Chapter 18: 'Working It Out'’


Angel got home from New York, as promised, early on Monday morning. He wondered into their house around 9:00 AM and Buffy tried to act excited about it. She was happy he was home, she was, but after everything that had happened in the last few days? She just couldn’t get that emotional over his appearance right now.

On one side, Buffy had a husband, who was probably screwing around on her with more then just one woman and as a wife, she felt betrayed and hurt. On the other side, she was basically being blackmailed by a sinister man into illicit sex; although it did help that said sinister blackmailer was extremely handsome, sexy and charming. Or maybe that wasn’t such a ‘help!’ As Yul Brenner would say in the ‘King And I’ “it is a puzzlement!”

Buffy made breakfast for Angel that morning herself, surprising half of the known world, she was sure. If anything was for sure in the Universe, it was for sure that Buffy did not cook, thus the hiring of Maggie. She hoped Angel wouldn’t think it too odd that his wife made his favorite breakfast; omelettes, toast and bacon, and might begin to really suspect something was amiss at home sweet home. But, he seemed genuinely pleased that she had gone to the trouble to fix all of his morning feast.

Apparently, William had convinced her husband that his darling wife, Buffy, was the epitome of married virtue and not to worry.

‘Score one for the home team’ she thought sarcastically to herself, as she poured another cup of coffee for her handsome husband. A guilty pang shot through her when she caught the adoring look in his eyes for her. ‘Remember,’ she told herself, ‘remember what he looked like screwing Cordy up against the Christmas gift you special ordered!’ That helped alleviate her guilt feelings, at least momentarily.

Angel, in an unprecedented move, decided to skip work for the rest of day and spend time at home with Buffy. It was going to be a very warm day and along with these surprising turn of events, he insisted that they take a swim together in the pool after breakfast. Buffy actually found herself looking forward to spending the early afternoon, on a weekday with her husband so she went upstairs to change into a bathing suit. When she emerged onto the patio, she found Angel lounging about on a lawn chair, wearing a pair of trunks that she’d lent to Connor once, when he was ‘coming around’ before.

A major ‘regret pain’ tore at her chest as she tried to look away from her husband and tried to forget how the trunks hung on the slim, innocent young Connor’s hips. Angel must have noticed her expression because he got a vexed look on his face and asked “what’s wrong, babe?”

“Nothing,” she answered lightly as she pushed the guilt down as fast as she could. “Just haven’t seen those trunks for a while, seems like they’re a bit big on you, honey.”

She thought this was a good cover and marveled that she could lie so easily, “you must be losing weight, I guess I’m just worried. Maybe you’re working too hard?”

Angel chuckled and shrugged, “yeah, guess I am working a little to much and too hard.” He grew quiet for a moment then stood up from the chair and walked over to her. “Buff, what say we go out to that swanky restaurant this weekend. You know the one up the coast you love so much? Just you and me?”

He reached out and ran his large hand down the side of her face, then pulled her close to him. Buffy could have just cried from the sweet gesture of her husband, but she caught herself.

“Yeah,” she mumbled softly, just before he kissed her, “I’d really like that Angel.”

Angel smiled, obviously ‘pleased with himself’ that Buffy was so ‘pleased with him.’ Before she could say anything more, he swooped her up in his arms and threw her unceremoniously into the cool water at the deep end of the pool, then jumped in after her. He swam underwater right up to her and picked her up from her knees. After he placed her, giggling and splashing the water after him, on his big shoulders.

“Put me down!” she screamed with laughter, “right now, Angel, I mean it!” But he continued to carry her around on his shoulders, continuously threatening to toss her backwards into the water. As much as Buffy enjoyed this horseplay together, it was a painful reminder of their early married days when they did tease and have fun together. Buffy missed that; apparently, so did Angel because he continued the silly play until she simply fell off of his shoulders from laughing so hard.

When she came up for air, Angel picked her back up in his beefy arms and carried her out of the pool straight into the pool room. In no time at all, they were both naked and her husband was actually taking time to make love to her on the comfortable bench.

Buffy tried to concentrate on what Angel was doing right then, but she kept having disturbing flashbacks of her and Connor in that same pool room just weeks earlier. That’s when it dawned on her; William must have gotten evidence from some source of her affair with Connor from this very room.

‘How?’ she wondered, a growing uneasiness in her tummy. Even more disturbing, at least at this point, was the fact that her blackmailing buddy may very well still have that ‘source’ planted somewhere in the building. And, the most disturbing thing of all? Why was she thinking about William at all? The answer? Buffy felt guilty, like she was ‘cheating’ on Will.

Spike lay in his massive bed, alone, jealous and miserable. He had gone about his business that Monday morning, intent on not thinking about Angel being back from New York. However, about noon, he couldn’t help but drive by the Traver’s house, just to check up on Buffy, and noticed that ‘dickhead’s’ black Mercedes was parked in the driveway; which told him that Peaches (his favorite nickname for Angel, besides the profane ones) had stayed home from work that day, with Buffy. Spike’s Buffy; his woman, not anyone elses, just his. Of course, the truth was Buffy ‘was’ married to Angel, not him, but…….

After he’d driven by their house, he drove to the nearest bar and proceeded to drink enough to feel better, but still be sober enough to drive home. At his apartment, which he usually really liked, he moped about for an hour before raiding his rather well stocked bar and drinking a pint of whiskey. All the while, he tried, without success, to block out the visuals of ‘his’ Buffy with ‘her’ husband having sex together.

“I hate that fuck!” he muttered as he stumbled from the bed, clad only in boxers and poured himself another straight drink. “He bloody waltz’s back into town and fucks my girl, like he has the right!”

If he’d been more sober, Spike would have seen the ridiculousness of the whole situation. After all, Angel and Buffy were married, whether ‘he’ Spike liked it or not; Angel did have the right to fuck Buffy.

“She just doesn’t have the right to fuck him!” he reasoned (or didn’t reason as the case may be). In any event, he was piss ass drunk, alone without Buffy and had no idea when he would see her again. “I’m so fucked!” he moaned just before he passed out on the couch.

Buffy and Angel went to bed early that night after an evening of good food, at home, and some DVDs. For the first time in months, Buffy felt at ease with her husband and had regained some hope that perhaps they could work their marriage out. Angel snored loudly beside her while she lay on her back and stared at the ceiling above them.

“Maybe we can work it out,” she pondered as she counted the ceiling tiles, trying to grow too weary to stay awake. “Maybe if I get pregnant, give Angel an heir and make the whole damn family proud for once. Maybe things can work out for the best?”

A nagging feeling, deep in her tummy, was working it’s way up into her chest and throat. ‘Will isn’t going to let this go that easy,’ she surmised as she glanced nervously at her husband asleep beside her. He’ll make this as difficult as possible; ego alone will push William into keeping me. It’s his nature.’

But there was more, Buffy realized that, William was obsessed with her, no question, and of all of the ‘destructive’ emotions in the world, excluding perhaps jealousy? Obsession was the strongest.

Spike woke up in an alcoholic daze at around 2:20 AM on Tuesday morning. “Buffy,” he groaned into the air. He got up, shakily from the couch where he’d fallen in a stupor and stumbled back to his bed. When he fell backwards into the mattress, he found himself staring right at the ‘picture’ on the wall of his bedroom. It was the only picture he had anywhere in his bedroom and it was of Buffy. Her hazel eyes were bright and huge as she stared into the photographer’s camera. The smile on her face reflected a simpler, happier time for Buffy. She was still only seventeen-years-old, her Senior picture, and she glowed with all of the promise that ‘their’ futures still held. Before all of that crap at the Delta Kai party, before Parker Abrams or college and eventually Angel; she was still William’s Princess Buffy.

This picture was the only one he had of her ‘solo’ and he treasured it, especially since he’d nicked it from Angel’s house at graduation. That he savored; made it all the sweeter. “Spike,” he sighed to himself, “you ‘are’ a pathetic bastard!”


 

Chapter 19: ‘Pre-date Jitters’


Buffy woke up alone on Tuesday morning and frantically searched the room for Angel. He wasn’t there, but she heard the tell tale signs of the shower in the master bathroom. She sighed in relief that her husband hadn’t left for work yet, or maybe it was relief that he wasn’t still in bed with her? Even she wasn’t sure anymore.

By the time he was out of the shower, Buffy had risen and pulled on her favorite satin robe. Angel entered their bedroom half naked and whistling a jaunty tune. After he gave her a rather rakish grin, he pawed through his side of the walk in closet for an appropriate Tuesday ‘office’ suit.

“Did Jenny pick up the cleaning, Buff?” he asked, not bothering to look at her.

“Yeah,” she responded, absently, remembering the good old days when at least ‘she, Buffy’ got to do such simple things as picking up dry cleaning, attempting cooking, making love with her husband.

“I’ll be home early tonight, babe,” Angel informed her, “let’s go to dinner at Nino’s, I’m in the mood for Italian.”

Buffy nodded silently and slipped into the bathroom to draw a tub. When she lay down in the tepid water, she realized that Angel and her hadn’t shared a tub soak or a shower in well, forever. William and her had just showered together a few days ago. It struck Buffy that the shower that Will and her shared was more erotic then almost anything she and Angel had done, sexually, in ages.

