CHAPTER 165 - FINDING WILLIAM

NOVEMBER 14, 2009
FRIDAY
9:00PM

Buffy pulled into the parking lot across the street from Ipso Facto, lucky to have found one of the few remaining parking spots. Although out of the way, the bar had been fairly easy to find.

Pulling down the visor down, Buffy made a face as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. “Great, just great,” she said, realizing that in single-minded objective to get here, she hadn’t even thought about refreshing her makeup, or wearing something club-entry-worthy.

She thought back to earlier that evening, when after returning from San Marcos, Clem had stopped by.

“Hey Buffy, I got your message, what’s up?”

“Clem, do you know anything about a place called Ipso Facto in San Diego?”

“Um...yeah I do,” he said, nodding.

Buffy waited, noticing the slightly guilty way he avoided her gaze.

“It’s a bar.”

“That’s it?” she pressed.

“Not exactly," Clem said, shaking his head.

"Go on."

"Well, It has mostly human clients, but some demons I know like to hang there, too. Mostly good demons," he hurriedly added.

“Did you know William has been there?” she asked.

“Buffy, I swear, I just found out a few days ago. I ran into a friend of mine, Marlong. I’ve mentioned him before, haven’t I? Known him for years, he’s a good guy, for a demon that is, even if he does always beats me in poker...”

“Clem!”

“Sorry, Buffy,” he said. "When I ran into Marlong, he told me someone had recently mistaken him for me at Ipso Facto, someone named Spike.”

Her eyes were drawn to Clem's fingers, which were strumming against each other, his long fingernails making a clicking sound as he did. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing! What else would I know?” he asked, self-consciously stilling his hands.

“Clem! If there’s something else you’re holding back...”

“It’s just...” Clem said, clearing his throat, his fingers starting to strum once again, “... and not that it’s for sure or anything. It’s just that there’s a chance, a small chance...”

“Out with it, Clem!”

“That Spike’s a vampire again,” he said, chancing an upward peek at Buffy.

The room became deathly still as Buffy stared at Clem, as she took in his statement.

“Why would you to think that?” she finally asked.

"Um...well, because Marlong described him as having blonde hair, wearing a black coat, and having a bit of an attitude."

The last bit made Buffy laugh, “Yeah, Spike did have just a bit of an attitude, didn’t he?”

Buffy almost felt sorry for Clem the way he looked at her. “I’m not in denial, I found out where William was living and talked to his landlord today. I don’t think he’s a vampire, considering she saw him in the morning a few weeks ago," she said, adding, " and looking like Spike."

“Oh, well that’s good, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It’s just that, and you said it yourself, things seemed to be simpler when he was Spike.”

“Maybe,” Buffy admitted, “but for all the swagger and posturing, I don't think Spike was very happy. I think he always had too much of William inside him to be totally at ease with the demon. That was his curse, and his blessing. Of course, I don’t think he’s very happy right now either,” she said, sadly.

“So, what are you going to do, Buffy?”

“Whatever I have to!”

***

Getting out of the car, she made a quick visual sweep of the outside of the premises, before getting in line at the back of the queue. She pulled her jacket around her, as the wind picked up, feeling out of place in the mostly younger, hipper crowd.

"And you're here by whose invitation?" asked the bouncer, blatantly looking her up and down.

Buffy's cheeks reddened at the hungry wolf leer, but she hadn't come all this way to be turned back by an over muscled idiot. She stood straighter, "Sorry, no invitation. I'm looking for someone."

"Sorry, we don't let people in just to look for someone."

"That may very well be," Buffy said sweetly, "but you're going to make an exception, and let me in tonight."

"Is that so? And why am I going to do that?"

Buffy took a step forward so that she was in his personal space, “Because if you don’t, I think that I’ll have a talk with my boss about this place,” she said, her voice convincing, as if she hadn’t just thought to make it up.

