Chapter 18

People talk about lights at the end of tunnels and sometimes that’s just how it feels. Walking towards it, watching it grow bigger and brighter. And the brighter it gets, the quicker you move. Until suddenly you’re running, because the end is in sight and all you want to do is leave the dark behind.

And when you burst through, it’s so bright that it blinds you for a while. You can’t help blinking a bit - until you get used to it again.

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


“So where’ve they really gone, then?”

In proper boy’s night out mode, Xander tipped back his head and took a long, noisy slug of his beer, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. “Oh they’re at the Bronze. Did Buffy tell you they were going to the Bronze?”

“Yeah, some sort of girls only night apparently. But she was all kinds of sheepish about it.”

“Ahh, so she didn’t tell you about the strippers?”

“Strippers?” William’s beer stopped abruptly on its way to his mouth. “You’re kidding, as in male?”

“Well, duh.” Xander raised his eyebrows, a huge grin on his face at William’s expression. “Anya’s thing, of course. Organises it every year. They’ll all be there. Why do you think this place is so full of guys?”

William looked around, only now noticing all the testosterone. “Guess Anya’s night is kind of popular then?”

“You said it,” Xander replied and swung his empty bottle. “Refill?”

“S’my turn,” William slid a hand into his pocket. “She still giving you a hard time?”

“On the subject of marriage? You bet. And it’s your fault.”

“What, because I proposed to Buffy? Doesn’t mean you have to get married too.”

“Try telling that to Anya.”

Xander leaned back into his chair, a well-practiced put-upon look gracing his features. William laughed at that and slapped his friend’s shoulder in what he hoped was a manly fashion as he stood up to go to the bar. “Can think of worse things,” he said. “Cheer up.”

Xander pulled another face out of his considerable repertoire. “Okay for you, Mr Spontaneous. I gotta think about it for the next ten years and then I still don’t know if I’m gonna to be ready for it.”

William thought about sitting down again since he felt a little responsible for Xander’s plight. Only a little though. But there was an opening at the bar, so he tilted his head towards it and raised his voice above a group of rowdies who’d decided that what the evening really lacked was a little karaoke, and they meant to put that right.

“I’ll get us a couple of rounds,” he shouted. “Then you can have a good moan about it all.”

Xander laughed good-naturedly and waved him away. “She’s gonna get me in the end. Got a feeling it’s a done deal.”

“Could be right, mate.”

William threaded his way through the crowd, strangely touched by the fact that he had people he could call friends in this place where he’d landed, and now looked like he’d be staying. People who knew who he was and what he’d been through, and who still believed in him. The crowd parted as he made his way to the bar, most of them sparing him nothing more than a cursory glance as he passed them. A few lingered for a little longer than necessary as he muttered an excuse me and they caught the English in his accent, causing him a prickle of self-consciousness. But in reality he knew that very few would actually know who he was, or even care if he was an ex-con marrying into one of the founding families of the town.

Still, he lowered his head and made himself as inconspicuous as possible because rumours to some people were truth, and there was always going to be someone who didn’t like it. Whether it was their business to, or not.

What mattered was that the person who did seem to know all his business wasn’t here tonight. At least he hadn’t seen him, yet.

By the time he got to the bar it was busy again, everyone jostling to get served, and after ten minutes of waiting too politely to have any chance of the barman noticing him, and then being elbowed out of the way by someone three times his size, he decided to try his luck after a bathroom visit. Laughing inwardly, he eyed up the giant who’d pushed him before turning away, thinking that not so long ago he wouldn’t have thought twice about taking him on. Buffy still didn’t know the half of it.

Just as he didn’t find jokes about dropping soap and bending down in showers very funny any more, communal bathrooms still made him nervous. He did his usual sweep on entering, his heart skipping a little until he saw it was empty. And it was lucky that he could laugh at himself these days for this commando type vigilance he couldn’t help. Even if it was one heck of a strain looking normal on the outside when his insides were on high alert.

The group of young men burst in through the door just as he was finishing up, pushing and shoving each other as they lined up beside him. One cursed loudly when he splashed his own feet and the other two exploded with hysterical laughter as he pulled at his wet pant leg. William ducked behind them, forgoing hand-washing for a quick exit.

He heard the word as he reached for the door handle. The whisper pitched just right for maximum effect. Timed so he’d have been out the door before he realised what they’d said. If it hadn’t been such familiar ground, he would have been. William froze in place more out of habit than any desire to take up the not-so-subtle challenge in the sniggers and stifled laughter. Straightening, he pushed back his shoulders, shook himself mentally and decided that he could walk away from this one because out here, in the real world, he had nothing to prove to these jerks who weren’t even worth turning around for.

It was the mention of Buffy’s name that stopped him again. Buffy and the word rapist in the same sentence. Was that worth getting into a fight for? He paused, knowing he really ought to keep walking because they’d always known there’d be gossip. It was part and parcel of him and Buffy being together.

Rise above it, mate, he advised himself. Not going to change a thing, people will think what they like, and let them. Who cares?

Trouble was that he did. Despite all the self-talk, he couldn’t help caring. And now that he could feel things again, it hurt.

But real life was about coping and dealing and finding the best way through. Out here it didn’t have to be survival of the fittest, like it was in prison, where sidestepping or backing down wasn’t an option. Out here he could go round, and reputation and pride didn’t have to be an issue, unless he wanted it to be.

They were behind him. William glanced over his shoulder, almost laughing at the gunfight –at-the-O.K.-Corral stance they’d taken up. The ludicrousness of their eager, spotty faces as they squared up to him almost made him want to show them exactly what they were getting themselves into. He’d had it planned from the moment they’d walked in. Dark-haired one first, always take out the strongest. Chances were the others would just turn tail and run. If they didn’t? Well, William already knew who’d be the last one standing.

“Don’t want any trouble,” he said in an even voice, mindful of Xander waiting for him in the bar. “Just going to walk away, and so are you, alright?”

“Coward.”

William took a barely controlled breath as his body prepared itself for the inevitable, the adrenaline already making his hands shake. He knew how this worked. If they didn’t get him here, there was a chance they’d be waiting outside the bar at the end of the evening. And that would involve Xander. Needed to show them who was boss right now.

“Goddamn, rapist coward.”

William turned around and took another steadying breath. “Look,” he said. “Let’s do this the easy way, shall we? I’m gonna walk out that door, and you’re gonna go back to your beers.” He stepped back, leaving the doorway clear for them. Knowing better than to turn his back at this stage of the game. “After you.”

“Think you’re a hard man, do you?” The tallest guy stepped forward, fists balled, a quick look back at the other two who urged him on with wide eyes and encouraging noises.

William caught the hysterical waver in the boy’s voice because he knew how terrifying this sort of challenge was. And that the lad couldn’t back down. Face saving was involved, and reputations about to be made. It was a rite of passage, for them. But not for him. He’d already been through his.

“Not going to fight you, mate. Just walk away.”

“Not even if I tell you something real interesting about your girlfriend?”

The boy puffed up his chest, acknowledging the murmured approval of his friends with another backward glance, his grin growing more confident as he took another step. William folded his arms, put on his poker face, and bowed to the inevitable.

A knowledge of martial arts with a side of desperation and despair is a lethal combination. The boy opened his mouth, but whatever he’d been going to say was lost in a high pitched shriek as William spun him round and into the wall. A business like-glare took care of the other two, who were left standing like startled rabbits as William got a grip on his racing heart and pressed his forearm harder across the back of the boy’s neck.

“So what is it you want to tell me?” he said, his voice low and even.

The boy bucked against him, sounding as much indignant as scared. Twisting vainly he called for his friends and muttered something about only having fun.

“That right?” William said, tightening his grip. Half an eye on the other two. “Come on, you haven’t told me anything interesting yet.”

“You’re a fucking psycho, let me go.”

The boy pushed and William loosened his grip, allowing him to stumble away as the bathroom door opened, and the world came back. A world where he didn’t have to get involved in macho posturing because his life depended on proving himself harder than the next man. Where it didn’t matter what people said about him, because here, he didn’t have to listen.

The youths pushed haphazardly through the door, jostling each other in their eagerness to get as far away from him as possible. The group of men who’d just entered went about their business. And William was left holding a bucket load of built up tension and mixed feelings that had to go somewhere.

