CHAPTER 137 - BORROWED TIME

AUGUST 8, 2009
FRIDAY
3:00PM

“Have a great summer!” Buffy said, as the kids came up to her, hugging her good-bye. “I’ll see you and your parents either Monday morning, or Monday evening,” she said as each child came up to her.

She tidied up her room for another half-hour, grabbed her papers and the files on each child that she had to go through over the weekend before Monday, and walked down the hall.

“Good night, Elizabeth,” called Mrs. Carpello, “see you on Monday.

Buffy hurried out to the car. First she stopped at the bank, cashing her latest paycheck, putting money for bills into checking, and taking the balance in cash and traveler’s checks.

After leaving the bank, she drove over to Julian Travel to pick up the plane tickets she had booked the other day, Dawn was picking up hers and John’s near their apartment.

Leaving the travel agency, tickets in hand, she smiled at her own efficiency. All she had to do was buy a few more things for the trip, perhaps a new bathing suit for her and William, get through the parent/teacher conferences on Monday, and they’d be off for almost two weeks of sun and fun!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2:00PM

William pulled up in front of the house and turned off the engine. He went to the trunk of the car and opened it, lifting out the 3’ x 4’ watercolor he had brought home with him. Today had been the last day of class, and he had put the finishing touches on it this morning, then waited until work was over to go back to the studio, wrap it up and take it with him.

He had some smaller pieces he’d brought home already, which Elizabeth had bought frames for and put up in their bedroom, but this was a surprise, and he wanted it to wait until the perfect time to give it to her.

Walking into the house, he looked around for a good spot to hide it. He didn’t dare put it under the bed, or in the closet. He thought about the barn, but didn’t want to risk it getting chewed on by a mouse. He stood in the living room looking around, then looked over at the door to the spare room.

He walked over to it, opened the door looked around. The room was full of boxes and odd bits of furniture, which they didn’t generally use, besides the bed used by their occasional guests. He knelt down and looked under the bed, and saw that there were suitcases there. That wouldn’t work; she’d probably be pulling them out for the trip.

He drew back the curtains and looked around some more. Perhaps, he thought, he could make this into a studio, when they returned, or a study, or both. Maybe one day, it might even be a nursery. He might have to add another room for guests. Or more children...

William was musing over the various possibilities, when he glanced over at the boxes blocking the door to the bedroom’s closet. If there were nothing in there, which looked like it was needed for their trip, he’d hide the picture in there until after they returned.

Boxes and the old end table, on which they were stacked, were moved out of the way, until he could open the door. He looked in and saw only a few things hanging off to the right on a short clothes rod, but straight ahead, he was surprised to see, was a narrow staircase.

He walked into the closet and tried to see up the stairs, but it was pitch black. He went out to the kitchen and grabbed the flashlight, which was on the counter by the back door, then returned to the staircase.

“This is better,” he thought, as he started up. He reached the attic, and shone the light around. He saw an old Victorian couch in the middle of the room, then spotted an easel on one wall, and what looked like various canvasses, and old tubes of paints.

He also saw that there were windows around the whole room. Three walls had windows covered by vertical slats, the other, with horizontal ones. He opened the horizontal ones first, turning off the flashlight, as the light shone in. He examined the other windows, finally finding a thin pole, with a hook on the end. He grabbed a hold of a metal ring on one of the vertical slated windows, and with one quick pull, the other two-thirds of the room opened up. He looked outside and saw the tops of the trees around the house. He looked up and also spotted a skylight, but didn’t try to figure out how to open that.


William walked over to the pictures against the wall, and looked at them. Most of them were landscapes from the surrounding woods. His name was on them all. Why hadn’t Elizabeth ever mentioned these to him, especially when he’d started to paint? Or the attic? All he could figure was out of sight, out of mind.

He walked over to a small 8’ x 10’ canvas that stood against the wall, whose window he’d first opened, and picked it up. He turned it over, “Mum!” he whispered, looking at the familiar image of her. His fingers lovingly traced the image on the canvas. She wore a long, light blue dress, with a lace type shawl, and a matching small head covering, like a scarf, only round. She was seated on a couch, similar to the one that was in this room, in the drawing room. Their drawing room!

“No! It can’t be!” he said aloud.

His mind raced with questions, he had no answers to. Why would he draw her looking like this? Was it some sort of practice for an art class? Some attempt to make her look like she was from a different time?

His name was on the painting, like it had been on the others. There was something written on the canvas, underneath his name, but the frame was covering it. He tried to push it inward, to see what it was, but the framing was too tight. With shaking hands, he turned the canvas over. There was something written on the back, he could barely make out. He got up on unsteady legs, and brought it over to the window and held it in the light.

‘Mum, around 45 years old, probably 1870,’ it read.

“No, it should be 1970. But no, I wasn’t even born then! But maybe I’m not the William who painted this. I can’t be!”

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he twisted the corner of the frame, until it broke and the canvas popped out. Turning it over he saw what had been covered by the frame was a date. It read:

11 October 1915.

William stared at the date. It didn’t make sense. Any of it.