The bouncer laughed, his sour breath hitting her, but she didn’t flinch. “Yeah, and who's your boss?"

“The head of The Department of Liquor, Firearms, & Tobacco for San Diego County. I think he might be quite interested in seeing how this place lets in under-aged kids all to make a buck,” she said, hoping there was some truth to it, and figuring there probably was, from the sudden look of fear on his face.

"Don't worry, I'm not here on business tonight, purely personal. Though I might make it my business if you don't let me in," she said.

The smile now gone, he glared hard at her, “Go on, suit yourself,” he said, letting her pass.

“Thank you, I think I will!”

Buffy walked past the bouncer and through a second door into the dimly lit bar. Her face screwed up, as the smell of both stale booze and smoke assailed her senses.

“So much for California anti-smoke laws,” she mumbled, wishing her boss really was the head of The Department of Liquor, Firearms & Tobacco; she’d turn in these scofflaws.

As she walked through the bar, she couldn’t help but wondered how William had ever discovered such a dive, and so far from where he lived. If she’d ever brought him to such a place, not that she would’ve, she was sure he would’ve been terribly uncomfortable. They had been to nice places, casual places, even places with loud music, but this place was more like...Willie’s.

The revelation struck her like a ton of bricks. She may not be an active slayer anymore, but she immediately recognized what she’d been feeling - the presence of demons.

Looking slowly around the bar, letting her slayer senses guide her, she noticed a number of them, some looking human, others not at all.

She zeroed in on a female vampire sitting at a table between two almost, middle-aged lotharios, wearing outfits more reminiscent of the 80's. And she'd been worried about not being dressed right? The vamp was flirting with them both, by the looks of things; probably trying to decide which one would be her next meal. She must have sensed being watched, because suddenly her eyes shot up and she looked directly at Buffy.

Putting on her best-affected smile, Buffy walked over to the table.

"Hey, don't I know you guys” she asked, focusing on the two men, and ignoring the glare she was receiving from the vampire. "Didn't you used to go to that bar downtown, the one with the big dance floor with all the light? What was the name?"

"The Artillery?" asked the brown haired man.

"Yeah, that was it! I knew I recognized you from somewhere."

"I remember you now. Didn't you used to have short hair?" asked the blonde man, as he unconsciously licked his lips.

"I knew you'd remember me," Buffy lied, smiling knowingly.

"Well, that's so very nice that you all remember each other. Now, if you don't mind..." the vampire said, looking pointedly at Buffy.

"Don't be that way, Lillian," crooned the brown haired man, pulling her towards him in a hug, "Sam and I still love you."

She smiled, "Okay, whatever you say George. Why don't you and Sam go get us girls some drinks, then."

After taking orders, the men went off to the bar, leaving Buffy sitting there with the vampire.

"When the boys get back with our drinks, I suggest you toddle off to whatever rock you crawled out from under," Lillian said, her voice icy.

"Hm...That’s interesting. I was just going to suggest that you do the same. I don't think either of these boys planned on becoming a meal for you tonight, Lillian."

The vampire's eyes narrowed, her eyes flashing yellow.

"Uh-uh, don't think you want to do that. Slayer reflexes, you know," she said, watching with satisfaction as Lillian's eyes grew big. "That, and a certain pointy wooden object I have in my jacket, says that you're the one who's going to be leaving; peaceful like, and quick, if you know what's good for you." Buffy said.

The vampire stood up, angrily shoving the table away from her. A bottle of beer spilled over, and dripped onto the seat next to Buffy, nearly missing her pants. "Now, now. Is that anyway to treat someone who's not turning you into a big pile of dust? Not that it would bother me any, just don't have the time for it tonight. On the other hand..." Buffy said, starting to stand up.

That was all the coaxing Lillian needed, as she hurried towards the door.

Buffy watched until she was sure that Lillian had left, until a drink was put down in front of her.

Crap, she'd forgotten about the guys.