Angel was gone to work by the time Buffy went downstairs, so she ate her toast and drank her coffee alone out on the veranda. Her mind was a swirling hub of visions and thoughts.

Buffy was filled with images of William and the things ‘they’ did together. The way Will looked at her, ‘took’ her (and of course, the way she let him take her), the way he sang that damn song to her, with her half asleep in his arms. The way he looked at her with those lazer blue eyes. Angel’s large brown eyes had ‘shut down’ years ago. They had become secretive and no longer mirrored his inner feelings or thoughts, at least not to her.

Will’s eyes were ice blue, clear and open in his feelings. The problem was, Buffy just never read those honest blue eyes before, not until now; when it was too late.

On an impulse, Buffy picked up her cordless phone and called Angel at work. She was almost ‘surprised’ when he actually took her call.

“Angel?” she mumbled. “Hi, honey,” he answered, warmly, “what’s up?”

Buffy took a deep breath and stumbled on, “I’d like to meet you for lunch, today. Can we?” Her heart seemed to thump up in Buffy’s throat, why she wasn’t sure. A part of her was afraid her own husband would say ‘no’ but the other braver part pushed forward. For some reason, Buffy just needed to be at Angel’s office today for lunch. Whatever the reason, Buffy was sure she needed to meet him there and just go somewhere together. Silly as it seemed, Buffy had a weird feeling that fate was pushing her to that damn office this very afternoon.

“Sure,” Angel answered simply, almost happily, “I’d like that Buff!” Something in Angel’s voice sounded ‘false’ but she shook it off and confirmed the time she’d be there.

Buffy pulled into the parking lot of her husband’s office building. She hadn’t been there since she ran into William the last time when he cornered her in the elevator. With a sigh of resignation, Buffy secured her ‘Baby’ the Camaro she loved so much, and punched the up botton of the parking structure elevator.

“I ‘can’ make this work,” she reassured herself. “I can get Angel back again, totally and we’ll be happy again.”

An alter ego Buffy voice, in the back of her mind, taunted her, “yeah, sure. You’ll do fine. Just cow tow to Angel, the Travers and give up yourself, Buffy. It’s in the bag! Sacrifice everything that was ‘Buffy Summers’ and all will be well!”

The annoying ‘voice’ kept it up: “don’t even think about catching Angel with Cordelia again, ain’t gonna’ happen, remember? She’s marrying Riley soon. It’ll be fine. Hey, even if he finds another snuggle bunny, you’ll deal, right? Hell, look at your life, your things, your possessions! You have it all girl, who cares if your husband is a cheating, lying, self absorbed son-of-a-bitch!”

This alter ego ‘voice’ was getting on Buffy’s nerves, definitely. “I haven’t exactly been an ‘angel’ myself,” she retorted defensively to the talky, invisible voice. ‘Talky’ didn’t have a comeback for that one.

Buffy sashayed into the outer waiting room of her husband’s office. If she was looking for a confrontation, like the last time, with Anya, she was sadly dissapointed. That new law clerk, Andrew, the one Buffy had pointed Anya to was on hand. He leaned over Angel’s receptionist’s desk, raptly listening to something Anya was telling him.

“And,” Anya was mumbling something softly, “I don’t care what they said about you in College, Drew (Drew?!), you’re not effeminent, okay? Honey, believe me!”

Anya finished with a wink. Buffy cleared her throat to announce her presence.

“Oh,” Anya, muttered, “Oh!” she cried out loud, pushing poor Andrew, albeit gently, from her desk. “Sorry Buffy,” the girl stammered, “I’ll ring you in.”

A warm, happy feeling bubbled up in Buffy. If Andrew and Anya had come to an understanding, so be it. She was happy for the both of them.

“That’s okay, Anya,” Buffy said magnanimously, “I’ll just go in myself.” With a smile to the couple, she showed herself into her husband’s office. Angel was busy scribbling something on a pad of paper before him and he barely acknowledged her.

“Uhm, Angel?” she started tentively. “Buffy!” he cried with true joy, “you’re early!” But he seemed pleased anyway.

“Where we going for lunch, Angel?” she asked as he slapped the pad of paper closed, shut his desk and locked it then stood to escort his wife out of the office.

“I thought we’d go to ‘Chani’s’” he answered. “We’ll have that great salad you love, french bread and a bottle of wine! What do you say, Buff?”

Buffy felt that pang of sadness and remorse shoot through her, he was trying, he really was. “That’s great,” she responded with mustered enthusiasm. “Can’t wait. It reminds me of the old days, in college.”

However, they ate their meal mostly in silence. When the tab came, Angel grabbed it, almost relieved to be through with the whole ordeal of lunch with his wife, so Buffy decided to broach the subject that had been on her mind since last night.

“Angel, honey,” she began quietly, “I was thinking.”

If her husband was wary, he hid it and just looked at her intently.

“I was thinking,” she forged on, “maybe we should consider a baby?”

Angel did not look happy. Nor did he look sad or even angry. Angel looked floored!

“Where in the hell did that come from?” he gasped, checking around to make sure no other restaurant patrons heard them.

“I don’t know,” she replied quickly, “just off the top of my head, I think.”

He gave her a patent Angel look; the one that said ‘I’m dealing with a mentally challenged five-year-old’, the one she hated with a passion.

“You know how dangerous you are when you ‘think’ babe,” he laughed, half-jokingly.

“I’m serious,” Buffy retorted stubbornly her chin jutted out in defiance.

“Buffy,” Angel began, his patient tone infuriating her, “you know that we’ve talked about this. No babies until ‘we are’ ready, both of us.”

Buffy shot him a pout, “I am ready,” she assured him, “and ‘I’ don’t recall really being a part of the discussion,” she finished.

“Well, I’m not ready,” he responded evenly, “not until I’ve been a full partner at the firm for at least a couple more years.”

‘Yada, yada, yada,’ Buffy echoed silently, bitterly. When Buffy tried to comeback with a good debate, Angel shut her down abruptly.

He waved his huge right hand at her and stated firmly, “end of discussion, Buff.” Buffy recognized a conversation dismissal when she saw one and promptly dropped the baby subject.

They rode back to his office, in his Mercedes, in silence.

Finally, “what time will you be home tonight?” she asked, almost indifferently.

“Around 5:00, I guess,” he answered with about as much enthusiasm.

“I’ll make reservations at Ninos,” she offered, too politely.

“Good,” he quipped. And that was the sum of their conversation.

Buffy couldn’t get out of his office fast enough. She flew past Anya (Andrew was still hanging about her desk) and exited the lobby into the hallway. Imagine her shock when she was grabbed by the arm (as gently as possible) and pulled into the nearest janitor’s closet.

“William!” she gasped at the the black clad figure that abducted her into the little room and bolted the door behind them.

“Hi, Princess,” is all he could say as he looked at her hungrily.

“What are you doing here?” she asked with a confused look on her pretty face.

“Checking in with Angel,” he mumbled, somewhat shame faced.

“Checking in?” she hissed, “you mean like, telling him about me? Us?”

Spike shook his head, then changed it to a nod. “I came to tell him that ‘our’ business, ‘Angel’s and mine’ it’s done. At least the business of you.”

He ran his fingers down her cheek, softly, but stopped at her chin when he saw that ‘look’ in her eyes. This was far past the ‘deer in headlights’ look. This Buffy look was one of betrayal, his betrayal, and it tore at his heart like a jagged knife.

“You came here to hurt me?” she whispered sadly, “to throw my stupidness at me, at my husband?”

‘No, never!’ he whispered hoarsely. No; he shook his head, firmly.

Spike had really come to end the business contract he’d set up with Angel about Buffy. He was going to give Angel his last report about Buffy, which would consist of nothing sensational, and end their little business dealings about her. Even more so, Spike had no intention of accepting the last payment from Angel for spying on his wife. He planned to use the fact that there was no dirt on Buffy Travers as a reason for not taking the final money installments. That should placate the great poof, Angel.

Something in Spike, some nobler instinct from his youth, the upbringing that Anne and Rupert Giles had given him would not allow him to take the balance of the money that Angel had offered him. That and more importantly, Spike’s feelings for Buffy. His very strong feelings for Buffy.

“Enjoy lunch?” he asked sarcastically, against his better judgement.

“Oh yeah,” she quipped back, nastily, “especially when my husband, you know, Angel, my husband, stuck his wet, hot tongue down my throat during dessert!”

Spike felt like pushing the little bitch up against the small room wall, ripping her panties off of her and fucking her into oblivion, but he pushed down his jealous impulse. He did however, push her up against the wall, not too hard though.

“You want me to go tell Angel about your little boy toys, Buffy?” he rasped as he held her up against the wall. “Want me to show him pictures, play tapes of your orgasms, however faked, with Xander Harris in his hot little car?”

He could feel his own jealous rage just radiate off of him as he stared into her gorgeous wide eyed green eyes.



William’s sneer made him look like a twisted, fallen angel and Buffy found herself shivering from fear. Or at least she wanted it to be fear. Sometimes, she wondered if she wasn’t as twisted and fallen as this platinum haired, blue eyed demon that she’d made a hellish pact with. Her thong suddenly felt tight and wet, but certainly not from fear.