He stood there by the windows staring at the picture for how long he didn't know. Finally he gently placed it back on the floor, adjusting the broken frame so that it still held in the picture, then he walked over to a drawing pad he'd seen and brought it back to the couch.

He saw a couple of loose papers sticking out of the back of the book, and pulled them out first. He stared at the images.

The first picture he saw was of a dark haired woman, sitting in what appeared to be a very high backed shell-back shaped chair of red velvet. Her gown was drawn with exquisite detail, red, with gold trim, lace cuffs and neck. She looked very beautiful.

The next few were also of that woman and a blonde haired woman. There was another of the two women and a dark haired man, who had a large brow, and appeared to be smirking. William had a visceral dislike for him immediately. It was dated 1910 and signed Spike, not William.

William started to shake and the pictures fluttered to the ground. Somewhere off in the distance he heard his cell phone ringing. With much difficulty he rose up and went downstairs until he located it in the living room.

“Hello?” he answered, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Hey,” Elizabeth said, “why didn’t you pick up? Are you home?”

“I...I’m sorry, I was doing something. I’m home.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay, I just wanted to tell you I’m running to the drugstore to pick up some suntan lotion and the other stuff we talked about, for the trip. Do you need anything you can think of?”

William stood there, his head pounding, trying to make sense of her words.

“William?”

“I’m thinking...uh...I guess not; least I can’t think of anything.”

“Well, if I see something I think you might need, I’ll just call you and ask. How’s that?”

“Fine.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You sound funny?” Buffy asked, getting a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach.

“I’m sure. I’ll see you when you get home, then.”

“Okay, I shouldn’t be too long, I’ll pick us up something that’s easy to make on the grill.”

“Good,” he intoned.

“Bye,” she said about to hang up.

“Bye,” he answered.

“I love you,” she said, but the line had already gone dead.

William put the phone back down on the couch, and went back into the bedroom. He picked up his picture for her, and carried it upstairs, setting it down near him.

The drawing pad was still on the couch where he'd left it. Almost afraid of what else he would find in there, he gingerly picked it up.

Opening it, the first thing he saw was a drawing he’d done of Elizabeth, in their bed. She was asleep, a look of peace on her face. He turned the page. The next one was of the lovebird necklace that she always wore. There were a series of nude drawings he’d done of her up here in the attic, her lying on the couch. Next, there was a series of drawings of their ‘tree’ and with the imprint of her on it.

Lastly, there was a series of erotic drawings from somewhere he didn’t recognize. It appeared to be some sort of beach scene. There was a table with glasses, and chaises, and an umbrella. A beach, except that they appeared to be surrounded by walls and the light seemed to come down from very distinct points above, like in a ceiling of some sort, rather than overall.

The closer he looked the more he thought it reminded him of some sort of indoor Hot Springs. He could see the steam rising from the water, as he stood in the small pool, his hair white, and curly from the water, his face on her naked breast, looking out, love for her in his eyes. Elizabeth’s arms were around his back, her eyes half open, half closed; love and ecstasy written on her features.

He looked at the date; it was 15 February 2003 and it was signed, Spike.

His eyes unexpectedly teared up, as relief washed over him, “This is real, this...not the others,” he assured himself.

He wiped his eyes a few moments later, “God, I’m such a ponce!” he scolded himself.

Elizabeth, his love for her, this was proof that he was here, just a few years back. The others...he didn’t care, he’d burn them. They were figments, some sort of joke that he must have played on himself. Or maybe, he'd been trying to pawn them off as old paintings. But then why sign his name? Maybe there had been somebody famous with his name from the early 1900’s. William Worthington, perhaps, but Spike? And what of his mum? He didn’t have an answer for that.

He replaced the drawing pad where he'd found it, then went about closing the windows.

He descended the stairs, closed the door, and replaced all the things that had been against the door, then walked out of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy drove to the drug store, almost under duress. She kept telling herself that everything was alright, but instinct, kept telling her it wasn’t. She went into the drugstore, leaving her list on the seat of the car, and panicked when she realized she also didn’t have her cell phone in her purse. She ran back outside to the car and was relieved when she saw it was there.

Back in the drug store, she hurried through the aisles, no longer enjoying the feeling of buying things for the trip, but almost in a panic to get out of there. She stopped in the men’s aisle and looked at the razors. Not really needing to worry if she bought him extras or not, but needing to hear his voice, she flipped open her cell and dialed his.

“Come on, William! Pick up!” she said, glaring at someone who dared to give her a look, as they pushed their cart past her in the aisle.

“Shit!” she said, and hurried out of the store, her items forgotten.

She raced through town, making it home in less than 10 minutes.

As she walked in, calling his name. He didn't answer. She looked in the bedroom, but he wasn't there. She was starting to get panicked, when finally she spotted him standing outside by the garden.

Taking a couple of steadying breaths, she walked outside over to where he stood. As she walked up to him, she couldn't help feel uneasy at how unnaturally still he looked.