"Where'd Lillian go?" Asked George.

"Um, she had a family emergency. I'm afraid she had to split."

"Well, that's okay, you're here. You'll just take her place."

"You know, George, Sam, I'd really love to, but I just saw a friend of mine," Buffy smiled, and feigned a wave at a group of people standing across the room. Lucky for her, someone waved back, and motioned her over.

"Sorry guys, I'll catch up with you later," she said, as they moaned their protests, as she got up to leave.

Buffy walked across the room towards the waving man. Since the other's eyes were on her, she at least wanted to give her departure the reasonable appearance of being the truth.

“Hey good looking,” the man drawled in a fake Texas accent, “you lookin’ for me?”

“Oh, sorry. From across the room, I could’ve sworn you were somebody else.”

“That’s okay, I can be whoever you want me to be,” he said, putting his beefy arm around Buffy, and leaning in to kiss her.

Buffy quickly squirmed out of his arm; “I don’t think so.”

“Aww, shucks. You sure? Don’t know what you’re missing,” he said, with a lascivious grin showing yellow-stained teeth.

“I’m sure I don’t. But you know, there is one thing you can help me with.”

“What’s that? I’ll do anything to help a lady out,” he said, with a mock bow.

Buffy rolled her eyes, “I’m sure you would. Actually, I am looking for someone,” she said, as she took a picture out of her wallet of her and William from last Christmas, and showed it to him.

He looked at it for a few moments, “Sort of looks familiar, but no, I can’t say that I’ve seen him around. Is he your boyfriend or husband, or something.”

“Yeah, something,” she said. “Thanks.”

“Sure I can’t do anything else for you, seeing as your ‘something’ isn’t around.”

“I’m sure!” Buffy said emphatically.

Buffy scanned the place for any sight of the vampire, but Lillian seemed to have left for real. She knew you could tell about vampires, and this one didn't seem like a mere fledgling, so she kept on the lookout. As she made her way up to the bar, she stopped to show William’s picture to a few more people, but nobody could remember seeing him.


“What’ll you have?” asked the bartender, after she’d been in line for the length of time it took a couple of songs to play on the jukebox.

“I’ll take a water,” she said, earning her a glare from the bartender. "I'll pay for it."

"Here," he said, slapping down the drink.

She handed him a five-dollar bill; "Keep the change."

“Its not that much lady. I didn’t mean to give you a hard time. I'm just having a bad night,” he said, taking the bill to make change.

“I know. It’s okay, though. How about you keep the change, and let me ask you a couple of questions.”

“What sort of questions?” he asked, suspiciously.

“Have you seen this man in here in the past few weeks?” she asked.

He took the picture from her hand and studied it closely. “He got a name?”

“William.”

“Don’t sound familiar, though something looks familiar about him. Might’ve been here. Can’t say for sure.”

“Thanks,” Buffy said, taking the picture from him. He turned to walk away.

“Wait! I forgot something!”

“What's that?”

“He has blonde hair now, and he might be going by the name Spike.”

The bartender grabbed the photo back, and walked over to where there was a light over the sink. A grin spread over his face, “Well I’ll be damned! It is Spike!”

“He’s been here?” Buffy asked, hopefully.

“Sure, he was here every night, up to about a couple of weeks ago.”

“You haven’t seen him since?”

“No, he switched over to the L.A. bar, when Miranda went.”

“What? Who the hell is Miranda?” Buffy asked, confused.

The bartender looked at her closely as he handed her back the picture. “Miranda, the manager of the place,” he said slowly, as if talking to a small child. “The owners wanted her to see if she could bring a little order to our bar in L.A.”

Buffy shook her head, “And that’s supposed to mean something to me? Why would William go with her?” Buffy asked, suddenly her head filled with thoughts of him being with someone making her stomach clench painfully.

“I need a pitcher of draft!" Called out one of the barmaids.

The bartender started to walk away, but Buffy grabbed his arm, “Why would William, or Spike go with her?”

