd put her faith in him, and more, and there was no way he was letting her down.

He wasn't just doing this for himself anymore. "Come on, son," he said to the cat. "Let's go find Buffy."

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

William had been right about the wine. It probably was worth a fortune, there were always people who'd pay for the chance that it hadn't gone off during its long rest in her grandfather's cellar. Worth a fortune, like most of the stuff in the house, she thought.

The hairbrush was silver backed, the dressing table she sat at was over a hundred years old and the rug under her feet was a gift to her great grandmother from an Indian nobleman. Definitely time to upgrade the security system, and the insurance, her gran had been very lax about things like that. Always saw the best in everyone, couldn't imagine that anyone would want to steal anything. God only knew what she'd lost over the years.

Buffy pulled off the long gloves, twisted her hair into a knot and secured it with hairpins. Then she pushed a fan-shaped tortoiseshell comb into the top of the twist of hair. A theatrical look was what she was going for so she reddened her cheeks with blusher and added extra mascara to her eyelashes. She didn't notice that William was watching her until the cat jumped onto her lap.

"Oh, sit down," she said vacating the stool for him. "This is going to look so good."

William sat, dutifully. "What are you going to do?" he said.

Buffy squeezed out a dollop of hair gel and rubbed her hands together. "Going to slick it back. Don't want the poet look, want the strict Victorian father look."

"I should grow one of those handle-bar moustache things," he said as she worked the gel into his hair.

"Yuk, I hate kissing men with moustaches, don't do that."

She winked at him in the mirror and maintained eye contact as a very faint pink tinge stained his cheeks. And she overdid the hair gelling just a little since he seemed to be enjoying it so much. He closed his eyes just after the kissing comment so she allowed herself a smile.

"Ever had an Indian Head Massage?" she asked him.

"No."

"I'll give you one, sometime," she said. "You'll love it."

There was a lesson for her too in all this. She'd fallen for Liam in a blink of an eye. Zero to sixty in five seconds flat without stopping to look at him to see who he really was, or who he'd become. To her he'd always been the handsome, athletic boy she'd first set eyes on and all she could remember of it were the frantic and extremely frustrating make-out sessions they'd invariably fall into whenever they were alone.

Despite the orchestra and fireworks, all she had in common with Liam was sex she thought as she picked up a comb and drew it through William's hair.

He looked surprised at the transformation so simple a thing had made.

"Knew it would look good," she said. "Do you have any other shoes?"

"No," he turned his head to inspect his profile. "I look so different."

Buffy crouched behind him, her arm draped over his shoulder, her chin resting on the other. One eye closed she sighted him in the mirror.

"Can I do a quick sketch?" she asked him.

"Yeah, okay."

He half turned his face and they were so close that his cheek brushed against hers.

"Thanks," Buffy said and then she planted a very small kiss on it and stood up to find her sketchpad. It all happened in one fluid movement so that she was already searching her bedside cupboard before he had time to react.

His hand went to his cheek, but he quickly moved it away as she turned around.

"Okay, sit still, but you can talk to me if you like," she said.

Was she flirting with him? She reached for a stick of charcoal but decided against it. Too messy when she was in costume so she picked up a pencil instead.

"Was thinking about the website," he said. "We should put everything on one and just divide it up. If you have the risqué ones on their own site you're going to get weirdos logging on thinking it's some porno site. Don't want you getting cyber stalked."

"That's a good point." Buffy ripped off the page and started again. Had he noticed she was flirting with him? "Turn you head a little that way."

"Like this?"

"Perfect, just hold that."

"So, we start with the ordinary portraits and lead them through a tour of your work."

"What, like a virtual art gallery?"

"In a way. I've had this daft idea, don't know if it's going to work."

"Tell me then."

"How about we start a story about the characters in the portrait and sort of weave it in with the pictures. You could add a chapter weekly. You'll soon pick up readers for that alone, and they're all potential customers. They'll log on, read, look around, probably not do anything about it, but the evil cliff-hanger might just bring them back for another read and then they're looking at the pictures again and maybe imagining themselves in the costumes. Do you see how it could work?"

"You really are good at this stuff, aren't you?" Buffy put down the pad. "And don't you dare shrug those shoulders. It's a brilliant idea except for one thing."

"What?"

"I haven't written anything since I left college." She picked up the crocheted shawl she'd got out and draped it over her shoulders. "And never a romance, that's what you mean, isn't it?"

"I suppose so, but I'll get you started." William stood up too. "I'll even write it for you, if you want. Shall we do those photographs now?"

"We ought to," Buffy said "Get in character, then."

That earned her a puzzled look.

"You're supposed to be my husband, so escort me down to the studio."

"Oh." William flapped about for a bit then crooked his arm. "Er, allow me?"

Buffy tucked herself in, nodding her approval and patting his hand. "It's great, isn't it?" she said as they strolled downstairs. "Pretending to be someone else for a while, so you can do things, you wouldn't normally do."

"What, like when I was Spike, in prison?"

"I suppose so, but I'm talking about having fun, William. Only happy thoughts tonight, yes?"

"Thinking them even as we speak."

"Tell me," she insisted.

"Umm, er, was thinking about a pet rabbit I once had. Big fluffy thing."

"Huh?"

"Not really."

"What were you thinking then?" she asked as they stepped out onto the veranda and she stopped to lock the back door.

"Was thinking how nice you look in that dress."

She stayed where she was, looking at the door with him behind her so he couldn't see her face."

"And that's good, isn't it? You being able to say that to a woman again. That's got to be a good thing for you?"

He didn't answer so she turned around and he was still where she'd left him. Standing by the steps, hands in pockets. Breathing a little harder, but otherwise the same.

"Yeah," he said at last a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Buffy smiled back, her heart swelling. Not just for the compliment, but for the very fact that he'd been able to say it at all.

"No panic?" she asked.

"No." He shook his head then he added. "Well, maybe just a small one."

"Say it again."

"You look fantastic in that dress."

"And again."

"You look bloody amazing in that dress."

"You too, Will."

"I'm not wearing a dress," he said laughing and looking down at himself.

"William!" Buffy replied, her eyes widening. "You know what I mean." Then she bit her lip. "You do know what I mean, don't you?"

tbc...