Can’t stand here gawping, he thought looking around, dazed, and remembering that he was in a men’s public bathroom and not back in prison where things flared up in a flash of short, sharp violence. Where you didn’t have time to debate, or think, you just did what you had to do and kept fighting until only one was left standing.

Breathe, and bloody calm down,he told himself, spotting a fire door at the end of the corridor and letting himself out into the night.

Pacing helped as he tried to work off the adrenaline high, until he nearly bumped into a couple kissing in a dark corner, and that reminded him of what the boy in the bathroom had implied about Buffy.

Where the bloody hell had they got that from? Did everyone know about it?

Xander would be wondering where he was and the man he really wanted to thump wasn’t here, so he made do with the wall instead. The couple were so engrossed in each other, they didn’t miss a beat as William hit it twice, swearing loudly as his fist impacted with brick.

Pain had been a good distraction in prison and it did the job now. Stopped him brooding on what that jerk had said and reminded him that people were going to talk. About him. About Buffy. About the two of them. And there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. Except perhaps lay down some rules. Decide now what was worth the fight and what wasn’t.

Sucking the familiar taste of blood from his bruised knuckles, he made his way back to the bar and got the long-overdue drinks. Himself? He couldn’t give a toss what they said about him. Buffy? That was another matter and he’d just proved he knew the answer to that one.

As he was sitting down, he spotted a familiar dark head across the bar.

“Was about to send out a search party.”

William handed Xander his drink and leaned his elbows on the table, face as nonchalant as he could make it, gaze flicking back across the room. Liam was talking with a guy who may or may not have been the youth from the bathroom. It had happened so fast that all William could remember of it was the closely cropped dark hair. Enough with the conspiracy theories, he told himself, dragging his attention back to Xander

Xander frowned. “You okay?”

“Er, yeah. Bathroom visit.” William pointed in the vague direction of the men’s room. “Why I took so long.”

“Oh.” Xander nodded, now wearing his understanding look. “Buffy’s cooking, eh?”

“Huh?”

“The bathroom, you know. Oh heck, never mind, not my business.”

Xander backed hastily out of the conversation, picked up his beer, and William did the same, stopping to run the ice-cold bottle over his stinging knuckles. Then it dawned on him what Xander’s wittering was about.

“Nothing wrong with Buffy’s cooking, or my, er you know… there was a queue at the bar, that’s all. Bloody impossible to get served.”

“Nothing wrong with Buffy’s cooking?” Xander arched an eyebrow and William laughed, then winced as the bottle touched a sensitive spot.

“It’s pretty legendary,” he agreed, searching his pockets for a tissue.

“What did you do?”

“What, this?” William found the tissue and dabbed at the graze, surreptitiously scanning the room for the trouble-makers. “Slipped and fell. Banged my hand. Guess I’ve had one too many tonight. Think I might turn in after this one.”

“No way,” Xander said. “Best of the night’s still to come.”

“Meaning?”

“Strippers, man. Of the female kind. Don’t tell me you didn’t see the poster outside? Think we’re letting the girls have it all their way?”

“Shit, Xander.” William looked around as if he expected them to appear there and then. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you wouldn’t have come if I had. Don’t panic. Buffy’s hardly gonna rip you a new one after where she’s been tonight. It’s a normal guy thing. She’s not going to mind.”

It wasn’t Buffy he was worried about. It was the normal guy thing. Something he didn’t quite feel yet. Getting there though, and perhaps this could be another step along the way. Not as if he hadn’t seen strippers before.

“I shouldn’t be here, mate.”

“Why?” Xander looked him straight in the eye, suddenly serious. “Because you spent two years in prison on a trumped-up rape charge?”

“Remind me why I like you, Xander.”

“Because I know you were innocent.”

Bloody hell, there it was again. The humble feeling of gratitude that threatened to overwhelm him at times. Thankfulness that there were decent people in the world to see him through this.

They both retreated into manly swigging of beer and squared shoulders and William shrank a little in his seat as a change in the music caused a stampede of men to the far end of the bar where a stage had been set up. Beer which he almost choked on when Xander pretended he’d booked a lap dancer to perform for them later in the evening.

William settled back and decided it wasn’t going to kill him to be here. Buffy was the only woman he wanted to see naked, but, despite what he’d thought, he hadn’t exactly become a monk either. He couldn’t really see what was going on as the whoops and appreciative whistles started up, but he was happy to sit on the edge and learn how to be normal again.

“What do you think the girls are up to?”

Xander rubbed his eye-patch and grinned. “Best not to ask,” he said cryptically. “Because, believe me, you wouldn’t wanna know.”

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

Tara closed her eyes and concentrated. The rest of the group watched her, hardly daring to breathe as she pressed her hands together and made a low humming noise.

“Ten inches,” she said at last, snapping open her eyes and grinning.

Expectant faces turned to expressions of awe and the collected breath exploded into shrieks of laughter.

“Oh my god,” Buffy said, wiping at the tears rolling down her cheeks. “We should have brought a ruler with us.”

“I did,” Anya said, without missing a beat.

“You what?” Willow stared at her, eyes wide before collapsing into hysterics again. “You have to be joking?”

“No way,” Anya said, whipping the ruler out of her purse and waving it in the air. “I’ve done this before and I always come prepared.”

Buffy held onto her aching sides, deciding against taking a swig of her beer because she’d probably choke herself right now. Drunken Tara and her ability to accurately predict how well endowed the performers were going to be had had them in hysterics all evening. They hadn’t had a chance to validate her claims of course, but it was a good laugh.

And Anya’s no-nonsense approach to the proceedings had helped her to relax and see the evening for what it was – long-overdue fun with friends she’d sorely neglected since she’d met William.

“It’s not fair, Tara,” Anya said, half an eye on her friend, half an eye on the stage, ruler at the ready. “Why do you get the ability to predict the length of men’s penises when you’re a lesbian with no interest in that sort of thing whatsoever.”

“Doesn’t mean we don’t appreciate beauty, does it sweetie?” Tara turned to Willow who leaned on her arm and nodded.

“A beautiful body is a beautiful body,” she said. “Isn’t that right, Buffy?”

Buffy risked a swig of beer, managing to get it down in between the laughter. “True,” she said. “But beauty isn’t always to be found in conventional perceptions of it.”

“Don’t you dare try to raise the tone of this conversation,” Anya warned with a mock glare. “Tonight is about ogling naked men with unfeasibly large appendages, and nothing more. We can talk art-class politics when we’re sober.”

“I was only trying to say…” Buffy began again, but then the music started up, signalling the next act, so she wisely stopped trying to justify her being there and settled in to enjoy the show.

“You should have gone to Jake’s Bar tonight.” Anya turned back to Willow and Tara. “They have lap dancers. More your sort of thing, what with being female and all.”

“And miss you, that ruler,” Tara glanced down at the flyer on the table for the next performer’s name, “and Eric The Viking’s face when you rush the stage? No way.”

“Legitimate research, Tara.” Anya waved an arm expansively. “Accuracy in the psychic prediction of penis length. By Anya Harris. I may write a paper on it. Which will of course mean…”

“More research,” they all chorused together.

“Anya Harris? Does this mean he’s asked you?” Buffy glanced at Anya’s left hand, sure she hadn’t spotted a ring.

“No,” Anya replied, her face falling. “Unfortunately he’s pretending to be deaf whenever I mention it, but I’ll wear him down. Now concentrate everybody, this one’s especially for Buffy.”

“Oh no, Anya.” Buffy raised her hands, already feeling her face heating up. “Please no.”

“Relax, Buffy. I’ve done my homework this time.”

“Oh heck, I need to go to the bathroom.”

“You’ll only draw attention to yourself if you get up now, stay put, girl.”

“What have you done?” Buffy looked around for an escape as the music built to a crescendo. Wishing she was anywhere but here as she remembered the last time she’d been in this position.

“You’ll like it,” Anya said, opening her purse again, this time pulling out a sheet of paper which she opened and waved in front of the rest of the group with a flourish. “Erik the Viking’s for me and for Buffy we have…”

Willow and Tara doubled over again as Buffy lunged for the drawing. “You rat, Anya, give that back.”

“Punk William, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Oh, let me see,” Willow said, taking the picture before Buffy could snatch it back. “Oh, wow, you’re so good at this Buffy. Look Tara.”