“Because, she wanted him to help run the place with her. He did such a good job here, she asked him to go along. I’ll be right back,” he said, pulling his arm free.

Buffy sat there, as she tried to make sense of what he’d told her. Getting up, she walked over to the barmaid’s station. “A good job? Are you telling me that Spike worked here?

“And a Kewpie doll for the lady!” the bartender said loudly.

“Doing what?” she asked, ignoring his comment.

“Same as me; bartending!”

“That and he took care of some of the more rowdy customers, if you know what I mean,” chimed in the barmaid, grinning knowingly at Buffy.

“No, I don’t know what you mean; do you mean he was a bouncer?”

“Not exactly,” said the woman, whose nametag read Maria. “Look, I got to get this beer over to that table, or I’m not going to get a tip from these guys. I’ll be right back,” she said, hurrying off with the tray full of beer.

Maria was back in a moment, motioning for Buffy to follow her.

“It’s quieter here,” she said, leading her to a corner. “Now, why do you want to know about Spike?”

Buffy looked at her, but no answer came to her. Instead, she opened up her wallet and took out the picture, wordlessly passing it to her.

Maria’s eyes softened as she looked at it. “This is Spike?”

“Yeah, that’s him, but he went by William then.”

“William,” Maria repeated. “So, that’s his real name?”

“Yes.”

“How long ago was this taken?”

“Last Christmas.”

“He looks different, happy. You both do,” she said, passing back the picture to Buffy.

“We were,” Buffy said, putting it back in his wallet. “I need to find him, before he gets himself hurt. Tell me everything you know.”

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

“Thanks for everything,” Buffy said, putting the hand drawn map of Ipso Facto, Too into her pocket.

“You’re welcome. I hope you find him, and that everything works out.”

“Me, too,” Buffy said.

Looking at her watch, she calculated the time. If traffic was light, she could be in L.A. by midnight.

END CHAPTER 165

CHAPTER 166 – JUST PEACHY, WITH A SIDE OF KEEN

NOVEMBER 14, 2009
FRIDAY
11:30PM

"You okay?" Miranda asked, watching Spike wince as he walked back behind the bar, favoring one leg.

"Yeah, 'm fine. Just got banged up a bit."

She shook her head at his bravado.

“More than a little bit, from the looks of things.”

He just shrugged.

There had been more than the usual amount of demons deciding to come in tonight. Fights had broken out among some warring clans who both happened to decide that Ipso Facto, Too was to be their watering hole for the night. They'd already had to throw out half a dozen or so demons, which didn't take kindly to being asked to leave. Spike, along with Mike, who’d also moved up to L.A., had to fight to defend their right to do so. Wiry and quick, Spike had proven to be more than adequate as a demon fighter, besting those much larger and stronger than he. However, it was beginning to take its toll, and Miranda was worried.

"Why don't you take the rest of the night off?" she suggested.

William shot her a dirty look, "Yeah, I'll do that, Miranda. I'll just leave you to fight for me; that sounds about right," he scoffed.

"There probably won't be any more trouble, and Mike, me, and my handy-dandy little zapper here can take care of most problems," she said, pulling the device out of her pocket, and pressing the button to show him the electrical discharge.

"I'm fine," he insisted.

"We got along before you came, you know."

"Yeah, well luv, that was San Diego, not the same thing. Remember you're the one who wanted the extra muscle; it’s why you hired me, to kill things, not because I can serve a mean drink. We both know it’s why I'm here, so don't make it like it's anything else."

"Well, that may be so, but if you get yourself killed, you won't be any help to me then, will you? Anyway, I know why I hired you, but do you know why you accepted? Really know? I don’t know what issues you’re trying to work out are, but if you have a death wish, go work it out somewhere else! I don’t want it on my conscience,” she said, turning away so he couldn’t see how upset she was getting.