“No,” she whispered, “please don’t tell Angel about any of it, Will, please.” She was ashamed of her frightened, weak, girlish voice, but she couldn’t help it, not right now anyway.

“I won’t, Buffy,” he whispered softly, stroking a long strand of hair from her face, “I’d lose you for sure then. I’m a romantic fool, not a complete imbecile.”

Buffy was at a loss as to just what William was trying to say to her. Sometimes she confused herself more then anyone else possibly could and it frustrated her to no end.

When Buffy dared another look at William, she was surprised to see a confused expression on his face. He visibly shook off the puzzlement and pinned her even tighter against the wall, “see me Thursday.”

Buffy knew an order when she heard one, but her difiant nature bucked the command and she shook her head in a definite no. “Can’t,” she said firmly, “Angel would get suspicious.”

William first looked hurt, then angry and through clenched teeth he said, “you sure as hell could meet Harris on some of those ‘golf’ Thursdays, couldn’t you?”

Buffy cursed Angel silently, “oh great,” she thought, “you give William Giles all the info he needs to spy on me and now he’s turning it against us both.”

Spike was more then pissed. Oh sure, Buffy could find time to fuck around with Xander Harris on Thursdays, when she was fucking him anyway, but she couldn’t make time for Spike?

‘Bullshit!’ he screamed to himself. “Meet me,” he ordered again, more firmly then before. He watched his sweet Buffy weigh out the pros and cons and almost sighed audibly when he read the final answer. She ‘would’ meet him. He could see that in her eyes.

“It’s risky,” she mumbled in a low, husky voice, “it’s real risky, William.” As if she had to tell him that?

“It’ll make it all the more exciting, luv,” he assured her with a kiss on her forehead. “Sides,” he continued seriously, “I told you; I’ve got your back, always.”

“Where? What time?” she asked mechanically.

“Remember that biker bar we used to sneak into in High School?” he asked her as he brushed more long strands of hair from her face.

She nodded reluctantly, “yeah, the one way out of town?”

His turn to nod. “Yeah, that one,” he confirmed, “just drive out there, Thursday afternoon. Try to be there by 5:00 PM, Princess. It’ll give us some time, I know Angel goes to golf right around 3:30 Pm or so, then doesn’t come home until after 10:00 PM.”

Buffy had to agree to this, William had done his homework, or maybe Angel had given him his schedule, who knew? “What is this, William?” she asked in disbelief, “a date?”

He chuckled and smirked, “why not a date?” She could only roll her eyes.

“We don’t have to go into the bar,” Spike assured her, “just meet outside and we’ll go somewhere.”

Buffy felt ‘odd’ about the ‘go somewhere’ but decided to keep her mouth shut about it for now, anyway. At this time, William had all of the cards in his hands, she didn’t. Hell, even Angel was dealing a full deck over her, but somewhere, somehow down the line? Buffy would take back control of her life, she just had to figure out how. There was something else, something that Buffy couldn’t quite put her finger on. She ‘thought’ it had something to do with William, but she just couldn’t put a name to it. Not at this time.

“I need to go, William,” she mumbled as she pulled away from him. “I need to go to my car and go home.”

Spike let loose of her, but not before placing a long, hard kiss on her lips. “Thursday,” he reasserted, “at 5:00 PM, no later. Please be there, Buffy,” he added. Then he was gone out of the tiny room. He headed into Angel’s office door, only stopping long enough to wipe Buffy’s lipstick from his mouth.

“I’d love to walk into that prick’s office with Buffy’s mark on me,” he chuckled as he opened the door. “Serves the pompous prick right. He doesn’t deserve her.” Spike had to wonder, briefly, as he strode into his nemesis, Angel’s office, if he himself deserved Buffy Summers.

Buffy kind of wandered through all day Wednesday and most of Thursday. If her husband was suspicious, he showed no signs of it. He played the respectful, loving husband and displayed no ‘problems’ in their marital life. Even the broached baby subject did not come into play in those two days, so on Thursday morning, when Angel toddled off to work, all was well, at least on the surface, at the Travers house.

“See you about 11:00 tonight,” Angel called back to her as he stepped out onto the back porch, “don’t wait up.”

She didn’t respond, just sat staring out the garden window, the one she had chosen. The little but expensive butcher block kitchen table (she’d also chosen) seemed awfully lonely this morning. Then she remembered, Maggie and Jenny had left for the day, wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning. She was all alone in the big house.

“Well,” she sighed, “I won’t be alone for long, will I?”

Slowly she rose and went upstairs to take another shower and pick out her clothes for her ‘date’ with William. He’d mentioned something about her needing to wear jeans, God only knew what that meant.

“It’s just pre-date jitters,” she tried to convince herself. “Pre-date jitters! What the hell am I thinking?!”

For a brief moment, Buffy considered having a good stiff drink, even if it was before 10:00 AM. She shrugged off the urge and went ahead into the master bath to start the water. Buffy glanced in the full length mirror of her bed room, “you are truly a fucked up mess,” she told her reflection.
 

Chapter 20: ‘The Date’


Buffy had no problem finding ‘Clem’s Bar’ even though it was way, way out of town down a small road off the highway. After all, when they were teenagers, the whole gang snuck into the place more then once. Of course, then it was called Jake’s or something, this Clem must have bought the place in the last few years.

“Leave it to William to remember this place,” she snorted ruefully while she scanned the radio for an audible station to listen to. She couldn’t believe her ears when she zeroed in on an old alternative music station that just happened to be playing the ‘Foo Fighters’ Everlong’ at the moment.

“Well,” she sighed and rolled her eyes, “isn’t that just special? Must be God’s little jest on me.”

While she’d been driving the last few miles, she thought about the baby conversation she’d had with Angel. It had been a mistake to even bring the maybe baby possibility up, she realized that now. Oh, Buffy wanted a baby, yes, very much, but she had to admit that at least some of her reasons for wanting a baby were selfish and unrealistic.

She absolutely knew, deep down that babies should be born to happy or at least stable couples. Not confused, discontented people who were struggling in unstable, unhappy relationships; like Angel and her. A baby would not fix their present problems, and nor should it be expected to.

Buffy and Angel had to fix their marriage, well before any baby made an appearance and helped complete their family unit. Right then, Buffy made a promise to herself not to bring up the baby subject again, at least not until Angel and her had repaired their broken marriage, and maybe not for a long time after that.

When she pulled into the crumbling parking lot of the bar, Buffy saw William right away. Fortunately, he wasn’t waiting inside for her; he sat propped up on that damn Harley, smoking a cigarette, as usual.

“Damn,” she mused, “sometimes he looks just like an angel.”

She giggled and purposely parked as far away from him as possible, “yeah, an angel alright, an angel from hell,” she muttered as she stepped out of the car.

William looked at his watch when he saw her pull in, she must have been close to on time, he didn’t frown.

“Hey,” he called approaching her, somewhat cautiously.

“Hi, Will,” she responded softly, ‘allowing’ him to put his hands on her. ‘How gentle he is,’ she marveled, briefly, ‘how tender and almost old-fashioned,’ courtly actually came to mind. Before he could kiss her, she pulled away quickly, “thanks for not making me meet you inside, William,” she nodded towards the old building.

He shrugged and gave her a small pout, apparently aware of the slight she’d given him by pulling away.

“So,” she mumbled without looking at him, “where are we going on this date?”

William pointed over to the Harley, “a picnic,” he answered simply, pulling her towards his motorcycle.

When they reached the red and black monster, Buffy flinched with fear, “I haven’t been on a motorcycle in forever,” she gasped, “William, I don’t know. What if……”

He didn’t let her finish, “it’s okay, Princess,” he chuckled, “I won’t let anything happen to you, promise.”

Buffy eyed the bike, nervously, “well, okay, if you say so, but what about helmets? We don’t have any?” There was no evidence of the protective helmets, so legally demanded in California.

“Buffy,” he whispered as he pulled her onto the bike, “you’re with me, I’ve got your back. I won’t let you fall off, get hurt or even be seen. I swear it, luv.”

She looked at him, the bike and the backpack and some kind of rolled up blanket tied to the very back of it. Buffy glanced at the bike, at William and then at the open road ahead of them, “let’s ride,” she said with determined defiance.

They did ride, down the highway, no helmets (let’s pretend this isn’t California, okay?), together for another few miles or so.

Spike was in heaven; at least his kind of heaven. Buffy was with him, her slim arms wrapped around his waist, tightly of course and she was actually laughing like a crazy, rebellious teenager again. Actually they were both laughing like those teens they had once been, years before and it made him delireously happy to just be with her like this.

When he suddenly turned off onto a dirt road, he felt her tense against his back and her hands grasp his waist even tighter. He placed his own large hand over both of her tiny ones and clasped them, reassuringly.

“God,” he thought tenderly, “she’s got such petite hands, but I know they’re strong, just like all of her. She’s just forgotten how strong she is for the last few years.”

They pulled up to their destination, a rather moderate body of water at the end of the tiny dirt road. It was too big to be called a pond and too small to be considered a lake, but Spike had discovered it years before, just after his friendship with Buffy had dissolved back in High School.

Buffy jumped off the stopped motorcycle and took in the ‘pond’ in disbelief. “I never knew this was out here, William,” she squealed with delight.