"Hey," she said, at the same time, softly putting her hand on his back.

He startled a bit, his muscles quivering under her hand, "Hi, you're home," he said, his tone a bit odd sounding.

"Um, yeah, just got here. I tried to call, you didn't answer," she said, looking at him.

"I didn't hear the phone. Guess I was out here. Did you get everything you needed?"

"No, I decided not to stop today," she said. "How about you? Did you pick up anything today?"

"For what?"

"The trip?"

"No, was I supposed to?"

"Nevermind, we'll do it tomorrow, okay?" she asked.

"Yeah. Tomorrow," he replied.

They had cheese sandwiches for dinner, since she hadn't gotten anything to cook and they had used up just about all the food they had in their refrigerator, so it wouldn't go bad when they were away.

During dinner and for the rest of the evening, Buffy did most of the talking, with William only answering her questions or commenting on something she said, but otherwise, not making any conversation on his own. She noticed that whenever she stopped talking, then so did he. She asked him again, and again, he denied that anything was the matter.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“G’ night, Elizabeth,” William said, returning her kiss, but withdrawing before it went any further. His head ached from having tried all night to act like nothing was bothering him. He didn’t think he’d succeeded by the way she looked worriedly at him, when she thought he didn’t notice. And really, he would’ve liked nothing better than to take her in his arms and lose himself in them, but he was just too distracted by what he’d seen in the attic.

“Night,” Buffy said, sighing, as the door on her last attempt at connecting with him in some way that night closed. At least he didn’t turn over, she thought, as she settled down on his chest and fell into a fitful sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

AUGUST 9, 2009
SATURDAY
EARLY HOURS PAST MIDNIGHT

“William,” the familiar female voice called to him, “it won’t be long now, not at all.”

He was standing alone in the dark, surrounded by tall trees. “Who are you?” he asked, looking around to find the person whose voice he heard.

“You know who I am. You’ve always known. You remember our little songs...you always liked our little songs. Soon, we’ll be singing them again, and you won’t be singing hers any more.”

A chill went up his spine and he shivered, although it was summer outside, “Where are you? Show yourself!” he called out.

“It’s not time yet, Sweet William, but soon it will be. Very soon. Then you’ll be mine once more, and you’ll forget all about trying to be a man, again.

“Whoever you are, you’re wrong! I am a man and I belong right here,” he said, suddenly seeing the house off in the distance, and started for it, but he felt a cool hand grab hold of him.

“Let go!” he said, trying to shake loose of the dark haired woman who had him in an incredibly tight grip.

As he looked at her, she started to fade before his eyes, the feel of her grip on his arm fading as well.

“Soon, William. Soon,” she said, before fading completely.

William’s eyes shot open in the dark. For a moment he thought he was still outside, but then he felt Elizabeth stir in his arms. He tried to remember what it was that he had just dreamt, but it was fading. He tried to go back to sleep, but his mind raced, trying to pull together all the bits and pieces of the puzzle that was his life.

Finally, he got up and went into the living room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


2:45AM

“It’s coming,” William said, pointing to the sky, as the dark bank of clouds advanced towards them.

She looked up and saw the dark bank of clouds quickly advancing towards them. The wind whipped at her legs and she could hear a distant roaring sound. She looked around her and noticed that they were standing in an open field. Off in the distance was their house.

“William, we need to go now, we need to get out of its way,” Buffy said, pulling at his arm.

He stood rooted to where he was, “I can’t, I can't make it," he told her.

"You can, you just have to run really fast. It's not too far, come on!"

"I can't," he insisted pointing, and when she looked again she saw that the house appeared to be smaller than when she'd last seen it. Still, she calculated the distance and knew if they left now, they could outrun the storm.

"Please William, try," she begged. She looked up and now saw that a tornado had formed and would be upon them any second now.

“Go on now, lamb,” he told her, "save yourself."

“Why? Why won't you try?” she asked, panicking.

William pointed down to his feet. Roots had taken hold of him where he stood, anchoring him firmly. Buffy pulled with all her might, but he couldn't move.

"Go!" he yelled at her through the increasing din.

“No!” she yelled back, holding onto him tightly.

The tornado was upon them, thundering like a freight train, “I’m staying! I won’t let you go through it alone!”

“Elizabeth!” He cried out, as he was torn out of her arms, his voice quickly evaporating in the wind’s fury.

“William! I’ll find you, I’ll find you!” she called back, into the vortex.

Buffy awoke with a start, the sound of her heart thundering in her ears. She reached over automatically to William's side of the bed, but her hand fell on the empty bedding. A feeling of foreboding coursed through her, as she listened to hear if he was in the bathroom.

She got up and after first throwing on a robe, she went to look for him. She spotted him standing by the living room window looking outside.

"William?"

She went up to him and put her arms around him, leaning into his back.

He put his hands over her arms, drawing them in closer; "Did I wake you, luv?"

"No, I...I don't think so; just woke and you weren't there," she said, gratified by his easy affectionate response and endearment, compared to earlier in the evening.