Miranda knew that there was a lot, a whole world of lot, which she didn’t know about Spike. She also knew that his heart belonged to another woman, and probably always would, even if he wasn’t with her. Although it had stung somewhat to have her earlier advances gently rebuked by him, it didn’t stop her from being concerned for him. If anything, Spike had turned out to be a good friend, and ally.

"I won't get myself killed," he said, grumping.

Sighing, when she didn’t answer, he walked over to her, “I won’t,” he said softly, “promise.”

"Fine,” Miranda said, turning to face him, “stay on the rest of tonight, but starting tomorrow, you're off for a few days."

His eyes flashed anger, as he downed half the glass of whiskey he'd just poured himself in one long drink.

"That's not necessary,” he said tersely.

"Yes Spike, it is! You haven't taken a day off in nearly 2 weeks. You're not working tomorrow or Monday. Get out of the basement for a while, go home to San Marcos, go up to the mountains, just get the hell out of here for a while!"

He was about to argue with her, but he didn't have the energy. He gave her a curt nod, then went back to work.

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

10:00PM

As she’d passed the last exit which she could take back towards Julian, Buffy’s internal debate ended as to whether she was going to go to Los Angeles tonight, or waiting until tomorrow.

Pulling into a gas station, she topped off her tank, added a quarter quart of oil, and bought a map of Los Angeles, two large espresso cafe lattes, and a bar of dark chocolate for the trip. Although adrenaline was surging through her at the thought of seeing William before the night was over, she also knew that it had already been a exceedingly long day already. Taking a long drink of the strong coffee, and checking the directions she’d been given against the map, she pulled out onto the highway.

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

All night long, William had a sense of something about to happen. After the fight, he expected those feelings to abate, but they hadn’t. Rarely wrong, he’d begun to rely on those senses, call it intuition, when something was about to go down, although he refused to examine why he could sense a menacing demon presence, from a more benign one. It just hit too close to home to acknowledge that distinction between demons.

Looking across the room, he spotted a flash of golden hair and his pulse quickened momentarily. He shook his head at his idiocy, reminding himself that there was no way she could be here. Once, he’d almost been sure that it had been her, enough so that he’d followed a small blonde to where she’d sat down. His disappointment only superceded by his disgust, when he got close enough to see that, not only wasn’t it Elizabeth, but the blonde hair was a wig, worn by a demon.

Yet despite knowing it was for naught, William’s eyes still followed the blonde head bobbing in and out of the crowd, until she turned, and he could see that it wasn’t her. Sighing, he went back to serving the latest customer, the feeling in the pit of his stomach still as active as ever.

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

12:00 MIDNIGHT

Gulping the last of her coffee for courage, Buffy navigated across five lanes of traffic, and gratefully took a downtown exit off of the maddening freeway, which was part and parcel of Los Angeles. A few minutes later, she found Alameda Avenue. Checking the handwritten directions Maria had given her, she confirmed that she only had another couple of miles to go, before she would start following more detailed directions to get her to the bar.

During the long drive, she wondered if she shouldn’t call Dawn and let her know that if she didn’t find William, she might have a guest for the night. However, she couldn’t think of it that way, and so she didn’t. If necessary, she knew she could go there, phone call or not.

She turned off Alameda, after missing the small street the first time she drove past. The street twisted and turned, leading her further and further into a seedy neighborhood, which made the one in San Diego, seem like Brentwood, in comparison. Buffy gripped the steering wheel tightly, as the address numbers neared that of her destination. Slowing down, she inhaled sharply as the small sign on the gray wood and brick building came into view.

Finding a parking spot a few blocks away, she went into her trunk, and grabbed a stake, hidden underneath her emergency road kit. She may have faked out Lillian, but if this place was as bad as she feared, she didn’t want to be unprepared.

As she walked to the bar, she checked the streets and parking lots, hoping to see William’s car, but it was nowhere in sight. By the time she got to the door, she’d begun to fear she was too late to find him. Or, perhaps he’d been tipped off to her inquiry, and had left before she could get there.