“Found it some time back,” he responded, “I’m not sure too many people know it’s here, Princess.”

Just the tiniest tinge of jealousy tingled in Buffy as she wondered who else Will had brought here. She dismissed the tinge and asked in a mischivous tone, “and just what other girl have you brought out here, Mr. Giles?”

He put the blanket out on the ground by some rocks and tossed the back pack on top of it before he answered evenly, “none, Buffy, you’re the only one.”

In her heart, Buffy knew he was telling the truth and for some puzzling reason, she was relieved that ‘she’ was the only female Will had shown this to. William plopped down on the blanket and motioned for her to sit with him. While he pulled some bread, cheese and what appeared to be a jug of wine out, he explained when and how he found this isolated marvel of nature.

“Came out here one night, alone,” he said matter of factly as he poured the wine in some paper cups. “We were Seniors in High School and I guess I was upset about something, you know?”

Buffy had a feeling what ‘that something’ was but wisely decided not to confirm it. He broke off some bread for her and handed her the brie he’d brought as he continued.

“I drove out here, pretty much blindly and a bit drunk. Stumbled onto this place, smoked a joint and stayed until dawn.” With a smirk and a shrug, he finished simply, “been here from time to time since. Always alone. That’s about it.”

Buffy just nodded and attacked her simple meal with relish, very hungry and a little tired after all of the rushing earlier.

“Sorry this isn’t more fancy, Princess,” he murmered across the blanket to her with a smile. “It’s not much, I know, but well you know ‘a jug of wine, a loaf of bread and thou’ you know all that nonsense.

Buffy giggled, which caused him to blush uncontrollably. “Will, you really amaze me,” she laughed outright this time. Spike raised his left eyebrow, the scarred one, to inquire exactly how he amazed her. She set her wine cup down and looked at him square in the eye.

“You try to act like such a bad ass guy, all tough and stuff. But deep down you’re still the sensitive poet at heart. I mean,” she waved at the food and the scenery, “you bring me on a picnic for a date; set a feast and all and quote Omar Khayyam to me, all poeticy and stuff.”

He could feel his face get real hot and red from embarrassment, but Buffy quickly reassured him, “yes I remember Omar Khayyam, believe it or not and I think it’s sweet William, your spouting poetry, honest. I’m not making fun of you, okay?”

With a silent nod of his head, Spike downed his cup of wine.

To change the subject, quickly as possible, Spike asked Buffy how her mum, Joyce was.

“She’s okay, I think, anyway,” she answered quietly. “I haven’t even spoken to her in a long while. I need to talk to her, see her, really.” It was almost a whisper that he could barely hear. “She’s been seeing a nice guy, Ted’s his name, up in Santa Barbara. I don’t know if they’ll ever marry or anything, but I’m glad she has a companion. Someone to spend some quality time with, a real equal and all. He certainly seems to beat out my own dad that way,” she finished.

“Hank?” he questioned. “Still living with that secretary of his, Darla what’s her name.” She spoke no more of her dad, or mom.

Buffy looked at William, he seemed miles away even if he was only a few feet off from her on the blanket. “How is your mom, Will?” she asked.

“Okay,” he answered a bit too quickly. “Of course,” he continued, “she’s the one solely responsible for little Guinevere, now.”

Buffy dared a look at her companion, “how’s Drusilla,” she inquired, cautiously. She felt William flinch, rather then saw him do it, but he responded, almost too casually, “she’s the same, Buffy. No change there, not likely to be any either.”

Her heart jumped to her throat and she felt like a real bitch for bringing up William’s half sister, Drusilla.

“I’m sorry, William,” she mumbled, “I shouldn’t have……” but he interrupted, “it’s okay, Buffy. If anyone has any right to ask about my family, even Drusilla, it’s you and your mum, Joyce.”

Drusilla Giles had been the dark haired, apple of William’s stepdad’s, Rupert Giles, eyes. She had possessed a rare beauty, even in childhood that had naturally drawn people close to her. Buffy and her mom, Joyce Summers had been no exception. The younger Summer’s female, lacking a sibling of her own, quickly took to Dru, as the family called her, and looked on her as a little sister.

However, Drusilla had always been a bit ‘different’ then other girls. She was always fragile emotionally, but terribly talented, artistically. When the girl, a while after William and Buffy’s falling out, had developed into a talented violinist, Rupert and Anne Giles had enrolled her in the legendary Ethan Rayne’s music class.

Mr. Rayne was an old friend of the Giles’ family and everyone thought that this would be the course that would capitulate Drusilla into the world of fame and recognition. Hopefully, this would bring the girl out of her own Universe of visions and dreams that had plagued her all of her life.

Apparently, the Gile’s trust in Ethan Rayne had been misguided and he took a terrible advantage of Drusilla, seducing and litterally raping the girl before she was even eighteen-years-old.

Outside of the Giles’ family, only Buffy and her mother, Joyce were privy to all of the sordid details. Drusilla had conceived a child, a girl, she called Guinevere after the King Arthur tales she loved.

Rupert, William and even Joyce pursued justice for Drusilla against Ethan Rayne, with a vengence, and the man was sentenced to twenty years for statutory rape of a minor. Poor, fragile Drusilla never recovered and went into a tail spin of psychotic episodes. After Rupert Giles died, Anne, Will’s mother took her only daughter and granddaughter back to England to live.

“William,” Buffy mumbled, “I’m sorry about Drusilla, about Rupert and everything, always was sorry.”

Spike looked at her, then glanced away abrubtly, “it killed him, you know?” he shook his head sadly, “it killed poor old Rupert when Drusilla fell apart completely.”

Buffy couldn’t say anything, just stared off at the ‘pond’ and tried to think of something consoling to say.

“And, little Guin, Buffy,” he choked out, “she doesn’t even know that my poor sister is her real Mum. She thinks me Mum, Anne, is her Mummy and Drusilla is her odd auntie. Poor Dru can’t even be a mother to her.”

She watched him, her pain inflicted Will, carefully, when she asked the next question, “is that fucker, Rayne still in jail?”

William looked at her in disbelief, apparently stunned that she’d used that kind of language, “yeah, prick’ll be in jail for some time, I hope, anyway.”

Buffy shot him a malicious smile, “hope that fuck rots in prison, Will,” she hissed.

He could only smirk back at her, momentarily.

While he watched Buffy in a kind of stunned stupor, she literally crawled, like a cat, over to him. Her luscious arse was stuck up in the air as she slinked over to him across the blanket. When she reached him, she shimmied down onto his lap, burrowing herself into his crotch.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, even as he wrapped his arms about her body. “Life just isn’t fucking fair, William Giles,” she whispered in a silky voice, into his ear, which set off a multitude of tingles in his whole body. Buffy leaned over and kissed his mouth, a kiss that was mixed with passion and comfort.

“Buffy,” he rasped, “Buffy, what you do to me.” It was a statement more then a question; an unnecessary one, since the bulge in his jeans made it quite clear just exactly what ‘she’ did to him.


Spike was embarrassed by the tears he’d started to shed a few moments earlier, when they were discussing his mother, sister and his darling neice, Guinevere. If Buffy noticed them, she seemed to ignore them as she began to rock on him, making him harder then he had been.

William was watching her intently, his misty eyes were a cobalt blue and his cheeks were streaked with a lone, traitorous tear or two. Buffy pretended not to notice his tears, she began to stroke his face, neck and arm with her fingers, an overwhelming surge of compassion enveloped her.

He hadn’t worn that damn duster tonight, just a black tee shirt and black jeans, so when she allowed her hand to travel down his chest, to the pocket on his tee she felt it. The tell tale bulge of a condom in his tee shirt pocket.

“What a good boy,” she purred in his ear, “you remembered,” while she pulled out the rubber. She stood up abruptly and pulled her jeans down off of her hips and legs, dismissing any fear of a passerby stumbling on them, not in this isolated spot.

She bent over and unzipped Will’s jeans, quickly then settled onto his knees, “put this on,” she commanded, handing him the condom. He obeyed, of course, but his face was a mix of confusion, desire and curiosity.

“Buffy,” he stammered, “we don’t have to…..” She shook her head, defiantly, “yes we do,” she insisted.

Buffy whispered in his ear, “yes we do,” and Spike’s control just fell to pieces.

“Please, Buffy,” he whimpered, “just please do it.”

She lowered herself onto him, agonizingly slowly, tortuously inching herself down on him. “Like that?” she purred in his ear.

“Oh, God, yes,” he gasped, “just like that.” Spike was afraid, terribly afraid because he knew he wouldn’t last long, not with his Buffy doing what she was doing. He wanted to last, wanted to last forever, just to please her and help her be happy, as much as he could anyway.

Buffy lowered herself onto William, slowly, sure and steady. What had started as a show of compassion was quickly turning into an act of empowerment. Her empowerment. She felt an overwhelming, all encompassing sense of power that she had not felt in years, or maybe never.

As she rode Will, up and down, back and forth, side to side, she experienced such a feminine power over him that was so intoxicating that it surpassed a drug high (or what she remembered of a drug high from college). This was Buffy at her best, sexually; not out for revenge; not out for mere self pleasure or the pleasure of her partner.