"Couldn't sleep," he said, as he looked out at the night sky, his mind unsettled by so many things he couldn’t fathom.

"Me, either," she said, thankful for the warm feel of his back, as she mentally fought against recognizing or remembering the dream she'd had for what it was - a slayer dream.

"Fine pair, aren't we?" he quipped.

She nodded into his back.

He turned away from the night, and into her arms, "How about I make us some hot milk, with a dash of cocoa in it?" he asked, as he smoothed her hair back off of her face.

Buffy looked up into his face, half of it lit by the moonlight coming in from the window.

"You're so good to me," she said, her voice tight, her hand stroking his face.

"It's just milk," he said, winking at her, trying to make light of it, before he pulled her into a tight embrace.

They stood holding each other for a few minutes, then unexpectedly, she felt him shudder, and when she pulled away, she saw tears glistening in his blue eyes.

"What? What is it?" she asked, concern in her eyes.

"It's..." he said, looking at her, then turned around again to face the window, "all this, us...just sometimes...sometimes I have the feeling that it's all unreal..."

"I know, sometimes I feel like that, too," she said, her face against his back, "that we found each other again, that it's just too good to be true, that..."

He continued, as if he hadn't heard her, "...that I'm living here on," he turned again to look at her, "the only term I can think of is borrowed time..."

"WHAT?” she asked, paling, as she backed up, eyes wide. "NO!"

He looked at her, helplessly.

"NO!" She repeated, "This is real! You're real! We're real! You deserve to be happy! We deserve it!” she said, unaware that she had started to shake.

"Elizabeth? Oh God, I'm sorry,” he whispered, snapped out of his own misery, by hers. He went down on his knees in front of her, holding onto her waist, "Please forgive me, luv. I'm sorry.”

"Don't ever say that again!" she said, her voice breaking as she grabbed onto his head, before sinking down to the floor, too. "Please, don't say that again. Please, please..." she repeated, anguished, as his words, and the dream she'd had collided together in her mind.

"I won't, I promise, I'm so sorry,” William murmured into her hair, as he held onto her.

Despair rose inside him, for the pain he’d caused her, "I’m sorry! I love you! Please don't cry! I love you!" he told her over and over again.

She pulled his face down to hers and kissed him hard, desperately, her hands pulling at his hair. He felt himself become aroused and he moaned into her mouth. Still kissing, he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. He lay her down on the bed, covering her body with his own, as they continued to explore each other's mouths. Her legs parted for him and her breath became ragged, as she felt his erection through the thin material of her nightgown. He pulled it up, at the same time she was pulling at the drawstring of his pajama bottoms.

He slid into her, feeling her heat and need for him.

Home.

His hands went underneath her bottom, pulling her upwards to meet his thrusts, as her hands moved pulled him in even more.

Closer, harder, until there was only them, only now.

Just before they went over the edge into ecstasy, he pulled back for a moment, and looked down into her green eyes, holding her in his gaze.

“Don’t let me go,” he said, hoarsely.

She shook her head, as she put her hands on either side of his face, “I won’t, William. I promise. I won’t let go; never.”

“Me, either. Ever.”

END CHAPTER 137

CHAPTER 138 - WHAT THE RIGHT HAND KNEW

NEW JERSEY
AUGUST 9, 2009
SATURDAY
4:30PM

"Hey," Xander said, giving Angela a kiss hello, as he walked into the living room.

"How was work?" she asked.

"Not too bad, had to go to the city to the new Chase Manhattan site. I told you we got that contract, didn't I?"

Angela shook her head.

"Oh, thought I'd mentioned it, well, we got it. Beat out 3 other companies for it, too. We start working on it week after next," Xander said, looking proud of himself. He'd been the one to come up with the winning bid.

"Good," she said, bringing him a diet coke. She'd talked him into taking his health a bit more seriously, and had been trying to wean him off of his beer for a couple of months.

He settled back in the chair, imagining the taste of a nice cold one, instead of a diet soda. He looked over to the carton on the floor next to the couch, "What came in the package?"

"It was from my Aunt Carol in Texas," she said, picking up the box and pulling out the newspapers, then pushing it to over to him. "She sent Alex some of my cousin's old matchbox cars and a ton of books for the kids. She also sent a couple of outfits for Ann."

"Wow, that's quite a haul," Xander said, "has Alex seen them yet?"

"No, they've been with mom and dad all day. I was thinking about putting the cars away for a while. Think I'll just give them the books for now."

"How come you're not giving him the cars?" Xander said, a bit disappointed, since he wouldn't be able to play with them either.

"Because, Alex broke the last two you bought him and then tried to hide it from me. Of course, Ann found it, and almost swallowed the wheels of that silver one."

"The silver one? He broke that one? Darn! Yeah, maybe you'd better wait then," Xander reluctantly agreed.

"I was thinking they'd make nice little rewards for good behavior, so I think I'll save them for that. You know, when he cleans up after the dog when I ask him to, or his room."