A couple of doors away, Buffy stopped to run her hands through her hair, and rubbed her cheeks, hoping to put some color into them. She knew she must look more like something that cat dragged in, than some cool chick, used to hanging out in private clubs. Standing tall, she gathered up her courage, and walked briskly to the door to face her second bouncer for the night.

“Hi,” she said cheerily, as though she didn’t have a care in the world. “Is Wi...Spike here tonight?” she asked, holding her breath, waiting for him to tell her that he was gone, or worse still, that he’d never heard of him.

“Yeah, Spike’s on. You a friend?” he asked.

Buffy’s nodded, her mouth suddenly gone dry. “Yes,” she finally managed to get out, even managing a smile, despite feeling the renewed rush of adrenaline pumping through her, leaving her in desperate need to steady herself.

In the month or so Mike had known Spike, he’d never heard him talk about anyone. Miranda however, was sure that there was someone he still loved. Maybe this was that person.

She felt her face flame as he studied her. The moment passed, and he stepped aside, letting her go by.

‘Good for you, Spike,’ he thought.

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

Heart pounding, Buffy concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, as she entered the darkened bar. It was set up more or less like the other one, though one thing she sensed immediately was the much larger presence of demons; probably equaling if not outnumbering humans. The angry rhythmic music blaring from the speakers seemed to match the overall tone of the place.

The bar was located on the farthest wall away from the door, the shortest route through the middle of the dance floor. Determinedly, Buffy pushed through the masses of gyrating demons and humans until she came out on the other side.

Suddenly the sounds and sights of the bar fell away, as Buffy spotted William. His back was to her, but there was no mistaking him. A woman with short, dark hair walked up and stood next to him, then leaned in to say something to him. Buffy felt a painful stab of jealousy as he turned his head partway toward the woman, and replied. The woman laughed, then patted him on the back before she walked away.

As Buffy approached the bar, she could see William's face in the mirror. Even though she already knew that he had changed his looks, she couldn't help but be shocked as she stared at his platinum hair and black leather coat that he wore. For Buffy it was as if she was seeing Spike for the first time since he'd died closing the Hellmouth.

William stood at the register, counting out the money, as he did every night at this time. Everything over one hundred dollars was put into the safe, to be joined by the rest of the nights proceeds at closing. Stopping to take a drink out of the glass nearby, he looked into the mirror for a moment to check out the scene behind him, and make sure that everything was still alright. Satisfied, that there was nothing amiss, he went back to counting, until suddenly he stopped in mid-count, and slowly looked up, realization hitting him.

Buffy’s wide eyes met his, in the mirror’s reflection. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, sure he must be hallucinating.

She was still there, her mouth now slightly open.

Slowly he turned around, and they stared at each other.

"Elizabeth," he said, finally able to speak.

Buffy didn't reply as she stared into his eyes, and took in the sight of him.

"How did you...what are you doing here?" he stammered.

Her mouth tightened, and she let out a small snort, "I could ask you the same thing, William. Or it’s Spike again, isn't it?"

"I'm working," William said, taking deep breath to get control of his jangled nerves at seeing her here.

"You're working? Here? In a demon bar?" Buffy asked, her tone angry.

"It's not a..." he started, but her look stopped him. He drew himself upright, "So what?"

"So what? I'd say that's a pretty far cry from working at the university for Professor Wittman, isn't it?"

"Yeah, well that's not me anymore, is it?"

"I can see that," she countered, pointing to his hair, and his clothing. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Don't like it?" He asked, leaning across the bar into her personal space. "Thought you liked the vampire look, " he said, challengingly.

"I liked you, you idiot! You think I fell in love with you because I got off on vampires? Or maybe it was that retro 80's look I got off on!” she yelled at him over the music.

He glared at her, shaking his head.