This was Buffy the consoler, the great healer of the this scarred man underneath her, completely and utterly in control. Because, William was not only scarred physically, he was scarred even more so, emotionally and mentally.

Buffy was going to make it better and right now, this was the way to accomplish that. “How’s that, Will?” she asked huskily, “like it?”

Spike was truly lost in this, Buffy was riding him, tenderly, yes, but so sure, so confident in herself. It made him feel both weak and strong at the same time and he was losing control, rapidly.

“I won’t last long, luv,” he gasped, “not if you keep that up.”

She actually licked his cheeks, licked the remnants of his warm tears, “don’t care,” she murmered, “I want you to cum, fast and hard. Do that for me, Will,” she ordered.

He kissed her pretty mouth, wrapped his hands around her slim hips and helped her pump up and down on his crotch, “anything you say my beauty,” he panted.

“Good boy,” she purred again, “that’s my good boy.” Too soon he began to feel the tenseness in his balls, warning him that it wouldn’t be much longer until he came.

“Buffy,” he whimpered, “Buffy I want you, want you so much. It’s all I think about. All I can ever think about anymore, being here with you, like this,” he rambled on, feeling a bit foolish, but unable to control his words. “Oh God, Buffy, I want you, I need you too, always!” he cried out loudly as he came with a force that surprised them both.

William slouched back against the rock he had been laying against after he came. Buffy rubbed herself against him for a minute or so longer and came with a shiver, then collapsed against him.

They lay there, wrapped around each other for minutes, not saying anything, just basking in the afterglow of their orgasms, their sweat intermingled. She had buried her head into his neck, savoring the musky scent of his skin, unable to stop herself from licking his sweat, sensuously.

In all of her life, she’d never felt such abandon in her sensuality; almost as if she found the control she’d lacked for so long. It was not only exilerating, it was liberating and she relished it.

“Fuck Buffy,” he groaned into her ear, “that was bloody amazing! Thank you, Princess,” he whispered, “thank you, thank you for that.”

She felt him shiver now; in pleasure, gratitude or even maybe fear, she wasn’t sure, but it filled her once again with a sense of feminine power.

“I do this to him,” she thought proudly, “I cause him to feel this way.”

Later, after they had both calmed down somewhat and he’d discarded the cumbersome condom, they lay on the blanket and looked up at the dark sky above them. Their hands entwined together,

“That’s Andromeda,” William was saying, “she was Perseus’s lover in Greek mythology, remember, Buffy?”

She nodded and pointed up at another set of stars, “what’s that one, Will?” she asked curisously. “The North Star, luv,” he chuckled, “come on now, you must know that one. If you’re ever lost, just follow that one, you’ll find your way home.”

Buffy smiled at him shyly and sighed with contentment. “Oh shit!” she suddenly sat up, “it’s got to be really late, Will! I’ve got to go!” Sure enough her rolex blinked 8:30 PM tauntingly.

“Oh damn!” she cried, we have to get back William, I’ve got to get home. Angel’ll be home before 11:00!” He nodded, reluctantly and began to help her pack up the blanket and remnants of their supper.

Once they got back to her car at Clem’s, she hurried into it and reved the motor. William followed her home, at least as close as he could get without following her right up her driveway. With a wave, at the end of her block, he turned off to go home.

Buffy took a quick shower, thankful that Maggie and Jenny were off tonight and crawled into her king sized bed. She thought about the events of earlier in the evening and pondered her own actions. Not only had she felt self empowered for the first time in years, she was a little more then ‘hot and bothered’ by the memory of the things William and her had whispered to each other and had done together.

A part of her was anxious for Angel to get home; the other part feared the duplicity that might occur if her husband came home and tried to claim his marital rights. After the ‘sensuous encounter’ she and William had had, sex with her own husband, tonight, seemed almost obscene. Fortunately, around 11:30 PM, when Angel screeched into the back driveway, Buffy realized that he was more then too drunk to ‘claim’ anything from her that night.

Spike lay in his bed, looking at Buffy’s picture on his bedroom wall.

“If that fucking prick comes home and shags her,” he hissed, “I’ll just wanna’ rip his throat out and shove it up his arse!”

His jealousy over Buffy scared him sometimes, but he supposed that whole thing was moot; she knew the truth now. Knew she was his weakness; her power over him was out of the bag and he really was not sorry about that. After all, with a woman like Buffy, her feminine power could be capable of making a man like himself strong, even a better person, maybe.

“Buffy,” he whispered at her picture, “I swear to God I’ll get Angel out of both of lives someday. Short of murder, I’ll do it.” Spike just hadn’t figured out how to do it, yet.
 

Chapter 21: ‘Rockin’ The Boat’


Angel, for once, did not work, travel or avoid Buffy on the weekend. They actually went out to that nice restaurant, up the coast, that she loved so. The Grotto was it’s name.

Buffy was pretty impressed with Angel, actually, he was more attentive then he’d been in months; taking time to open doors for her, seat her himself instead of allowing the Maitre’d to do it. He actually ‘listened’ to her for once, seemingly enjoying even her political debates with him and everything.

She couldn’t have been more surprised and enjoyed the ‘old Angel’ immensely. Even so, thoughts of William crept into her mind from time to time, stealing up on her at the oddest moments.

After a lovely weekend with her husband, Buffy was more determined then ever to try and fix their marriage, hoping against hope that when it was time to let Will go, he’d accept graciously and just ‘go.’

“Yeah,” she mused, “that’s gonna’ happen.”

On a whim, she picked up the nearest phone in the house and said in her best ‘valley girl voice’ to no one, of course: “hello, Hell? This is Buffy, heard the temperature’s dropped to 30 below down there.”

It was Monday, Angel had left for work just about an hour before and she decided to take advantage of the gorgeous Sunnydale, CA morning. She jumped into her Camaro and headed out to the beach, just to walk along the pier and maybe have a soda or something.

When she got to the almost empty beach parking lot, she realized that it was only the start of June and the local kids were still in school. Of course other folks, working ones, were where they were supposed to be, at work.

“No wonder I’m so out of it,” she sighed sadly, “I don’t have kids, don’t work. God, I don’t ‘do’ much of anything, do I?”

Buffy had forgotten to turn off her cell phone and the annoying little tune that Angel had programmed for her sounded shrilly. She reluctantly answered, thinking it might be her husband, but it wasn’t, it was William.

“Hi,” he said simply. “Hi, Will,” she answered rather at a loss for anything to say.

“Whatcha’ doin’ Princess?” he asked warmly.

“Nothing,” she replied quickly; she so did not need William showing up right about now to ‘see her.’

“I hear the ocean, luv. Unless you’re watching a Jacques Cousteau special, I’m guessing you’re at the seaside, right?”

She nodded, absently, which was pretty dense, really, unless he could actually ‘see’ through the phone lines. Which, she was pretty sure even ‘he’ couldn’t do that.

Before he could offer to meet her, she blurted, “I’m meeting someone for a late breakfast!”

The other end of the line went deadly silent then he asked, evenly, “who?”

Buffy scrambled about in her mind to come up with someone, fast, someone acceptable to him.

“Willow!” she shouted a bit too loudly, “I’m having breakfast/lunch, I mean, a late breakfast/early lunch with Willow. She’s off of work today, so we’re meeting up. Never see her too much anymore, you know, since Tara came along and all.”

William seemed to buy this explaination, surprisingly. “Have fun, then, luv,” he told her softly, then asked about this coming Thursday.

“Yeah,” she stammered, relieved that he bought her story, “we’ll work something out, kay, Will? I’ll call you Wednesday and make plans.”

This seemed to placate him and he said tenderly, “I miss you Buffy.”

She really went into panic mode at that and shouted, “the line’s breaking up, I have to go. Call you Wednesday.” Buffy clicked off the phone and tossed it back into her large tote bag. “Oh, shit,” she muttered in exasperation as she pulled the darn thing out again.

Dialing Willow’s home number quickly, she thought to herself, “I hope Wills is really off today and can meet me here, like now. I just can’t tell big ‘lies’ to William.” Too much duplicity, even in Buffy Travers screwed up life, had it’s limits.

On Tuesday morning, before he left for work, Angel mentioned going to the Country Club for dinner on Friday night, just the two of them. No other couples, no business meeting crap, just them out for dinner and maybe a dance or two.

Then, he had added that maybe they could run up to his Dad’s cabin at the lake early on Saturday morning.

“Stay until Sunday night, you know. What do you say, babe?” he asked. Buffy quickly agreed to it, happy that Angel seemed to be really trying to make time for her and their marriage. Although it was only Tuesday, she began to plan what she would wear, what time they’d go, what they would take on their getaway, etc. She found herself actually getting excited about a simple night out with her husband and a long put off trip to the lake.

Tuesday night went well for Angel and Buffy. They ate dinner, laughed a bit, had some wine. It reminded her of the old days when they were first married and she felt more confident that they could fix their problems, despite all of the obstacles that surrounded them. Around 10:30 PM, while they lay in bed, snuggled together, just talking, for now, Angel got a call on his private line.

“Yeah,” he answered, curtly, clearly perturbed to be bothered while he was conversing with his wife. “Dawn, for God’s sake, calm down,” she heard him mutter, sternly. “Yes, I get it, I know, yes. We’ll talk tomorrow morning, now just stay away from mom and go to bed!”