Anya sighed theatrically. “All those fantasy dressing-up opportunities that you have Buffy. You’re so lucky. You must lend me a few of your costumes. I am so fed up of pirates. Do you have a nun’s habit?”

“No, I don’t.” Buffy managed to get her picture back, sneaking a quick glance at it before she stuffed it in her purse and then looking up with a start to find the real thing, resplendent in zipped biker jacket and the obligatory safety-pin overload, right in front of her.

Not even last year’s Laughing Cavalier had topped this one. Buffy tried to make herself as small as possible as the man looked her in the eye and rubbed his fingers suggestively over his bulging crotch, then took her hand and did the same to the screams and raucous laughter of the whole club. Despite the profuse embarrassment, the trick was to go with it, she knew that. The more you protested at times like these, the more humiliating it was, and it wasn’t as if she didn’t look at naked men on a regular basis at her life drawing classes. This, however was a little too close to home to be funny.

Anya winked at her as the William-clone sensuously slid out of his clothes, finally pulling off his ripped jeans and standing before her, hands on hips in nothing more than a leather thong that left very little to the imagination.

“Doesn’t he look like William?” Anya whispered to her, gleefully rubbing her hands together.

Buffy didn’t reply because the man’s groin was so near to her face she didn’t dare move. And she certainly wasn’t about to take his thong off with her teeth as he was urging her to do. But the heat she was feeling wasn’t only because there was a very sexy-looking man gyrating suggestively in front of her. It was the very small leap of the imagination it took to place someone else’s face on the costume. One that Anya had already taken. Of course, to her he didn’t really look anything like William, but she could see what the others were thinking now that they’d seen her sketch. and that made her heart slither right down to her boots.

Please don’t let him find out about this, she thought, backing away from the thrusting crotch as a prickle of annoyance displaced some of the embarrassment. Sometimes she really could strangle Anya, who was very vocally volunteering herself for the task of removing the leather posing-pouch, ruler at the ready. How the hell could she have thought this in the slightest bit appropriate, given William’s past? And when had she taken that sketch? Buffy hadn’t even shown it to William yet.

Tara gave her a look of concern, resting her arm lightly on Buffy’s as she groped for her purse and half-rose from her seat.

“Need the bathroom,” Buffy said by way of explanation.

“Sweetie?”

“Can’t watch this.”

Tara flicked a glance at the dancer who was now working the room, making sure everyone got their money’s worth and her expression turned to one of understanding. Giving Buffy’s arm a squeeze, she let her go. “Do you want me to come with?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Just need some air.”

Nobody questioned her hasty exit, or her too-flushed cheeks in a club full of overheated women. Cool air hit her as she escaped to the back room and a doorman nonchalantly guarding one of the one of the exits gave her a grin as she passed through to the bathroom, which usually would have been full of groups of girls touching up their faces, chatting, or consoling each other about their love-lives. No-one was lingering over their make-up tonight though. Not when they had the gorgeous William-clone to feast their eyes on. Anya had meant well, she knew that, but all Buffy had seen was a cruel parody and everyone leering at her naked boyfriend.

Okay, cool it, she cautioned herself. Don’t make more of this than it is. It was only a bit of fun. No real harm done…

“Are you okay?”

The voice intruded on the ramble of her thoughts, making her jump and turn around, but it wasn’t Tara’s as she’d first thought.

“Saw you leave, pretty embarrassing, huh?”

“Cordy? I, uhh, didn’t hear you come in.”

Buffy gathered up her wits, changing the look of surprise at seeing her old friend to what she hoped was a rueful smile. “You’re telling me,” she said, noticing that Cordelia’s taste in clothes wasn’t quite as outrageous as it once was. “Anya just doesn’t seem to know where to stop. Umm…like the top.”

Cordy looked down at herself and shrugged. “Liam doesn’t like me to show too much cleavage, and we gotta please our men, don’t we?”

“I suppose so.”

Cordelia wouldn’t have been her first choice for a conversation just now, but she had no real reason to shun her. Not one that made logical sense, anyway. They both turned to the mirror, imitating old habits, and Buffy thought again of how people and circumstances changed. Cordy had been a good friend, and why shouldn’t she go out with Liam? He wasn’t a toy to be fought over. And Buffy knew that if Liam had asked her to wear an astronaut’s suit while she’d been dating him, she’d have done so happily. It was all part of the Liam experience. She couldn’t fault Cordy for that.

“What I can’t understand,” Cordy said as she rooted through her purse for make up. “Is how Anya thought you’d ever go for a punk type like that. I mean, I don’t really know William, but that guy out there seems as far away from him as you could get.”

Oh thank God. Buffy offered a silent prayer for that. Not sure whether Cordelia was saying it to make her feel better, or whether she just hadn’t made the connection. In fact why should she? Apart from Anya, only Willow and Tara had seen the sketch.

“Do you remember last year’s effort?” she said, changing the subject.

“Do I ever.”

Cordy grinned and Buffy found herself quietly slipping back into the old routine of gossip and comradeship and grinned along with her.

“Talk about a disappointment.”

“You can say that again.”

“Here.” Cordy pulled out a small perfume bottle and handed it to her. “What do you think?”

Buffy sniffed at the bottle, sprayed the inside of her wrist and sniffed again. “It’s nice.”

“Not too flowery?” Cordy took back the perfume and sprayed both her wrists before storing the bottle back in her bag.

“I don’t think so.” Buffy watched for a moment as her one-time best friend finished repairing her make-up, wondering why she’d allowed Liam to cause such a rift between them. Was it because she’d still wanted Liam when Cordy had first started going out with him? Jealousy, plain and simple? Of course, she could be generous now that she had William, so it wasn’t an issue any more. But were things really that simple?

“Heard about the wedding.” Cordy turned around and leaned against the shelf. “Kind of sudden.”

“Is that how it looks?” Buffy leaned too, mirroring Cordelia’s stance. “Funny, but it doesn’t feel like it from this side.”

“You’ve known him, what? A couple of months, Buffy. I mean, I know you’re prone to infatuation, but honestly, what do you really know about him?”

The last statement took Buffy by surprise since she was still back at the isn’t this nice, Cordy and I can still be friends like the old days, part of the conversation. A stage which was rapidly turning to disappointment that this was all going to conform to stereotype after all.

She folded her arms, automatically going on the defensive because she was already prepared for it. Already had the speech written in her head. It annoyed the hell out of her to have to say it and she wished she didn’t need to. Wished she could just walk away, because what did it matter what Cordelia thought of William?

“I know everything I need to know. Mom believed in him, and that’s good enough for me.”

“But she lost the case.”

“Shit happens.”

The corners of Cordelia’s mouth twitched a little, then she turned serious again.

“Just worried about you, that’s all. We used to be friends.”

“Don’t be, I know what I’m doing.”

“Liam is too.”

Buffy closed her eyes and swallowed down the frustration. As circular conversations went, this was a good one. Here was Liam again, running her life.

“Is what? My friend, or worried about me?” She heard the sarcasm creeping into her voice and reined it in. The anger too. Now was the time to keep a clear head, not for emotional outbursts which would just put her more on the defensive.

The conversation was interrupted by a large group of hysterical and very drunk females, most of whom rushed for the stalls as soon as they entered. The remainder milled about, some queuing, some fixing their make-up while they waited. To say the place was buzzing was an understatement. The air fairly crackled with the energy of it all and Mr. Punk had been a great success, judging by the comments.

Cordelia made no move to leave and the bathroom emptied just as suddenly as it had filled up as the herd of women thundered back into the club for Erik the Viking. Buffy stayed too, thinking that this conversation might as well take place now. It was long overdue.

“Look,” she began. “Whatever happened between me and Liam, it’s over and done with. I’m going to marry William and I’m happy with that. I don’t see why we can’t both just move on and still be friends.”

Cordelia listened to what she had to say, her face neutral. When she spoke, her voice was tight, barely controlled. “Well, that’s just the thing, isn’t it? I don’t think you’ve really moved on, and neither has he.”

“William has moved on, Cordy. Why don’t you come round, meet him. You’ll like him, guaranteed.”

“I wasn’t talking about William.” There was ice in her voice now. It made Buffy shiver

“Liam?” When she laughed at the notion, it had just an edge of hysteria to it. Mixed with disbelief at what she was hearing, together with that sinking feeling you get when you realise that one mistake is going to haunt you for the rest of your life. But after her recent run-in with Liam, should she really be that surprised at this?