Buffy took a deep breath, not believing that their meeting had so quickly deteriorated. Then again, she didn’t know what she’d expected; that he would immediately fall into her arms, profess his stupidity at having left, and come home with her?

"I fell in love with Spike because he showed me that the man you were was still alive inside him, because...Oh hell, what's the use? Know what William? At least Spike wouldn't quit, wouldn't leave! Maybe you're right after all, and maybe it was just the demon who loved me, not the man!" Buffy said angrily, turning away.

Frozen to the spot, as he watched her walk away.

From the end of the bar, Miranda had witnessed, if not heard, the interaction between the two of them enough to know that this was the woman she’d suspected Spike had been involved with. She walked up to him, as he stood rooted to the spot.

“Well, I guess I’ll have a chance now,” she said, casually.

He turned to look at her, dumbfounded. “What?”

“Her. Looks like you’re ready to let go of your past.”

William looked at her, pain etched in every line of his face.

She rolled her eyes at him. Men could be so dense sometimes. “Go!” Miranda ordered; her head motioned toward Buffy’s retreating figure.

"Wait! Elizabeth!" William yelled, running out from the bar.

Buffy was half way across the room by the time William caught up with her. He grabbed her arm and pulled her around.

“Let go of me!” she yelled, struggling to pull her arm free, at the same time, trying hard not to give in to the urge to slug him as hard as she could.

“No!” he yelled back, grabbing her other arm, so that she now faced him.

“Why? What do you want from me?” Buffy demanded.

“Just...come with me,” he said, trying to pull her the opposite way that she was heading, but she resisted.

“Why William? Why should I?”

Hands on her upper arms, he bent his knees, allowing himself to be eye level with her. “Please?”

The imploring look he was giving her did it; Buffy took a small shuddering breath, and nodded her assent.

William nodded back, relieved, “Come on, this way,” he said, leading her to the back of the bar, through the kitchen area, and out the back door leading to the alley.

William pulled two crates off of a stack, and sat down on one, motioning for Buffy to sit on the other one. She sat down facing him, their knees nearly touching.

“How have you been?” William asked gently, able to take good look at her for the first time since she’d come. He’d never seen her look so disheveled, or slight, as she did to him now, and it worried him.

Buffy gave a little laugh, “Oh just peachy, with a side of keen. How ‘bout you?”

“I don’t know what that means, but sounds about right.”

They looked at each other, and started laughing, breaking the ice a bit.

“How are things at the house? Um, have you winterized yet? Do you have enough fuel?”

“Yeah, Clem’s been over helping. He took care of the propane, and he’s chopped enough wood for three winters I think...” she faded off. “Oh, and the toilet had a leak. It was the seal, so we replaced it. Well, he did most of the replacing; toilets aren’t really my domain of expertise.”

“Oh...Well, good; that’s good,” he said, looking down guiltily at hearing Clem was taking care of Elizabeth and things at the house that should’ve been, had been, his job. It occurred to him, that for all the years he wasn’t there, that this was probably how they’d done things.

Elbows on his knees, William sighed, and rested his head in one hand, before looking up at her, meeting her eyes.

“How did you find me?”

“Don’t you remember what I told you?”

“What’s that?”

“That I’ll always find you, that I’ll always come for you,” she said softly.

Slowly he nodded, “I remember.”

Her hand reached out, interlocking her fingers with his hand that cupped his face.

“Elizabeth,” he mouthed silently, as his closed his eyes for a moment, gripping her hand tightly. Their hands reversed order, so that now, it was hers touching his face. She felt her eyes tear up in response to hearing him softly moan, as she continued to stroke his face, and his hand continued to cling to hers.

Suddenly he shook his head, and abruptly stood up, causing her hand to fall away, “But it doesn’t change anything, you still shouldn’t have come.”

“Why? Why are you doing this?” she asked, standing up to face him.