Buffy looked at him, “what’s wrong with Dawn?” she asked, genuinely concerned.

“Oh, nothing,” he responded off handedly, “I’ll talk to Dawnie tomorrow and then you and I will discuss it. She’s not even eighteen yet, you know? She’s being a little bitch, typical really.” Well, yes, Dawn could be a bitch, a real big one, but for some reason her husband’s statement about his sister bothered her.

The next morning, Buffy and Angel sat at the breakfast table. He had talked to Dawn a little earlier on the phone and seemed unusually quieter then he’d been in days.

“Angel, is Dawn alright?” she asked carefully.

“Oh, her and mom are at each other’s throats again,” he answered in frustration. “Dawnie wants to go to Dad’s, down in LA for a while, just til’ things cool off here at home.”

Buffy felt an uneasy feeling begin in the pit of her stomach and make it’s way up into her throat.

“Well,” she said slowly, “maybe that would be good, for a while anyway, don’t you think?”

Angel nodded his head then cleared his throat, “thing is Buff,” he stammered, “Dawnie wants me to take her there, tonight, actually."

She glanced up at him, he seemed concerned enough, earnest enough, “well, maybe you should take her, Angel. You could go, drop her off and head right back home?” she offered, hopefully, not wanting to ‘rock the boat.’

“It’s not that simple, babe,” he responded, concentrating on his oatmeal, “I think maybe ‘we’ better go with Dawnie, stay a few days and kind of smooth the waves down there for her. With Dad and all.”

He looked at her, trying to read her expression, she could tell. “Oh,” she whispered, not looking at him.

“I mean,” he continued, “I have business I can handle in LA; you can shop in the big city. I’ll swing some clubs with Dad this weekend. It could be kind of fun, don’t you think, Buff?”

She felt a small wave of outrage begin to flow up into her throat; her husband was well aware of how uncomfortable she was with Frank Travers.

“Can’t you just drop Dawn off, Angel?” she asked, “I mean, you know how your Dad feels about me? He can’t stand me.”

Angel slammed his spoon down on the table, startling her and causing her to jump. “You know, Buffy,” he said harshly, his face hard, “I’m a little tired of this ‘poor me’ crap with you. My father does not hate you, period.”

Buffy felt the hair on the back of her neck rise and thought ‘to hell with rockin’ the boat!’ “You know what?” she hissed back, “you’re right. Your ‘Daddy’ doesn’t hate me; I don’t exist to him. In fact, I don’t register on the Frank Travers’ radar screen, at all!”

He didn’t have a retort for that, she noticed, at least not for about a minute or two.

“Well,” he started slowly, measuring the words of his reply, “you certainly were not my folks first choice in a wife for me, Buff. That’s not really big news. But, they have come to grips with our marriage, at least. After all, you weren’t the #1 deb of Sunnydale they hoped I’d marry, now were you?”

Buffy wanted to slap him! Just reach over the table and knock the smug shit eating grin right off of his face.

“They’ve come to grips with our marriage!” she cried out, stunned by his audacity. “How ‘diplomatic’ of your ‘folks’ that is,” she quipped sarcastically.

“Buffy,” he sighed, “you have to get over the fact that you just came from the wrong side of the tracks and ‘made’ real good. Get over it! I have!”

This was a direct order, she could tell and it rankled more then any of the bull he’d spouted off a few moments before.

“You pompous ass!” she hissed at her husband. “Get over this. I’m not going to LA with you and Dawn. Not to your dad’s, where I’m treated like a social disease by him and his latest mistress or looked down her lousy nose job by your brat of a sister, Dawnie dearest!”

Angel looked at her in disbelief. Almost as if someone had told him that his father, Frank Travers, had voted a straight Democratic ticket in the last State election!

“You have to go, Buffy,” he said through clenched teeth. “Like I said, you can go shopping in some ‘real’ stores, take Dawnie to Rodeo Drive. We’ll catch a play at the Schubert, but you ‘are’ going. End of conversation.”

Buffy threw her nice, cloth napkin down on the table and stormed out of the kitchen into the dining room. There she ran smack dab into a red faced Maggie, who apparently had heard some of the conversation in the kitchen.

Without so much as a how do you do, Maggie whispered conspiratorily to Buffy, “stand your ground, maam,” then slipped back into another room.

“Oh, I’ll stand my ground, alright,” Buffy mumbled harshly.

Buffy felt Angel enter the living room, about thirty minutes after she had plopped down on the expensive sofa in there.

“Buffy,” he called to her, calmly enough, “I’m packed and ready to go. You go upstairs and pack yourself a small bag, quickly. We need to pick Dawnie up in less then a half hour.”

As if he had to rub her nose in it, Angel sat his large Armani overnight bag down next to the sofa. She didn’t answer him, just continued to flip through some stupid magazine she’d found on the coffee table.

“Buffy,” he sighed, the growing agitation in his voice was more apparent, “go upstairs and get packed. We’re leaving, now.”

With a firm shake of her head ‘NO’ Buffy tossed the magazine back on the table.

“Buffy,” he muttered impatiently, “you are ‘my wife’ and you are going with me to my Fathers. It’s not real becoming of you to disrespect me or my Dad this way, babe. You know better then this. Family comes first with us Travers and if this is about the damn lake thing. We’ll go another time!”

Again, Buffy could just stare at him in shocked disbelief. “Not becoming of me?” she gasped wide-eyed. “Disrespectful of you, and your Dad? Oh that is rich!” she chuckled. “When has your father ever respected me or mine, Angel? And apparently, the apple of disrespect does not fall far from the tree! And family first, honey! Oh pulease!”

Angel gave her that ‘now what the hell does that mean?’ look of his.

She stood up, turned her back to him and laughed loudly, “let’s talk ‘disrespect’ shall we Angel?” He swore softly but she didn’t let it stop her; she was on a roll.

“Your Sainted Father, Frank Travers, moves to LA and proceeds to take up with every kind of bimbo the city has to offer. Is that respecting your mother, Angel?” She was looking at him with what she was sure was a very smug expression on her face.

“Oh, and,” she continued, “how about you guys, you and darling little Dawnie? You run off to Daddy every time things get a bit rough around here for both of you. A man who couldn’t even stick around long enough to actually help ‘raise’ his daughter? But keeps his wife tied to him legally in a sham of a marriage? Talk about a slap in the face to your own mother!”

It was Angel’s turn to look smug, “just because your own mother jumped the marriage ship the minute things got rough, Buffy. I wouldn’t throw stones if I were you.”

Buffy strode closer to Angel, “do not even go there, Angel Travers,” she hissed at him. “Just because my mother had the guts and the self esteem to divorce my dad when she caught him screwing around on her; and yours didn’t? Don’t push me, or this matter Angel. Not if you know what’s good for you!”

By this time, Buffy and Angel were practically circling each other; like a couple of predatory wolves in the wild. It was kind of ironic really, because something that Angel may have forgotten, or never knew at all? In nature, it’s the ‘Alpha Female’ wolf that rules the pack.

“I’m not going, Angel,” Buffy confirmed with a growl, “that’s final. You go, run your brat little sister down to Daddy’s in LA. Go kiss his and his most recent bimbette’s butt while you’re down there, too. You know the one he’s shacking up with now? What’s her name? Sushimi, Tofutti? I can’t keep track of them anymore.”

Angel looked like he could commit murder right about now, but Buffy would not back down from this, not this time. “You know Buff,” he snapped back at her, snidely, “you better get to a doctor, I think you might be going through early menopause or something. You’re acting like a real whack job lately and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why!”

He finished his remarks in a high pitched yell that could probably be heard in the next county, or at least the next block. However, Buffy was past caring anymore. At least for now.

“Oh, that’s right,” she hissed in response, “blame my being opinionated or outspoken on some female hormonal thing! That’s so like you Travers men, isn’t it? A woman actually speaks up for herself, or shares her true feelings and you guys go all Neandrathal on us and think we’re having female problems! Geez! I give up!” she shouted and stormed past him in a huff.

Angel grabbed her arm, non too gently, “you never complained about me or our marriage before, Buffy,” he glared down at her, “not like this, anyway.” The loudness in his voice had lessened, thankfully, so she decided to follow his suit and try to calm herself down a bit.

“No, Angel,” she began evenly but with a glare to match his, “but I should have complained before this, long before this.”

Angel seemed to ponder this last statement, briefly and let go of her arm. With a shrug, he turned around and grabbed his lone suitcase from next to the living room couch.

“What are you going to do with yourself while I’m gone to kill time, Buff? Get another pedicure, or two? Or three?” His voice was quiet, but his tone was downright snarky.

“I’m probably going to have dinner with Willow and Tara, hang with them for a day or two,” she mumbled softly, not even looking at him. “I don’t know, but probably that, anyway.”

He sighed loudly, “you sure spend a lot of time with those two…..I’m beginning to get concerned, Buff, you know?”

If looks could kill, Angel Travers would be struck dead, instantly, right where he stood.

“How dare you!” Buffy hissed as she closed the gap between them. “How dare you even imply anything like that about me and my good friends!” She was livid and stood up to her full 5’2” heigth until their faces were just inches apart from each other.