“Cordy, if you remember, and you do remember this don’t you, being my best friend at the time and all? He left me, standing there, and walked away without a backward glance. If that’s not moving on, then I don’t know what is.”

For a moment Cordelia seemed to soften. Buffy bit her lip and hoped her friend would remember what it had been like and for how long Buffy had cried on her shoulder over it all. They’d both agreed at the time that Liam was a rat who wasn’t worth a second glance. Now Cordelia was smitten with him and Buffy could almost give her the same advice, but she wouldn’t listen just as Buffy hadn’t listened to her. Talk about fatal charm. Liam had it in bucketfuls.

“You were seen together, recently,” Cordelia said at last. “I was happy for you, Buffy, when I heard you were going to marry William. Regardless of whether I think he’s right for you or not. At least it meant you’d got over your obsession for Liam. But no, you’ve got to have them both.”

“I don’t want Liam…” Buffy blew out a breath and took a step back, held up her hands, but couldn’t think of anything else to say that wouldn’t sound as if she was just making lame excuses. “Okay, I have seen Liam recently.” She held up her hands again in denial at the look of triumph on Cordelia’s face. Best go with the truth. You couldn’t go wrong with the truth, could you? “He stopped me. Said he wanted to put the past to rest so we could both move on. His words, Cordy.”

Cordelia had the good grace to look very slightly abashed at her accusation, her gaze dropping as if she was considering Buffy’s words. Buffy held her breath, hating how much she wanted approval for what she and William were doing. Wishing she could just walk away and not give a damn.

“He talks about you all the time,” her one-time friend said without looking up. “Buffy this, William that. Can’t she see what kind of man he is? What the hell does she think she’s doing? Why can’t you just let him go?”

“I have, Cordy.” Buffy wanted to sigh, weary of justifying herself to someone who wasn’t listening. “If Liam can’t, then that’s his problem.”

“And mine, Buffy. I love him.”

“He’s good at making people do that.”

It was cruel and Buffy felt the blow as much as Cordy did. Flinching and wanting to bite her tongue and take it back, she shifted uncomfortably as Cordelia tossed back her hair and straightened her stance. “Well, you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“The only man I want is William.” Buffy spoke quietly, never meaning the words more. “Come on Cordy, this is stupid, and you know it.”

“Yeah,” Cordelia said a hint of desperation in her voice. “But I just want him so much.”

Buffy closed her eyes, remembering when she’d been like that. Trying to hold on to Liam had been like watching sand slip through her fingers. What did she tell Cordelia? Don’t trust him, he’s a bastard? That didn’t sound like the voice of reason talking, it sounded like jealousy.

“Cordy, I don’t know what to say except that it’s over between me and him, has been for a long time. Talk to him, he’ll tell you the same thing.”

There was nothing else to say that didn’t involve repeating themselves over and over. Neither of them seemed to want to be the first to move and Buffy breathed an inward sigh of relief when the cavalry, in the form of Tara, appeared to rescue her.

“There you are,” Tara said with a cheerful smile. “Oh, hi, Cordy. How are you doing?”

Cordy answered with an equally false smile on her face. “Oh, couldn’t be better, really. Was just catching up on old gossip with Buffy here.”

Buffy felt obliged to join in with the false camaraderie and for a moment they all just stood and pretended to be old friends again, the air between them almost too solid to breathe. Cordelia glanced at the mirror, giving her hair a final pat.

“I’d get it cut, but Liam likes it long,” she said, almost to herself. “Well, must get back, don’t want to miss Erik the Viking. See you.”

Her departure was pure Cordelia. All flounce and flourish, leaving Buffy sagging against the counter top unable to decide whether she wanted to sympathise with her or scratch her eyes out. Tara’s arm slipped around her shoulder as she stared at the slowly closing bathroom door and noise from the club filtered through, grounding her in reality once more.

“Let’s go back,” she said, patting Tara’s arm. “Don’t want to spoil the evening for everyone.”

“Are you sure?”

Tara gave her one of her piercing looks. It was the only way to describe the way she seemed to be able to almost read people’s thoughts.

“Yeah, it was just Anya’s idea of a silly joke. No-one else got it, right?”

“I’m sure they didn’t,” Tara assured her. “He was absolutely nothing like William.”

“I know.” Buffy turned to the mirror too, surprised to find that she looked exactly the same. But then, she’d always been good at putting on a brave face. “Don’t tell William, though, he’d be mortified if he knew.”

“Anya’s never been know for her tact. Shall we go back?”

They stopped at the bar for a round of drinks and Anya beckoned them frantically across when she spotted them making their way over.

“Hurry you two, this one’s all the way from Norway.”

“New Jersey, more like,” Willow said, giving Tara one of their knowing smiles. “Did you hear his accent then?”

Buffy settled herself, picked up her beer and decided she wouldn’t tell William what Anya had done. And she needed to collar Xander and make sure he didn’t either, because Anya was sure to boast about it when she got home.

Honesty wasn’t always the best policy, not when it meant someone getting hurt. She loved him too much for that.

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



The grand piano was only just Victorian. Built the year the old queen had died, a proper Steinway, imported from Germany. Not an American one. Her grandfather had always been careful to point out the difference to anyone interested enough to listen to him rambling on about his beloved old instrument. He’d had it totally refurbished at great cost just before he died and Buffy remembered the good natured arguments he and her gran had had over the expense. Her grandfather had always said he knew he wouldn’t get the benefit of it, but someone would and that’s what was important.

Whenever she heard it played, it always jolted her back to childhood memories of a little girl sitting and listening politely to an old man playing, not because she loved piano music, but because she loved her grandfather and wanted to please him. It was a lump-in-the-throat kind of moment that hit her at odd times. Those memories would fade, eventually, to be replaced by memories of William playing the same piano. As he was now. She leaned on the doorframe and watched for a while as he played something mellow and a little melancholy, befitting the late hour and dark night.

The evening hadn’t gone too badly after all, despite Anya’s tactlessness and Cordelia’s unwanted intrusion. Loose and relaxed from copious amounts of alcohol, she wandered up behind William and put her hands on his shoulders. He jumped a little, although he must have seen her coming, rubbed his head against her and carried on playing.

“You’ve hurt your hand.” She saw it immediately, slid her own hand down his arm and touched it lightly.

“Slipped on a beer puddle and banged it on the wall. It’s nothing. Did you have a good time?” he said, moving into the theme from Casablanca.

“Yeah.” Buffy kissed the top of his head and laid her cheek on his shoulder. “It was a laugh.”

“I can imagine. See anything I need to worry about?”

“None can compare,” she said, taking a bite of his ear. “Did you?”

“Nope. Do that again.”

She took another nip. Made him squirm, although he didn’t miss a beat, segueing neatly into a Cole Porter number.

“Granddad used to play.” Buffy moved to the side of the piano, closed down the top, kicked off her shoes and hitched herself up to sit in front of him, legs dangling over the side “Sometimes when I hear you, I think it’s him.”

“It’s a lovely old piano.”

“Was his pride and joy. He spent a fortune on it. I’m glad someone’s getting the use of it.”

Anya’s crass stupidity and Cordelia’s desperation were forgotten as Buffy lay back, and felt the music. Each note resonated the polished wood, making her tingle. When William played a glissando, running the back of his thumb the length of the piano keys, she felt it from the tip of her toes to the top of her head.

“That’s amazing,” she said, eyes closed, the music filling her mind with swirling colours.

Reversing the slide, he made her shiver again.

“What’s so funny?” he said as he caught her shaky laughter.

Buffy wriggled so she could lay back and let her hair cascade over the keys, tangling it in his fingers as he played on.

“Was just wondering what granddad would think of you making love to me with his precious piano.”

William's wolfish, upside-down smile set her pulse racing. Buffy rolled onto her front so she was facing him, leaning on her elbows, head in hands. William laughed outright at her expression when she realised that this position only made the sensations more intense.

"Think I've discovered a new kink," she said, trying unsuccessfully to keep a straight face. "Play for me more often."

"If you promise to look that sexy, I definitely will."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, give me a kiss. Haven't had one yet."

None could compare. So she was looking through the window of love like it said in a song she’d once heard, who cared? No one saw him like she did.