Xander nodded, absentmindedly, as he folded up the newspaper that had been used as wrapping in the box.

He got up and walked to the kitchen to the recycling bag, looking at a local Texas ad for a 4x4 Chevy truck, and half-reading some of the headlines, when one caught his eye, "Dangerous Criminal Escapes from Maximum Security Prison in Amarillo."

Xander skimmed through it and was about to drop it in with the rest of them, when all of a sudden he stiffened, "Oh, shit!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~


LONDON
11:30PM

"Hello?"

"Kennedy? This is Xander is Willow around?"

"Hey Xander! Yeah, I'll get her. How are you guys?"

"We're fine. How about you? How's the slaying going?"

"Slow, luckily. Oh, here's Willow. Nice talking to you."

"Yeah, you, too."

"Xander!" Willow said happily.

"Hey Will, how's it going?"

"Fine, really fine. What's up?"

"I just saw something, and I think that Giles should know about it. Ethan Rayne escaped from prison; rather, it looks like he was broken out of prison."

"That can't be good. How did you find out?"

Xander explained it to her.

"I thought I should let Giles know. No telling where Rayne is heading, maybe even to England."

"Yeah, guess we'd better. Do you want to call or should I?"

"I haven't talked to Giles in a while, so I'll do it, if that's alright."

"Sure, here's the number," Willow said, waiting for him to get a pen and paper.

Xander took down the number, "You know my first instinct was to call Buffy with this information; even after all these years. You know how it is..."

"Yeah," Willow agreed, "it took a long time to stop myself from thinking about contacting her everytime something came up."

"So, you don't think I should?" Xander asked.

"I dunno. It really doesn't have anything to do with her anymore, does it?"

"I don't think so. Still..."

"Are you going to Michigan next week?"

"Yeah, we are. We haven't even told her yet. I just found out today that I can take next week off, as long as I'm back by the following week. We got a new project in the city starting then, who yours truly put in the winning bid for!"

"Way to go, Xander!"

Xander smiled at his friend's enthusiasm.

"What about you, are you and Kennedy coming?"

"We can't, I got too much to do here with work and school. I wish we could though." “We can’t. Kennedy is actually going to be in the states for her mother’s 60th birthday, and I’m going to be spending some time with the coven.”

“Yeah, how come?” Xander asked.

“Just honing some skills. All for the good.”

“I knew that,” Xander said, hurriedly.

“Also, one of the potentials that are here, winds up she’s also a witch, a powerful one at that. Well, at least she could be, so I’m bringing her with me to the coven. I hope they can give her some direction, because right now she’s torn between what she wants to do.”

“A potential slayer and a potentially powerful witch? That’s some combination,” Xander said, whistling softly.

“It really is,” Willow said, “but I’m not so sure its a good thing or not; she’s sort of a loose cannon. Young, too. Only 17...”

“Well, there you go. Anyway, I wish you were coming to Michigan.”

"Me, too.”

“You know what? Since I'm going to see Buffy next week, I'll just tell her about Ethan then."

"Sounds good," Willow agreed. "Listen, you'd better call Giles now if you're going to, he's not exactly a night owl these days."

"Okay. Well, good talking to ya, Will. I wish you were coming."

"Me, too. Give Angela and the kids my love."

"I will. Bye."

"Bye, Xander."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

11:50PM

"You have reached the home of Rupert Giles, I'm sorry I'm not available..."

"Shit! Pick up Giles! Giles! I know you're there! Come on, pick up the damn..."

"Hello? Xander?"

"Yeah, it's me. Sorry to call you so late, but I think you're going to want to hear this..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

LOS ANGELES
6:00PM

Wesley sat down to his TV dinner at the dining room table. He spread the napkin on his lap, and picked up his water glass. He stuck his fork in his shrimp, bringing it up to his nose for a dainty sniff. Not terrible, he decided. At the very least, not spoiled, like the last time he'd had shrimp. That had cost him a whole day in the loo.

He was just about to take a bite, when a phone, which he only communicated slayer business on, rang. He replaced the fork, and got up from the table, the napkin falling to the ground. He looked at it, and then decided it could stay there until he returned.

" Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, here."

"Wesley, this is Giles."

"Hello Giles, how are you?"

"Well, as I hope you are. However, this isn't a social call. I've just been given word that Ethan Rayne has escaped from prison. Rather, he was broken out of prison. Do you know who Ethan Rayne is?"

"Ah, yes. Ethan Rayne..."Wes began, giving Giles a detailed character study of the man, including his relationship with him. He ended by telling Giles he'd already heard of his break out.

"And you didn't see fit to inform me? Are you forgetting who made you a Watcher again?"

Wes listened to the older man's tirade for a few minutes; finally he'd had enough, "How often do you check your email?"

"What? My email?"

"Yes, invented in the last quarter of the previous century, many people use it to communicate. Quick, cheap, efficient..."

"You're telling me...?"

"The same day I found out. What's more, if you had read it, you would have also read the report that around the time it happened, a rancher nearby who was out stargazing that night, though he heard a helicopter in the sky, but he said he couldn't see one."