“Willow and Tara are in love with each other. They have a mutually respectful relationship and are equal partners. Something sadly missing from most of the other marriages, relationships and situations going on in this one horse town!”

To his credit, Angel ‘did’ look ashamed of himself. The truth was, Buffy had no intention of doing ‘anything’ while he was gone, except maybe catch up on some reading, alone; and definitely doing a lot of thinking, alone.

“Just go, Angel,” she muttered shaking her head. “Just go pick up your sister and get the hell out of here. I can’t take your presence right now, not anywhere near me. Besides, you’re already fifteen minutes late to your mom’s aren’t you? I’m sure Dawnie dearest has already upped the whine level to a ‘red alert’ and may even be heading into hysterics by now. Frankly,” she added, “I don’t want poor Helen to have to deal with it.”

By this time, Buffy’s back was turned to Angel so she couldn’t see his expression, nor did she really care to.

“Okay, babe,” he sighed in resignation, “I’ll see you in a few days. Be careful, okay?” She just nodded and didn’t look around until she heard the front door close behind him.

Buffy lay on her bed and just stared up at the ceiling of her bedroom. It seemed that she had been doing a lot of this kind of thing lately and she still hadn’t solved any of her problems, not really.

In her heart, she knew she needed to be truly alone for the next few days, so she again gave Maggie and Jenny the rest of the week and weekend off. It was the least she could do, they did have to listen to all the crap that went on earlier and if Buffy wasn’t still so damn mad, she’d be respectfully embarrassed. Next she had to get in contact with William and officially cancel tomorrow night with him.

“It’s not like I’ll be actually lying,” she assured herself, “I’ll just tell William that Angel cancelled his regular golf game and I can’t meet him.”

It wasn’t too far from the truth, Angel did have to cancel his Thursday night golf game, even if it was to go to LA for a few days. William didn’t have to know about that part.

When she called William on his cell phone, she knew he sounded dissapointed and thought he sounded sceptical about her excuse. He seemed to accept her explaination, again, and she dismissed her doubts as paranoia. That night, for supper, she opened a can of Star Kist Tuna toasted some bread and ate all alone.

She’d TIVO’d today’s episode of All My Children and intended on watching the latest escapades of Erica and Kendall Kain, all by herself, tonight in bed.

“What fun,” she mused, sardonically, as she lay down on her comfy bed after a nice warm soak in the tub. Switching on the TV, she input the taped TIVO numbers and proceeded to watch Kendall try and seduce Ryan Lavery for the umpteenth time in forty-eight hours.

“What a bitch!” she chuckled about Kendall. The next morning, she woke up with the TV still on, some innane infomercial rambling on about weight loss or something.

About 8:00 AM, her phone rang and she picked it up promptly, almost afraid it was Angel this time. It was, unfortunately.

“Hi, babe,” he said, like nothing at all had happened the day before and all was well on the Travers’ home front.

“Hi, Angel,” she responded curtly, “what’s up?” The silence was deafening but he finally explained why he had called.

“I’m down in LA, at Dad’s,” he mumbled, “I need you to do me a favor, okay Buffy?”

She didn’t respond and apparently Angel took this as a ‘yes.’

“I need you to give Spike Giles an envelope, tonight. He’ll be there, at the house this evening, around 7ish. I owe him the money, Buff, need you to do this for me.” He repeated the request so quickly, that Buffy barely could respond.

“What!” she gasped, “Spike! Here!”

Angel didn’t let her go on, “yes, Buffy. I know you hate the guy, but I don’t want to look like a welch and Spike doesn’t ‘mind’ stopping by to pick it up. You gotta’ do this, babe. He’ll just stop by and get it, then leave. No worries, honest. Why not just tape it to the front door and run off somewhere?”

Buffy’s mind was a mass of swirling thoughts and she was getting quite dizzy from them. Angel would not take no for an answer. William would be by around 7:00 PM to ‘pick up’ some damn money her husband owed him. Therefore, Will knew that Angel was gone, therefore, he knew that she, Buffy was all alone, at least for the night.

Briefly, she wondered why Angel owed William money, but decided that was the least of her problems. Angel, the son of a bitch, must have called William the minute he hit LA, or before, and arranged this little transaction.

“Probably hubby’s way of getting back at me for not going with him. He would think of something like this, especially still believing that I detest William so much! The mind game playing SOB!”

She was just livid, more because William had caught her in a lie then actually ‘seeing’ him, here at her own home.

At about 6:45 PM, that night, Buffy stuffed the right amount of cash into an envelope, taped it on the front door and grabbed her purse to make her escape from the house.

“Better to face William later,” she surmised, “when I can come up with a good cover for myself.”

Assured that this was the best course of action, Buffy opened her front door to make her escape to her Camaro; only to run smack into William standing there, black duster and all. And, boy, judging by the look on his face; was he pissed!

“Going somewhere, Princess?” he asked casually.

 

Chapter 22: ‘Guest Room?’


“Going somewhere, Princess?” he asked casually.

Buffy’s first gut reaction was to slam the door in his face and make a run for the border. But before the door could actually shut and lock, William had stuck his dock martin clad foot in the door frame and stopped it.

“Let me in, Buffy,” he ordered harshly with a frown.

“No,” she retorted stubbornly, “this is my house, my home. You’re not supposed to be here!”

He shoved the door opened, violently, propeling her back a good five to six feet into the living room entry.

“I was invited,” he growled, “remember?” He sauntered over to her, even as she backed away from him.

“Get out!” she shouted at him, “get out or I’ll, I’ll,” he stopped dead in his tracks and crossed his arms in front of him.

“You’ll what Buffy? Call Captain ‘Riley’ Cardboard and his band of boy scouts? Call Angel in LA? Just what will you do, Princess?” His fine mouth was twisted in one of his patent smirks.

Buffy plopped down on the sofa and buried her head in her hands in utter defeat.

“Why’d you lie to me Buffy?” he asked softly. “Why didn’t you tell me Angel left town without you. That you were alone here?”

She looked up at him and teared up, “because I wanted, no I needed to be alone, William. Can you possibly understand that?” she asked him again, “can you even comprehend how much I just need to be alone right now?”

William sat down beside her, near enough for their legs to touch, but he didn’t put his hands on her.

“Christ,” he mumbled under his breath, “I need a smoke.”

In a surprise move, even shocking herself, Buffy reached in his duster pocket and pulled out his pack of Marlboroughs and his silver lighter.

“Brother, so do I.” She lit one of his cigarettes, took a deep drag like she did it every day and then handed it to him.

Spike took the offered cigarette from her and took a deep, long drag himself. She was staring, unfocused, on the coffee table in front of them.

He watched her, intently, for a moment or two then said softly, “I guess I thought we’d come to an understanding Buffy. I mean after the other night, at the pond, what we talked about, did together. I assumed that we were past the bullshit and lies now. Guess I assumed wrong, huh?”

‘God, he sounded like an incredible ponce right then,’ especially to himself.

“I don’t know, William,” she sighed, “maybe you did assume wrong. Maybe not. Just don’t know what to think anymore.”

From what he could gather, Buffy and Angel must have had a real row before he left for LA. When Angel had called him from there, Spike’s first impulse was to go over and beat on Buffy’s door until she let him in; called the police or shot him to death. It was Spike who’d cooked up the little plan to come collect his money from Buffy, however, Angel didn’t seem too negative about it, from the start.

Since her husband believed that Buffy hated Spike with a passion, he could only assume that the great ‘pouf Angel’ was playing some kind of mind game with his wife. Why else would he encourage Spike to go to his home, especially with him gone and force Buffy to face her supposed mortal enemy?

“What a prick you are Angel,” he reminded himself, although ‘that’ wasn’t really necessary, pretty much common knowledge, that. ‘No, Spike was allowed at the house by Angel for one reason only, to ‘annoy’ his wife.’

“What’s the money for?” she finally asked. “Last and final payment for following me around?”

William shook his head, “no, luv,” he responded with a smirk, “I told you before. I don’t want any money for that. Getting’ my payment from you; betterin’ money, you know?”

She flinched, involentarily, “go to hell!” she hissed at him, stood up and stormed to the front door. “Get out!” she ordered him as she pointed at the door.

He stood up and walked slowly towards her, “Buffy, I’m sorry. That came out all wrong. Dammit girl, you know I always say the wrong thing,” he finished with a whine.

“Get out of my house,” she commanded him again, much louder now; ignoring the fact that the Hopes next door might be able to hear her. Then she remembered, the Hopes were out of town, on a family vactation; as were the Jamesons on the other of their house. “Out, William. Now!”

Spike felt like the walls were crashing in around them. He never did learn when to keep his big mouth shut and he wanted so much to just take back the last few minutes.

“Buffy,” he began, but she cut him off.

“OUT!” She looked as if she could just murder him right now and of course, he found it very arrousing.

“Christ,” he muttered, “she’s sexy even when she’s enraged. I’m so in deep.” He took just a moment to weigh his options and decided to go with an offensive move.

“No,” he stated simply.

“What!” she screeched in disbelief.

“No,” he repeated, “I’m not leaving.”

Buffy stood there in wide-eyed shock for a minute or two then made a mad dash for the back of the house. Probably to escape through the back door, Spike assumed. Buffy was fast, but Spike was faster.