William leaned forward to meet her half-way for his kiss, the music rapidly becoming a string of randomly connected notes as his lips moved over hers. Until it petered out completely and he found something better to do with his hands.

“You’ve stopped playing,” she said when she’d found her breath again.

“We’ll make our own music.”

“That is so corny.”

“And so true.”

The alcohol she'd drunk wasn’t the only thing making her dizzy. No-one knew about this, what he did to her when he caressed her with that luscious mouth of his. How warm his breath was when he whispered her name. The delicacy of his touch when he held her. Or the softness of his hair as it slipped through her fingers.

People looked, but they didn’t see like she did. Things he kept locked inside were for her alone. How could Anya have thought she’d even come close with that stupid stunt she’d pulled?

He helped her back onto the top of the piano when they got so carried away with the next kiss that she was in danger of slipping off completely, laughing that they’d have a hard job explaining to her mom if they damaged it. William returned to his playing as Buffy lay across the top, arms outstretched, hair fanned out around her, gazing up at the sparkling facets of the chandelier as they caught the lamplight. Shivering all over as the music filled her.

“What’s that one?” she asked, vaguely recognising the softly lilting tune.

“La Fille aux Chevaux de Lin. Debussy.”

“The Girl With the Flaxen Hair? Granddad used to play that.”

“The singer may die, but the song remains, love.”

“Know what you mean,” she said, quietly having another lump-in-the-throat moment as he played. “It’s up to us now, isn’t it? To carry all this on. Big responsibility.”

“But we’ll play it our way, yeah?”

The chandelier went out of focus as she narrowed her eyes. What you saw depended on how carefully you looked. And what people were willing to show you. And everything was filtered. Through the eyes of experience. The eyes of love. Of laughter and tears. And the eyes of jealousy and hate.

“Liam was waiting outside for Cordy when we left. Seems to have this whole possessive vibe going with her.”

William only faltered for a single note, at the mention of Liam’s name. “Never been the possessive type myself,” he said, playing the tune again, only an octave higher. “Seems you either trust someone, or you don’t. Otherwise it’s just not worth it.”

“True,” Buffy said, shivering as the high notes resonated through her face, neck and shoulders. “But do you think a couple have to tell each other everything? What if they honestly thought that telling would do nothing but hurt someone?”

“Buffy, have I ever said you have to tell me everything? All part of that trust thing.”

The tune switched a couple of octaves lower and this time she felt it in her belly, her thighs, and in between. William chuckled when she rubbed her knees together and groaned softly.

“Want me to play Rachmanninof?”

“Only if it’s low, and loud.”

“It’ll do the trick, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Only have to think of you for that. William, you don’t have to tell me everything. I don’t care if you spent the evening looking at naked women, really I don’t.”

“I didn’t. Well, not much. Was right at the back, anyway, and poor Xan missed most of it because he felt obliged to keep boring old me company.”

“No lap-dancers then?”

“Nope. You?”

“Umm…”

“S’okay, love. Only teasing. I don’t want to know and I can imagine what it was like. Just glad I didn’t have to be there.” The music stopped and William closed the piano lid, stood up and stretched out. “Want to go to bed? It’s nearly three am.”

“Carry me.” It was a command, not a request, and she raised her arms like she used to when she was a kid as he moved swiftly to do her bidding, nearly dropping her as she wriggled.

“Keep still,” he chided. “Not very sober here, don’t want to drop you.”

“You’d never do that.” Buffy moved into the warmth of his chest, her lips against the skin of his neck. Loving the way he tasted at this time of night. “Get me upstairs quickly,” she said. “Before the Rachmanninof wears off.”

Who needed silly William look-alikes when she had the real thing right here in her arms? When she could feel and see and be with him whenever she wanted? This wasn’t a momentary pleasure, or an evening of laughs with friends. This was forever. Something she would fight to her dying breath for. Something she wanted to defend with a fierceness that made her chest tighten and her breath catch in her throat. And something she wanted to live, every day of her life.

He caught her looking. The intensity of her gaze as he carried her up the stairs. Gave her a wink and rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. No need to say anything.

This was true love. She understood that now.

Tbc…



 

Chapter 19

Not sure if I’d ever have known Spike, if I hadn’t gone to prison. I can’t hate him though. He’s what got me through…

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

This year’s Thanksgiving was definitely one for the memory book. Joyce arrived with two elderly gentlemen and her usual excuse that it had all happened so last-minute she hadn’t had time to warn Buffy there would be two extra mouths for dinner.

Buffy had kissed her mom and assured her that by now, this kind of surprise was no surprise and there was enough for everyone. And she was finding that she quite liked playing Lady Bountiful. Her own cup was overflowing with comfort and love, and turkey, so there was more than enough for everyone.

The other two guests were a genuine surprise which did throw her off-centre for a short while. But that didn’t last long, because she had William to hold her steady as she underwent the rite of passage of having to meet his parents for the first time.

“Are they always like this?” she asked him when she’d finally got him alone for a few minutes.

“Yep. Just surprised dad didn’t land the helicopter in the back yard. Likes to make an entrance. And don’t ever expect them to give you any notice that they’re coming. They’re a law unto themselves.”

“I can imagine. Did you say helicopter?”

“Yeah.” William grinned. “Flashy git. Where’s that pie?”

Buffy handed him one of the pumpkin pies and picked up the reserve. “I think I made too much.”

“Save it and give it to the lovebirds to take home with them.”

“Your parents won’t want my pie,” Buffy said, appalled at the thought and then wishing she’d had time to get them a gift.

“Wasn’t talking about my parents.”

“Oh, you mean mom’s guests?” She looked towards the dining room and frowned. “You mean they’re…”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed? Not like you to miss something like that.”

“Well, I’ve had other things on my mind. Like wondering how I was going to impress a couple of millionaires who are going to be my parents-in-law.”

William put down his pie. “Hey,” he said, taking hers too and putting it down on the table. “They like you, I can tell. And don’t worry about impressing them. They’re just people, underneath it all. We all are. And if it’s any consolation, it’s just as bad for me. Wasn’t in the best of moods last time I saw them.”

Buffy let him hold her and reassure her, and she did the same for him, because with all her nerves about meeting his parents, she hadn’t given a lot of thought to how he was going to feel about it. “Just promise me one thing,” she said.

“Anything, sweetheart.”

“That you’re going to look as good as your dad when you’re his age.”

“Oh heck, not you as well.” William raised his eyes heavenward. “Are there any women in the world who don’t fancy my dad?”

“Possibly not. Do you think they’d sit for a portrait sometime? I’d like to do one, as a gift.”

“With egos like theirs? You bet. Ask them, I’m sure they’d love to.”

“Okay, might do that. Better get these pies eaten then. Was dinner okay?”

“Stop worrying, Buffy. You did great. Best Thanksgiving meal ever.”

The words warmed her as they carried the pies through to the dining room. William’s dad led a round of clapping as she sat down, making her blush, then lifted his glass for a toast to their wonderful hostess.

Buffy stood and acknowledged their rapturous approval as best she could without melting into a puddle of tears. So many firsts today, it was all starting to get a little overwhelming. The first Thanksgiving dinner that was truly her own. Her first with William. The first with her mom as just a guest. The first without her gran.

William squeezed her hand under the table and she held on and soaked up the love, sending back as much as she could in a simple touch. His parents seemed nice enough people, but there weren’t really any parent-son vibes between them and William. Since they’d arrived, they’d treated him more like a business colleague than their only child and it made Buffy a little sad to see it, although William didn’t seem to mind. In fact he seemed closer to Joyce than his own mum and dad, who were far too absorbed in each other to really notice they had a son.

Perhaps Susan had been right to take him away. Buffy may have fought with her mom, but she’d never had to suffer her indifference. The interference may have been annoying at times, but at least it showed she cared.

“I’d like to paint your portraits, if that’s okay. As a gift of course,” she said to her future in-laws.

“What a charming idea, Buffy.” William Sr. Turned to his wife. “Wouldn’t that be nice, love?”

William’s mother nodded, and for a moment Buffy thought he was going to grab her and eat her up right in front of them. The look he gave her was pure adoration as she sat, regal and remote beside him. It was only a momentary flash, but in those few seconds, Buffy thought she understood exactly why William’s parents couldn’t love him as much as they should. She glanced around the table to see if anyone else had seen it, but William, Joyce, and the two elderly gentlemen were involved in a discussion of their own and seemed oblivious to the bubble which seemed to surround the guests of honour.