"Sounds like one of those stealth ones the government uses...but why would the government break him out? They're the ones who put him there."

"I don't think it was a government operation," Wesley went on to tell him what he knew of the break out.

"It sounds terribly organized. And if it's not the government, it had to be an organization or individual with a lot of means behind them."

"Precisely," said Wesley, "and HAD you read my email, you would have also found out that that same night, a private jet flew out of an airport about 20 miles from the prison. They landed and took off within 5 minutes, and refused to communicate with the tower or notify them of their flight plan. The only thing the tower could say was that they headed West. They even called in the airforce to intercept the jet, thinking it was drug related, but the private jet out flew them!"

"You have any ideas where it was headed?" Giles asked.

"Yes, I think it was headed here, and what's more, I think I know who's behind it."

"Who?"

"Wolfram & Hart."

"Wolfram & Hart? You suspect Angel is behind this?"

"I'm not sure, but he is the CEO, he would know everything that is going on, I should think. Especially using the resources it had to take to pull this off."

"And if he doesn't?"

Wes took a minute to ponder this, "I'll try to find out."

"You'll talk to him?"

"No, I can't do that, but I think I might be able to get to someone on the inside. I still have contacts there."

"Very well. You'll let me know, then?"

"As soon as I find out. Will you be letting Buffy know?"

"Xander told me she's about to leave for out of town for a couple of weeks. Xander is going to see her next week, so he'll let her know. Perhaps I'll try to get in touch with her before that, though she's retired, as you know."

"Still, it's Angel..."

"All the more reason that I really don't want to involve her, if I don't have to." Giles said.

END CHAPTER 138

CHAPTER 139 - THE APARTMENT OVER THE GARAGE

AUGUST 10, 2009
SUNDAY
10:00AM

Buffy sat at the kitchen table writing comments on her the children's report cards that she would be giving the parents tomorrow. There had been 10 new students from ages 10 - 12 in her summer class. All had come from public schools that their parents wanted them out of. The summer class had been to try to integrate them into the learning styles of the Montessori system, so come fall, they'd be ready.

Almost all of them had done beautifully, but there had been two students, whom she honestly didn't think would make a good fit. Neither for them, or for the small school trying to accommodate them. She wasn't looking forward to telling this to their parents.

She smiled to herself, hearing William coming in the back door.

Despite the weirdness of Friday, yesterday had been back to normal, as her and William had run around getting stuff for the trip, and did last minute things around the house. He'd been his normal, sweet, solicitous self towards her, his presence assuring her that all was right in their little world, that talk of 'borrowed time,' had just been a fluke, an aberration in their 'normal life.'

Every time a nagging feeling would threaten to rear its ugly head, she would push it down and busy herself with the time consuming task of going on vacation. Vacation. The word was taking on a meaning of its own. Especially, where they were heading and what it meant to them. It was where they had first made love again after she'd found him. Found him and freed him from the hospital. Its where she realized how strong her love for him still was after 5 years and where he'd fallen in love with her.

Even though she didn't like to think about it, their vacation was beginning to feel like some sort of escape. She didn't understand why she was feeling like this, since she loved their house, but she was.

In fact, going home had been the goal she'd been most concerned with, while at Fuller's last year. Get William home, had been her mantra, even to the extent of having had Xander and his family drive cross country to help her accomplish it.

She shook her head, wishing she could just call all the kids and their parents, and do the conferences today, even if she had to personally go to all their homes! It was just nagging at her to have to wait until Tuesday morning to leave for Michigan, when she was ready, willing, and more than able to leave today.

"Shit!" she said, coming back to reality. If she did that, they'd all lose a ton of money from changing their tickets at the last minute. Not to mention, it would be at a higher weekend rate, too.

"What's wrong?" William asked.

"Oh, nothing. Just wishing we were able to leave for Michigan today, instead of Tuesday."

He came up behind her and put his arms around her, "Nothing you can do about it, luv,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

"Darn kids," she said, taking the papers in front of her and slapping the table with them.

He chuckled, "Go ahead and blame the kids, if it makes you feel any better."

"I think I will," she said, turning her head up so she could look at him.

William bent over and gave her a kiss; "Besides, I couldn't leave today, anyway."

"Why not?" She asked.

"I told Professor Wittman I'd help him clear out this apartment over his garage. His son used to live there, and he wants to rent it out. I think he needs the money, because of his medical bills," he added.

"Oh," Buffy said, disappointed. "When are you going?"

"I told him I'd be over there by 11, so pretty soon. Can you give me a lift over there? My car is acting a bit strange. I called Clem and he thought it might be that I only need some new spark plugs, but I don't want to take a chance."

"Sure, just let me know when you want to go."

"About 20 minutes? I'm just going to go take a quick shower and wash this grease off me first, okay?"

"Okay," she answered, going back to the papers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Do you want me to help you?" she'd asked him on the drive over.

"No," he'd replied, almost too quickly, "You've got things you need to do, right? Your papers for one, and you said you wanted to get a few more things at the store?"