He caught up with her, just before she’d made the kitchen door. Instead of tackling her, like he’d done at the beach that day, he swung her up into his arms and carried her to the stairwell that led to the second floor.

“Where’s the bloody bedrooms in this mansion?” he growled, even though he seemed to have a pretty good idea already.

“Screw you,” she spat at him, breathlessly.

William actually chuckled as he took the stairs, two at a time! “Oh, you are going to, precious,” he kissed her mouth at the top of the stairs.

Making sure he saw it, she wiped off his kiss with determination. “Find the bloody bedroom yourself you, you cad you!” she cried.

He stumbled, but caught himself, “bloody? Cad? Thought I was the only Brit here tonight, luv,” he laughed. “Guest room?” he asked simply at the first closed door?

She didn’t answer right away. “No,” she mumbled with a hot blush, “Angel’s and my room.”

With another growl, Spike stormed past the offensive first room and stopped at the next closed door.

“I don’t shag in another man’s sheets, Princess,” he informed her. “Guest room?” he looked at the oak door before them.

She didn’t answer, just kind of nodded, shyly.

“Well, alright then,” he crowed, quite pleased with himself.

In a purely dramatic gesture, he litterally kicked the door of the room open and tossed Buffy unceremoniously on the queen sized bed. He slammed the door behind them and stripped off his duster, which he tossed on a chair by the closet.

Before he started on the rest of his clothes, he noticed that the walk-in closet had a false front, made entirely of one long, tall mirror.

“Well, well, well,” he purred, “look what’s behind door number 2?”

Buffy lay on the bed, blushing like a virgin school girl at the Prom. It was bad enough that Will had re-enacted the stair case scene from Gone With the Wind, but to pick ‘this’ room? The one with the huge mirror that reflected the whole bed in it.

“Oh, God,” she groaned, “I can just imagine how he’ll utilize this!”

Right at this moment, he was peeling off the his jeans to reveal, big surprise, that he was not wearing any kind of underwear.

“Oh,” she squeaked, then closed her mouth, so tightly that she wondered if she’d ever be able to open it again. Will dropped to his knees beside the bed, his face just inches from hers.

“Lose the clothes,” he ordered, rather gently for an order, “or I’ll tear em off of you,” he warned.

She nodded, but couldn’t seem to move one way or the other. “Maybe you better just take them off of me, Will,” she whispered slyly through half closed eye lids.

“Whatever my lady wants,” he responded sweetly as he gently pulled her top up over her head.

“Buffy, Buffy, Buffy,” he murmered adoringly as he unclasped her bra from the front and slipped it off her shoulders.

She was beyond words at this point, so she just lay back on the bed, her head at the foot instead towards the headboard. When he unzipped her jeans, all the while looking at her eyes, she could only shiver in anticipation.

‘Surprise, Will,’ she smiled smugly when she saw his surprised, but pleased look. Buffy was sans panties too, just like him.

“Mmmmm,” he purred again, “ my yummy little Buffy.” He yanked her jeans off of her and tossed them on his clothes on the chair. By now, he was positioned on his knees, hovering over her like some big jungle cat.

“Damn,” she thought, “but he is striking!”

Spike lay over her hot, tiny form, careful not to put too much of his weight on her. He kissed her warm mouth and stroked her body sensuously. Buffy wrapped her arms around him and pulled him tighter to her body all the while writhing up against his own frame.

“God you’re beautiful, Buffy,” he rasped, “can’t keep my hands off of you.” They lay there, kissing deeply, their moans filled the tiny bedroom.

“Turn over, baby,” he commanded gently. She did as he asked, trembling slightly from fear, apparently not quite sure what he had in mind.

“It’s okay,” he whispered tenderly as he nibbled her ear, “I promise I won’t hurt you. You do believe me, don’t you baby?”

He grabbed a pillow from behind him and gently placed it underneath her golden head, “please tell me you believe me, that you trust me,” he pleaded.

“I believe you. And I trust you,” he heard her whisper back to him.

He raised her hips up, ever so slightly and positioned against her sweet little cunny.

“Will!” she gasped, “you don’t have a rubber on! How……” she tensed up beneath him.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he shushed her with a silky voice. “Do you think I would ever do anything that was going to endanger you or harm you my sweet?”

When she shook her head, he damn near came right then, but managed to rein in his control.

“I want to feel skin on skin this time, Buffy. Don’t you want to?”

‘Uh huh’ she nodded. “That’s my good baby,” he murmered as he stroked her back and bottom. “We’re gonna’ take this slow, Princess,” he assured her, “I don’t want to hurt you, or scare you. Just wanna make you feel good, okay?” She nodded again.

Buffy felt William push slowly into her, filling her up when he had entered her completely.

“Look up into the mirror, Princess,” he whimpered, “look up and see what you do to me.”

She did and was amazed at the scene reflected back at her. Will looked like he’d died and gone to heaven, his half closed eyes were glazed over in pleasure and his jaw was clenched in a tight control; as if it would keep him from cumming right then.

“We’ve never done it this way, have we, sweetheart?” he panted, nearly groaned in pleasure.

“No,” she moaned back, “not til’ tonight, Will.”

He pulled out slowly and pushed back inside of her, even more slowly.

“You should see your beautiful little arse, Buffy, dear. It’s all flushed and slick with sweat, just invites me to push into you.”

She was losing it; quickly. The first tinges of an orgasm were beginning in her tummy and shooting in both directions, right through her whole body.

“Will!” she gasped, “I’m gonna’ cum, Will. I can’t help it. It feels too good!”

He began to pump harder now, thrusting into her deeply, but still being careful not to hurt her, “cum for me Buffy,” he begged. “Cum for your man.”

Had Buffy been able to speak, even long enough to get a couple of words out, she would have told William that he was not her man. But she didn’t have the strength to even open her mouth, much less the desire.

“Oh, Buffy,” Will groaned beside her, his damp arms were wrapped around her body, possessively. He had cum right after she did, roaring her name in his release.

“Yeah,” she groaned in agreement, unable to say anything more.

“Damn,” he moaned again, “I’m bloody thirsty.” Buffy looked at him, dazed for a moment, then blinked to clear her vision. “Want a beer?” she mumbled. “Oh yeah,” he panted back.

Spike waited for Buffy to come back upstairs with the beer. In the meantime, he wanted a cigarette so bad he almost broke down and lit one up. She appeared with the opened beer, somewhere between here and the kitchen, she’d pulled a slinky little robe on.

“Thanks, luv,” he smiled at her as he took the bottle from her little hand. “You didn’t need to get dressed, luv,” he chided her with a wink. She blushed bright red, an adorable habit of hers that he just loved to see.

He had propped himself up on a pillow by the headboard and Buffy climbed back up next to him. As he drank the beer down, quickly, she sat crossed legged, her knees touching his side. The nearness of her intoxicated him and he couldn’t help but reach out to touch her slim right calf.

"You are so not my man, you know,” she said firmly without looking at him.

“Yeah I am,” he responded with his usual Spike bravado, “you just don’t know it yet Princess.”

She shook her golden head, defiantly, “no,” she stated again, with just a tad less determination this time.

Spike chuckled, “I am, little one,” he insisted and pulled her to him before she could deny it again.

Buffy lay next to him on the bed, a bed, thankfully, that she and Angel had never shared. She couldn’t exactly explain why, not even to herself, but for her and William to have sex in any bed Angel and her had shared would have been just yucky. Not because it was such a slap at Angel, she realized, but because it would have upset Will. It was all very disturbing, this bizarre affair between her and William.

“When does he get home?” Will asked a bit too casually. Buffy shrugged, “oh, Sunday I guess, so he said.”

He reached over and took her chin in his hand, “I want you to come to my place, tomorrow, Buffy.” His eyes were so blue, they reminded her of the sky after the rain; clear, clean and open.

“I……can’t, it’s too risky, (yada yada; same old song and dance that we all know), but she stopped herself with the word ‘I.’ The memory of her argument with Angel replayed in her mind; ‘you weren’t their first choice in a wife for me, babe’ he’d said. ‘Wrong side of the tracks, who made real good’ he had actually said that!

“Okay, Will,” she relented this time.

“Really?” he asked, kind of stunned, but happy.

“Yeah, really,” she giggled. “Just give me your address, point the way and I’ll be there. Sane or not, I’ll come over.”

He looked so happy, so very happy in a kind of stunned, ‘can’t believe’ any of this way. Buffy had some selfish motives for going to William’s place, too. She wanted to see how he lived for some reason. How he decorated his apartment, kept house and even what kind of art he hung on his walls. For some innane reason, it was important to Buffy to see how his bed looked, what sheets and such he had on them, even if he smoked in his own apartment.

“Buffy,” she sighed to herself, “you are truly one screwed up girl.”

Will just lay there smiling like a Chesire Cat at her. “Thanks Buffy,” he murmered while he stroked her arms with his hands. “It means a lot to me.”

She nodded and smiled weakly, “You have to go soon, Will. I can’t have anyone see you leave here too very late, it would get back to Angel and oh man.”

He sighed, “I know,” he agreed reluctantly, “I’m just glad you’ll be with me tomorrow night.”

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