Buffy watched, fascinated at the expression of naked want on William Sr.’s face as he waited for his wife to acknowledge him, which she did after a suitable pause. Enough that when she turned her smile to him, Buffy saw relief cross his features before he smiled gratefully back and lifted her hand to his lips for a kiss.

There was love there, but it seemed to Buffy that they’d used it all on themselves and they’d forgotten that perhaps others might be needing some too.

Like a king and queen graciously granting an audience, they turned back to her and told her that they’d love to have their portrait painted. Buffy assured them she could do it from photographs if they’d sit for her that afternoon and they could collect it at their leisure. They seemed relieved at this, because in William’s father’s words, he really didn’t like sitting still for long.

Buffy was already mentally half-way through the portrait as she assured him he wouldn’t have to do that. It would be a Christmas gift, she decided, studying the handsome man who, with his white-blond hair, couldn’t have been more of a contrast to the enigmatic, dark-haired beauty beside him. They were a portrait artist’s dream, and Buffy already knew exactly how she was going to paint them.

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

Buffy took William’s parents on a tour of the house after dinner, then to the studio for photographs. William and Joyce left the two old gentlemen napping in front of the fire and set about clearing up.

“Thank you,” Joyce said as they carried plates through to the kitchen. “That was a wonderful dinner. Buffy’s cooking has definitely improved. Just wish I could have helped more.”

William started on the task of stacking the dishwasher while Joyce filled the sink with hot water. For a while all that could be heard were the plates clinking and the sound of scratching as Joyce scrubbed at the pots and pans.

“Wish I could have helped her more too,” William said, picking up the conversation when he’d finished his task. “Buffy got herself into a right state over dinner, but for some reason she wanted to do it all herself.”

“Well, Thanksgiving’s a big deal to her. and it was her first solo effort, so it’s natural she was going to worry about it. And meeting your parents for the first time? She did well.”

“Yeah, sorry about them hi-jacking dinner like that. Think Buffy nearly had a heart attack when she took the phone-call yesterday.”

“Believe me, Buffy’s used to having an odd assortment of folks at family festivals. Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that…oh well, you know what I mean.”

William laughed at the comment as Napoleon started hinting vociferously that he’d been left out of the proceedings. He tipped the left-over turkey scraps into the cat’s dish, stopping to give him a quick stroke before straightening up. “Relax Joyce. My parents naturally assume the world revolves around them. Sometimes I think I’m just a window in their busy schedule. And they’re anything but normal.”

Joyce gave him a sympathetic look. “Your father’s a charmer though.”

“Isn’t he just. Joyce, can I talk to you, while it’s private, like?” William walked over to her and leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms folded while she finished her task. She gave him a mildly concerned look and glanced at the kitchen door.

“Buffy’ll keep them for a while,” he said following her gaze, “and the old folks looked out for the count.”

Joyce nodded for him to continue.

“What do I do about this Mandy business? Freaked me out, her turning up like that. I don’t ever want her coming here again, Joyce.”

“Oh, William, I’m so sorry, I had no idea she was planning that. I feel I should have been able to stop her.”

“How? Don’t feel bad. Was just kind of strange. Brought it all back, you know? Woman’s as nutty as a fruitcake.”

“I know,” Joyce said. “But my gut instinct tells me you won’t ever see her again, especially since you told her what she wanted to hear. Let me know if she tries to contact you again, huh?”

“I will.”

William went back to the mundane, everyday task of finding the dishwasher powder, filling up the dispenser. He’d always felt comfortable around Joyce, even though he couldn’t help associating her with bad memories. She was, at least, the good part of what had happened to him and not only because she’d led him to Buffy. She was a nice lady who was worth knowing regardless of that. He was half-tempted to ask her if him and Buffy hooking up had been in the back of her mind when she’d brought him here, but he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, because it really didn’t matter.

“How are the wedding plans going?”

Her face lit up with barely restrained excitement when she asked that and William began to strongly suspect that between Buffy and her mum, he wasn’t going to get the small wedding he’d hoped for. She must have seen his expression because she laughed to herself. He sighed for good measure.

“Growing by the day. You know she wants us all in full costume?”

“Kind of expected that. I know the thought of it’s nerve-racking, William, but you’ll look back on it as a precious memory, believe me. Oh, and remind me to give Buffy the list of relatives that are non-negotiable.”

“Bloody thing’s taking on a life of its own,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “Would you mind if we just went to Vegas for it like my parents did?”

“Your parents got married in Vegas?” Joyce stopped to visualise it for a moment. “Yes, I can imagine them doing that. And in response to your question, I would mind, if I have to be perfectly honest. I’d very much love to see the two of you have the wedding I did. With all the trimmings. It’s a mom thing.”

“Guess I’d better bow to the inevitable then. All I really want to do is marry Buffy, but if that means jumping through all these hoops, then I’ll do it. You’re really okay with it all? Me marrying her? I mean, I haven’t known her long, and people are going to say it’s all a bit hasty.”

Joyce finished up the last pot and let the water out of the sink. William stepped up to dry them, but she stopped him.

“They’ll dry by themselves. Come sit with me for a moment and tell me what else is worrying you.”

Joyce slid into the bench seat and looked at him expectantly. William shook his head and laughed softly under his breath. She read him like a book sometimes, and there wasn’t much that slipped past her. He sat down because he needed to tell someone, and Joyce of all people would understand, although what she could do about it, he had no idea. It had struck him, as she’d moved so easily around the kitchen she’d grown up in, that he was almost displacing her in a way, and it was a vaguely uncomfortable feeling.

“This will always be your house too,” he began. “You will remember that, won’t you?”

Joyce closed her eyes briefly before reaching out and giving his hand a light squeeze. “That’s very kind of you, and thank you for saying it. But William, the place belongs to you and Buffy now. I did well out of my mother’s estate and I always knew the house was going to Buffy. Don’t feel you’re kicking me out.”

“It does feel a bit like that. Buffy says you used to come here a lot.”

“I’m tactfully giving you space,” she said, half joking, half serious. He could see that by the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. For a brief moment it was a little sad, then she brightened. “You’ve got to make a life for yourselves, and I understand that. Yes, it’s hard letting go and not just of the house, but Buffy couldn’t have done better for herself, I’m sure of that.”

William blushed a little at the compliment, grateful that she was always so understanding, and wondering, not for the first time, what he’d done to deserve all this good fortune.

“You never wanted her to marry Liam then?” The question surprised even him when it came out and he almost bit his tongue to stop it. He patted his pocket, automatically feeling for his smokes, because times like these he needed a cigarette just for something to do with his hands. Remembering he’d promised not to smoke in the house, he tapped his hands on the table instead and practically heard her clicking into Lawyer mode as she tried to pick up on what he was really asking.

“Lord, no. That was just a teenage infatuation. I don’t think Buffy’s spoken to him for years.” Joyce dipped her head and caught his gaze since he was avoiding hers. When he looked up, he hoped the neediness didn’t show too much, as there was a very good chance she didn’t know about the alley-incident. Not the kind of thing you told your mother. But it wouldn’t take long for her to put two and two together if he made too much of this.

“Has the Angelus family lived in the town for long?

“Think the great-grand parents came over from Ireland early last century. They opened a general store, then the garage. Store closed when I was a little girl. But you don’t want a history lesson, do you? What’s really bothering you, William?”

William leaned back in his chair and wondered what he could say that wouldn’t make him sound too paranoid. The cat jumping onto his lap was a welcome distraction while he thought about it. Liam doesn’t want me to marry Buffy. Big deal, and so what? He could be as much of a pain about it as he wanted, but he couldn’t stop them. The more William thought about it, the more he knew that wasn’t what was worrying him.

“Nearly got into a fight at a club the other night.”

Joyce leaned forward, hands on the table, giving him all of her attention. “Over what people think you did?”

“Partly,” William replied. “You were right, there are people who don’t want me marrying Buffy.”

“But just a few troublemakers, right?”

“Possibly, maybe more than a few, I don’t know.”

“But you didn’t fight them?”

“No, managed to control it, but it was hard.”

“I can imagine.”