She nodded, "I guess so. How long are you going to be?"

"Only a few hours, I should think. I'll call you when I'm almost finished, okay?"

"Okay," she said, reluctantly. She didn't know why, but she had just wanted him and her to be at the home today. Their last full day at the house, before vacation. She knew it was silly to feel resentful about a sick professor needing his help, but none-the-less, she did.

"What's the address?" Buffy asked, as she pulled onto Mockingbird Terrace Drive, about 4 blocks from the university.

"1605," he answered, "look for a black mailbox with a horse on it. Oh, there it is," he said, pointing to the mailbox in front of an older looking, pinkish, adobe style house. The outside, although 'high desert landscaped,' looked as though it hadn't been tended in a while. Plants looked as if they were on their last legs, and there was junk littering the yard. It just looked overall, unkempt.

She made a face, "I hope the inside isn't as bad as this," she said.

"What?" he asked, not seeing what she was.

"Oh, nevermind. Call, okay?"

"I will," William said, reaching across the seat to kiss her. "I won't be long. If it looks as though it's going to take longer than a few hours, I'll just tell him that I'll have to help him when I come back from holiday," he said.

"You do that," she said, smiling as he got out and walked to the door. Before he got to the stoop, the door opened and the professor beckoned him in, first giving Buffy a wave, as she put the car into gear and drove off.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice, William," Professor Wittman said, "especially, since I know you're going out of town in a couple of days."

"That's alright. We're pretty much finished with all that. At least I think I am."

Professor Wittman laughed, "If your Elizabeth is anything like my Ingrid, she'll fret until the moment you leave, then fret some more that you may have left something behind, left the stove on, forgot to leave the lights on the timer...oh, my boy, the list is endless. By the time we get going I need a vacation just from the preparations. Preferably alone!"

William laughed. Elizabeth had been fretting about this ever since she'd sprung it on him a couple of weeks ago. Maybe that was why he was feeling so anxious lately, too. In fact, one of the reasons he didn't mind doing this for a couple hours was just to have something else to think about. He knew Elizabeth had wanted to spend the day with him, but he just needed some time to himself, which although it made him feel guilty, was why he'd refused her offer of help.

"Have you had lunch?" Professor Wittman interrupted his thoughts.

"No, but I we just had breakfast not yet two hours ago," he said.

"Well then, why don't I show you to the mess I need cleaned?" he said.

William followed Professor William back outside and up a set of stairs to the apartment over the garage.
The professor unlocked the door and stepped inside. William made a face at the stale air, which smelled slightly of mold and mildew.

"Not pretty," Wittman said, as he turned on the light. "Afraid my son was somewhat of a slob."

That was an understatement, William thought looking around. There were old pizza cartons and beer cans on the floor. Magazines, newspapers, and old clothes were strewn over practically every other surface - tables, chairs, couch, etc.

William shook his head; he couldn't understand how someone could live like this, especially the son of a respected professor.

Professor Wittman motioned to William, and he gave him the tour of the apartment, opening the windows, as they went through the other rooms; bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen, "That's better, wouldn't you say?"

William nodded, grateful for the fresh air.

"Well, as I told you, I don't believe there's anything here of any value to my son. You can see that most of it's garbage. He told me he took all that he wanted when he moved, so there's nothing here for you to worry about. However, if you think there's something, just set it aside and I'll come take a look. Otherwise, if there's anything here that you would like; any books he left behind, or any of the furniture, feel free to keep it. Other than that, just toss it all out by the street. You'll find a big box of large yard bags in the kitchen, which I brought up the other day. I think most the garbage should fit in there. Oh, and don't worry about washing anything, I'm hiring a couple of maids to come in next week and clean this place up, so let 'em earn their money, William."

"Okay," William agreed. "What about the furniture? Do you want me to take it down to the street, too?"

"No, just leave it. I think my nephew is going to come by for some of it, otherwise, I'll just get someone else to dismantle the bed and cart if off. As for the dresser, I think a couple of drawers are broken; just get everything else out. Oh, leave the kitchen items, unless you need anything. I think my nephew might take a few of those, or I'll just leave them for the renter."

Professor Wittman left and William began to the kitchen to get a garbage bag from the box, which was on the table. He opened the refrigerator door, hoping for a bottle of water or soda. He slammed the door shut, coughing. It had been left unplugged.

Quickly, he grabbed the garbage bags and too them back into the living room. He put his head near the window for a few minutes, until he was sure he had cleared the stench from his nostrils, then got to work.

He filled 3 bags worth of trash from the living room, before taking them down to the street. He returned, filled another bag half-full, before starting in on the bedroom. There were clothes in the closets, but Wittman had told him to trash them as well. He looked through them first, finding a T-shirt that said School Sucks, which he thought was ironic, coming from a professor's son. Maybe he'd save it and give it to Elizabeth as a joke, for when she was in a bad mood over work. Then again, maybe not. He tossed it into the garbage bag.