Joyce relaxed visibly at that, although he could see her mind was still working overtime.

“William,” she said. “You were a victim in all of this and you have a right to be here, but it’s going to be up to you to be the bigger man. Hard, I know, but you’re going to have to ignore it. People will find something else to gossip about given time, you’ve got to believe that.”

“I know.” William cocked his head and listened to the voices coming from the sitting room. “Sounds like the old folks are awake.” He spoke quickly, knowing that his quiet time with Joyce was coming to an end, glancing at the back door through which Buffy and his parents would be appearing any time now. “The kids at the club, I wanted to fight them, Joyce. Scares me to know I can still feel it that strongly. A part of me I don’t particularly want Buffy to see.”

“She’d understand, William.”

“Maybe. It’s not a part of myself I particularly like either. Just makes me so angry that I was forced into becoming someone capable of doing the stuff I did in prison.”

Joyce looked over at the door too. “Call me tomorrow,” she said. “I’m always in for a chat, you know that.”

William nodded, slowly, not realising until now how much he did need to talk about it. “Thanks, Joyce, I will.”

“You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?” She said it kindly, standing up and walking round to his side of the table so she could give him a bit of a hug.

“Yeah, tell Buffy.” William acknowledged her arm around his shoulder by squeezing her hand, then stood up to join her as voices behind the back door announced the imminent arrival of Buffy and his parents. “I don’t want her to know about what happened in the club. Not yet, anyway.”

“She’ll understand, William. And she’s a lot stronger than she looks. Always remember that.”

“I know, Joyce, but it’s complicated.”

“And where does Liam come into all of this?”

“I’m not sure,” William said, and pasted a smile on his face as his parents, followed by Buffy, opened the back door and walked into the kitchen. “I’m just not sure.”

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

“Love the site you made for Buffy. Really cool, son. Oh, and I’ve taken the story idea, you don’t mind, do you? Important client, so I kind of had to tell him it was mine. And costumes for the wedding? Way cool.”

It was all Buffy could do to stop herself from laughing out loud. William’s father seemed unable to decide whether he was talking to his only son or addressing a business meeting. William Jr.’s eyes were growing progressively wider as his dad warmed to his subject. That’s when they weren’t rolling heavenward like an embarrassed sixteen year old every time his dad used the word cool. Which he did often, in what was possibly a rather misguided attempt to connect with someone he obviously didn’t know very well.

Poor William. He was trapped between them, his dad talking as if he was never going to stop and his mother with a hand resting on his arm, holding him in place with the lightest of touches, just gazing at his profile. Buffy studied them from her perch on a low stool in front of the fire, thinking what a fascinating portrait they would make sitting like that.

William Sr., as she called him in her mind because it was far too complicated having two Williams in the house, was the ultimate embarrassing parent. From William’s point of view, anyway. He’d arrived in an ankle-length leather coat which he’d worn for an hour before he’d been persuaded to take it off. His bleached hair was heavily gelled into careless, but probably quite carefully arranged spikes. He was stunningly good looking and Buffy found herself growing a little hot when she remembered that he’d been a punk and that in turn made her think of the stripper at the bronze.

Don’t go there, she thought frantically. Future father-in-law, remember.

A future father-in-law who could almost be William’s not very much older brother. They were very alike, and cheekbones obviously ran in the family. His dad had a compelling mix of English and American in his voice which, she guessed, he used to great effect to woo his clients. This was a man who was good at putting up fronts. The hair, the casual clothes, they were all there to take people off their guard, while behind it all he would be plotting and planning his next move. She could imagine he could be a quite deadly business opponent when he needed to be and people probably wouldn’t know what hit them when he swooped.

Buffy’s fingers twitched as she watched them, desperate to go start planning the Denham portrait right now and wondering how near she was to the mark with her musings. It was only guesswork really. For all she knew, William Sr. could be a fluffy bunny of a business man, but she doubted it.

And his mother was even more intriguing. Where William’s father knocked people down with his personality, hers was a much quieter kind of strength. She was beautiful and perfectly manicured with her long dark hair and black silk dress. Not a thing out of place, and Buffy imagined that she was the kind of person who expended very little energy in getting what she wanted simply because she didn’t need to. She hadn’t said more than a few words since she’d arrived, nor done more than what she was doing to William now, yet they’d all fallen over themselves to see that she was taken care of. Everything she wanted she achieved with a touch, a lift of her eyebrows, a secretive smile.

Buffy could see how uncomfortable William was with it. He’d only been a baby when she’d effectively rejected him, but perhaps those memories were still there, in his subconscious. Does a baby remember the hours of crying for someone who was never going to come? The confusion of seeing another face when you thought it was going to be your mom?

Buffy glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, grateful that it was nearly four o’ clock, the time they’d said they’d be leaving. All she wanted to do was kick off her shoes and lay down on the rug in front of the fire. With William, of course. He looked more than ready for the day to come to an end as well.

They left exactly on the dot of four o’clock. William’s mother held out her hand to him almost as if she expected him to kiss it and he managed to get his arms around her for an awkward hug and an air-kiss. His dad slapped him heartily on his shoulder and told him to make sure he got his ass up to New York before the middle of December because he was exactly the kind of corporate image they needed to throw at that particular project. And to be sure he brought Buffy with him, on full expenses of course.

Joyce followed them because she had to get the old gentlemen back to their hostel, and Buffy felt a small twinge of annoyance as she said her goodbyes.

“Wish you could have stayed, mom. I’ve missed you,” she said as they hugged.

“Me too, sweetheart, but we have to get back to town.” Joyce stepped back, holding both of her hands as she gazed at her. “You did so well today, Buffy. I’m really proud of you.” And when she leaned in for a last kiss on the cheek, she said, “really proud,” in a voice that sounded as if she’d never meant anything more in her life.

And Buffy found she could forgive her for sometimes putting others before her own daughter. She was right, as she always was. Buffy had everything, certainly more than enough to share.

“Visit soon, then. For a whole weekend so we can do some wedding planning. Tara wants to get started on the costumes and I haven’t done any sketches yet.”

Joyce gave William a hug along with a quick reminder for him to call her, then she turned back to Buffy, a goofy grin spreading across her face.

“I am so looking forward to all it. How about a fortnight’s time? I’ll spend the whole weekend and we can talk about nothing but weddings. And guest-lists. Have you any idea how many people there are in this family? And then there’s your father’s side, and William’s.”

Buffy happened to glance at William then, who’d gone rather pale and was backing hastily away from all the wedding talk. She felt a momentary pang of guilt, but only a small one. This was her dream wedding come true, and he’d said he didn’t mind, hadn’t he?

When everyone was gone, they walked into the house together and stood for a moment in the hall, listening to that strange, almost touchable kind of silence that descends on a space that people have just left. William stood behind her and pulled her against him, resting his cheek on her head as he liked to do.

“Thanks for today,” he whispered. “You are one hell of a woman, Buffy Summers.”

“Your parents seem nice.”

“Come off it, they’re as weird as hell. But thanks for putting up with them.”

“Every one thinks their own parents are weird.” Buffy tipped her head back so she could see him and earned herself a kiss. “I mean,” she went on. “How many parents do you know who turn up to Thanksgiving with two gay, homeless people in tow?”

“Not many,” he agreed. “But your mum’s exceptional, gotta say it.”

“What do you need to call her about?”

“Oh, this Mandy business.”

Her heart jerked in her chest at the mention of that woman’s nameand she clutched at him so hard that he jumped.

“S’okay,” he said, turning her in his arms. “Just need to tell your mum exactly what happened. Now, keep still. I have a very important question to ask you.”

Buffy pressed her forehead against his chest, suddenly exhausted by the stress of it all. “I’ll do anything,” she said. “As long as it doesn’t involve me having to move.”

She felt the chuckle rumble through his chest, and his arm gathering her closer as she sagged.

“Think I might manage that, but it can wait. How about we go use the hot-tub? Relax? Get your strength back.”

Buffy groaned and buried her face deeper into his shirt. “I’m so full I’ll probably drown if we do that. Think I need a nap.”

“Alright then, reckon we’ve earned a rest after today. Sofa, or bed?”

“Bed’s tempting,” Buffy said, lifting her head. “Better be the sofa though. If I go to bed now, I won’t want to get up again.”

“No law that says we can’t go to bed early, love.”

“No, just need to crash for an hour, then I want to start on that portrait of your parents. Got an idea I want to get down before it goes. We can hot-tub later, yeah?”

“I’ll do anything you want, just as long as I’m there with you.”

“Come be with me then.” Buffy caught his fingers with hers and led him to the sitting room, flopping into a heap with him on the sofa and letting drowsiness overtake her. William tipped back his head and propped his feet on a footstool so she settled herself with her head on his lap, wriggled comfortably and let out a long, audible breath like the contented creature she was.

“Will, do your parents ever talk about what happened to you?”

“Not really.”

“But they must have at the time?”

“Got a lot of very supportive e-mails.”

“Oh.”

“Water under the bridge, Buff. Just how they are and I’ve long since accepted that.”

“It’s sad.”

“Yeah. But I’ve got you now, that’s what counts.”

“You have, Will. What was that important question you wanted to ask me?”

“Was just wondering if there was a place in this house we haven’t made love yet.”

Buffy couldn’t think of one. She smiled into his lap and stifled a yawn. Sleep really did come over you in waves. With each one the room receded a little more and odd, whimsical thoughts filled her mind as she drifted into dreamland.

They were an equal partnership, and she was glad of that. Both running at the same speed so that if they stumbled they’d be there to pick each other up. With Liam she’d felt breathless because he’d always been a couple of steps ahead, and she’d never really caught up with him.

The wood fire spluttered a little as a downdraft caught it, and the room grew chilly since neither of them had remembered to put another log on. A good excuse to snuggle closer to William, who’d already fallen asleep by the sound of his regular breathing. He was sleeping better, but still had restless nights, so this bonus rest would probably do him good. The cat jumped up at some point and curled his warm body into the space behind her knees, and then for some strange reason she was behind the wheel of a car having a driving lesson. Only the pedals felt like sponges every time she pressed her feet down and she couldn’t stop giggling because someone was tickling her.

She batted his hand away and tried to steer, but the wheel was made of jell-o and wouldn’t co-operate, so she turned to the dark-haired man sitting beside her and frowned, because surely her boyfriend had light coloured hair?

Buffy awoke with a jolt and for a few moments lay still, wondering if she was ever going to learn to drive. Not if he didn’t stop distracting her with kisses and get on with actually teaching her. Turning, she looked for the dark haired man and saw that she wasn’t in a car at all, but in the sitting room. She lifted her head and squinted at the clock, narrowing her eyes as she tried to focus through the sleepy haze.

Nearly nine o’clock? How could that be, she’d only just fallen asleep. And where was William? Buffy sat up and pushed back the lock of hair that was hanging over her face. It was a struggle to shake off the dream as she glanced around the room for him. She stretched out and yawned. Stood up and shook herself. Slipped into her shoes, and made her way to the kitchen.

The house was very still, apart from the usual background noises. The ticking of the grandfather clock as she passed through the hall. The gentle hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen which was neat and tidy and showed no signs that anyone had been in there since this afternoon. He must be in bed then. It was odd that he’d go up without her, though. Or outside somewhere, having a cigarette. That was more likely, she thought, feeling slightly relieved when she noticed the kitchen door key was in the lock and not on the hook where it normally rested.

Too cold to go out without a jacket, so she went back to the hall and found herself one. William’s was still there too, so she took that with her and went out to find him.

He wasn’t on the back porch. Buffy scanned the garden as she slipped into her jacket wondering if he was on the beach. He still went for his lone walks, but it was late, and he always told her when and where. Squashing down a momentary panic, she locked the back door and stepped down onto the gravel path. Perfectly capable of going for a walk by himself, grown-up, remember?

She almost missed him, standing near the small copse of trees that flanked the hot-tub cabin. Arms wrapped around himself and staring off into space, it was a familiar pose and she relaxed a little as she made her way towards him, trying to make some noise so she wouldn’t startle him.

Up close she saw that he was shivering and was glad she’d brought his jacket. Silly man, coming out in this weather without a coat. And lucky man that he had her to look after him since he was so blasé about his own well-being.

“Brought your jacket,” she said. “What are you doing out here at this time of night?”

She automatically looked at his fingers for a cigarette, which was the normal reason for him doing this, but he wasn’t smoking. Neither did he seem to realise she was there.

Oh heck. He hadn’t had a sleepwalking episode in a while and she’d thought that perhaps he’d got over that now. Okay, calm down, she told herself. It still freaked her a little when he did this, but she knew what to do. And how embarrassed he’d feel about it when he woke up, despite her telling him over and over that she was okay with it.

“William?” She spoke softly, touched him gently so as not to alarm him. Usually he’d turn round, look a little dazed, but allow her to lead him back to bed. It was the strangest of things, having a conversation with a part of someone you didn’t usually see. Having them close, but far away at the same time. Like talking to a shadow.

“Come on,” she said, slipping into a familiar routine. “Let’s go in.”

He made no move to follow her, just continued to stare off into the distance. Looking at what she couldn’t tell. Until she followed the line of his gaze and saw that he was looking directly at the brick wall at the end of the garden.

“You’re not in prison any more,” she told him. “You do know that, don’t you?”

They both jumped when she touched him again. She because he’d never reacted quite so violently to her being near him when he was sleepwalking and he because it seemed he’d only just realised she was there.

Watching him warily, she knew it wasn’t directed at her, but he was still trembling, only this time it wasn’t just the cold.

“William?” She tried again, taking a cautious step towards him, holding out her hand. His gaze dropped to it, back to her face, a look of confusion on his. “Will, can you hear me?”

Shaking his head, he wrapped his arms back around himself and turned away from her. No more than a dark shape, he was cloaked in so much emotion that she could almost feel it too. Glancing around she saw the trees, the wall, the hot tub. The house, with its welcoming light silhouetted against the heavy sky. The sound of the sea barely registered any more, but tonight she heard its music punctuating the scene. Grounding her in reality when she was beginning to think she was still inside, on the couch, and dreaming all this.

“Do you love me?” When he spoke it was barely audible, but the words were unmistakable.

“I love you, Will.” She said it as plainly and simply as she could, because she wanted him to hear it, and understand.

“No,” he said, agitation creeping into his tone. “Do you love me?”

Something about the scene flashed her back to the first time he’d done this. The first time she’d found out about the person he kept locked inside. The one she still knew very little about.

“Spike?”

He went very still.

“Spike, it’s Buffy. You know I love you, don’t you?”

“Do you?” His head turned a fraction, everything tensed for her answer.

“I do.” She risked touching him again, but apart from a small tremor he seemed okay with it, so she slipped his jacket over his shoulders, smoothed it down and left her hand there when she was done. “Love everything you are. It’s true,” she said. “Come inside with me.”

“Can I?”

“Of course you can. Come with me now.”

A slight nod told her that at least she was getting through to him. She did debate waking him up altogether, but guessed that whatever he was working through, he needed to do it. “Come in,” she said. “And I’ll show you how much I love you.”

“Not afraid of me then?”

“No. Spike, never afraid of you. Love you, remember?”

Another slight nod, a soft sigh, almost as if he’d been relieved by her answer. Then he turned and took her offered hand and she breathed a little easier, although it hurt to see him like this. Even more so now that she loved him so much. Knowing what he’d been through, and what he was still suffering put all the imagined ills in her life firmly in perspective.

He woke up some time in the night rousing her from sleep with warm hands stoking sensitive skin. Everything normal, back to the William she knew again. Moving her hair so he could kiss the back of her neck. Flowing with her from sleep to love-making, so that it started in her dreams and ended in his arms. Asking questions only they knew the answers to. Talking a language only they could understand. Going to secret places.

Each time leaving behind another part of their hearts so that one day she’d have all of his and he’d have all of hers. And it was times like these that made her hold him extra carefully, speak soft words that he couldn’t fail to understand and listen so that she heard exactly what he was trying to tell her. Loving him was a big responsibility, and sometimes the enormity of it still scared her.

“Want to get this right, Will,” she told him as they floated down from heaven. “Want to give you everything. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

He pulled her flush against his lean body, fingers splayed on her back, one hand wrapped around her shoulder. His chest her favourite pillow. Drifting together back into sleep.

“You already do,” he murmured, his voice the barest whisper. “Just be Buffy, and love me. It’s all I want. All I need…”

tbc…

 

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