He had just taken the filled bag out to the living room when his phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and flipped it open, "Hi luv, I'm still working, but I should be done by 2:00 or so."

"Hello?" a male voice said on the other end.

"Oh, hello, I'm sorry," William said, surprised.

"William?"

"Yes, who's this?"

"It's Giles. Rupert Giles."

"Hello Giles, how are you?" he asked, wondering why he was calling him.

"I'm fine William, and how are you?"

"Very well, thank you."

"Good, good. I trust you and Buffy are having a good summer?"

"Yes, very, although we've been quite busy with work and school, but we're looking forward to going on holiday in a couple of days with Dawn and John. And I believe you know Xander? Him and his family are joining us, as well."

"Ah, that's wonderful. I believe Willow mentioned something about that," Giles said. "Might I please speak with Buffy, if she's available?" Giles asked.

William looked confused, then looked at his cell phone; only it wasn't his, he had picked up Elizabeth's by accident!

"I'm sorry, I seem to have picked up Elizabeth's cell phone by mistake this morning and I'm not at home. I'm at my professor's house right now, helping him clean out an apartment."

"Oh, I see."

"Elizabeth must have my phone, would you like that number?"

"No, that's alright. Would you just tell her that I called, and that she should give me a call when you return from your holiday?"

"Of course," William said.

"Well, good talking to you William. I'm glad that you and Buffy are having a good...summer."

"Thank you, it's been nice talking to you too, Giles."

"Oh, and William? You remember what I said don't you? If you ever need to talk...?"

William paused, he'd actually thought of that recently. "Yes, I remember. And I have your card, still."

"Very good. Well, have a safe trip and a good holiday. Both of you."

"We will. Thank you."

"Good-bye, William."

"Good-bye, Giles," he said, and flipped the phone shut.

He took a break when Professor Wittman and his wife Ingrid, insisted that he have a bite of lunch with them. They asked him where he and Elizabeth were going on vacation and told him they were from Ohio, originally and talked of the mid-west, in general.

After lunch, he finished the bedroom, then went on to the bathroom, which only took one garbage bag full to clean. He was quite glad he wasn’t the one who was going to have to clean that tub.

The phone rang again, this time it was Elizabeth, asking him what he wanted for dinner, and asking if she should pick up something before or after coming for him. He told her to go to the store first; that by the time she was done, he’d be finished.

It took another 45 minutes to clean out the kitchen. He took down another 3 bags of trash to the curb and walked back upstairs to make sure he didn’t miss anything.

As he was looking around, he had the strangest feeling come over him, especially when he walked into the bedroom. It was almost a precognition sort of feeling, as he looked at the bed, he could almost imagine himself lying there.

The feeling continued when he walked out into the living room, as well. He looked out onto the street and could imagine it dark, see himself standing there, bereft, lonely, lost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy had knocked on the door of the house, after arriving. Professor Wittman pointed her in the direction of the apartment, after asking her if she wanted him to show her.

She walked to the front of the house and went up the stairs. The door was open a bit and she walked in.

“William?”

“In here,” she finally heard him call. She walked into the bedroom and he was standing there by the window, looking out.

“Hey,” she said, coming over to him as he turned around.

“Hi,” he said, smiling warmly at her, glad to see her.

He put out his arms and she came into them.

“Miss me?”

“Always,” he said, kissing her. “I’m done here, let’s go.”

“Okay,” she said, taking his hand. “Looks like you had a ton of stuff to clear out, from all the garbage bags on the street.”

He nodded, as they walked through the living room. He told her to wait, while he took a final look around to make sure he didn’t leave anything. Not finding anything, he rejoined her in the living room.

“Just going to say good-bye, then we can be off,” he told her as they walked out and down the stairs.

He knocked on the door and Professor Wittman came to it and motioned them in.

William declined for them both, “I really shouldn’t, we need to get home. Elizabeth has some food in the car, which needs to be refrigerated before it spoils.

“I understand,” he said.

William and him talked for a few minutes about what he’d taken out to the curb, and what he’d left alone. He told him about the refrigerator, and the professor said he’d plug it back in, before attempting to have anybody clean it up. He then thanked William and told him he’d see him when he returned from vacation.

“Remember to call me. I should find out about your T.A. position in the next few days, but I shouldn’t worry too much. It’s just a technicality; basically, me recommending you for it, which I already did. If you want it, it’s yours.”

“Thank you,” William said, shaking his hand, “I do, that is...”

He turned towards Buffy, “What do you think?”

“If that’s what you want, then I think it’s great,” she said smiling, although inside, it made her sad to know that he really wouldn’t be close by like he had been during the last school year.

He looked at her and nodded.

“Well, we should be off,” he told Professor Wittman.

“Have a great vacation. And nice meeting you again, Elizabeth,” he said.

“You, too.”

William took her hand and they walked to the car.

He took one more look at the apartment after getting into the passenger seat, wondering what it was about it, that had made him feel so melancholy.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Very. Let’s get out of here,” he answered.

END CHAPTER 139

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