“Doing what?” he asked, pulling the flask out of his pocket and taking a drink. It was followed by an empty package of cigarettes, which he threw it to the ground.

“All of it! Drinking, smoking, fighting demons...are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, I can see that. You’re doing a great job,” she said, looking at his trembling hands. “You may be trying to look like Spike, but you don’t have the strength he...you once had to fight demons!”

“I do alright,” William answered defensively, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Is that why you’re limping?”

“It’s nothing, just banged it is all,” he said, turning away.

“But why? You still haven’t answered me. Why are you doing this? You could’ve done anything else. I can’t accept that this is what you want. Fighting demons, after all you’ve been through?”

“Don’t fight them all, luv,” he said, adding, “some aren’t so bad; mind their own business, don’t cause problems...”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure Clem will be glad to hear you feel that way.”

William looked at her guiltily, “I’m sorry about that. You know the first demon I saw when I started working, was one who looked like Clem; his type I guess. You know about the other bar too, I suppose?”

Buffy nodded, “Yeah, also about Marlong.”

William looked at her questioningly.

“That was the name of the demon who you thought was Clem. That’s how I found out; he told Clem a guy named ‘Spike’ had mistaken him for Clem,” she said, omitting having talked to the Wittmans or that she’d also found out about Ipso Facto from information in his apartment.

“Oh,” he said, nodding.

“What about the majority of demons that aren’t as benign as Clem’s type? Do you have a death wish?”

He let out a small laugh; it was the second time that night he’d been asked that. First by Miranda, and now by Elizabeth.

“Wouldn’t matter, I’d just come back anyway,” he said shrugging.

“Oh, so that’s what you think is it? That it’s okay for you to risk your life, because you what, think you’re invulnerable? I got a news-flash for you William, you don’t get another life; this is it!”

“Well, I shouldn’t have this one either!” he shot back, pacing in front of her.

“That’s not true,” Buffy said, shaking her head. “You earned it, William! Don’t you see that? You saved the world and everyone in it when you closed the Hellmouth. You deserved to have your life back, your human life, or you wouldn’t be here!”

He stopped and faced her; “It’s my life, right?”

“Right, of course,” she said, wondering what he was getting at.

“Then it’s mine to choose how I want to live it, it’s what I deserve. It’s not up to you to decide that for me, according to your vision of some storybook fairytale starring you and me in the lead roles as the former vampire and slayer who rode off into the sunset of marital bliss. Maybe having a few kiddies along the way, and sitting in rocking chairs when we get old to reminisce about the good old days. How am I doing so far?” he practically yelled, his voice having gotten louder and angrier as he’d gone on.

Buffy listened to him in disbelief as he’d torn into her, biting her lip so hard she could taste the blood, to prevent the tears in her eyes from spilling down in front of him.

“Stop it!”

“Go home, Elizabeth! Don’t come back,” he said, turning to walk back inside.

She stood there, stunned for a moment then just as he was about to open the door, she found her voice, “You’re a liar!”

He whirled around, “I’m a what?” he asked, furiously.

“A liar. You still love me, I know you do...Don’t you?” she asked, hating the sound of her voice; so pathetic, so pleading.

He walked up to her and grabbed her by her upper arms, “Enough to let you go, to let you walk away from this sort of life, from me! Enough to...” he stopped suddenly, as did she, both their head turning towards a loud humming sound coming from down the alley.

“What the hell is that?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy said, but something in her brain was remembering something as the sound grew louder.

“It sounds like chanting,” he said, looking at her.

She nodded.

“Like something monks do,” he added.

The lightbulb went on in her brain, “Shit,” she said, as she saw the tall, dark robed figures now heading towards them.

“I think they’re Gregorline demons. They’re named after Gregorian monks, that’s why they sound like that, all chant-y. I’ve never seen them before, but believe me, their reputation proceeds them, and it’s not good. That and anything to do with monks, never a good thing! By the way, if you have any weapons, now would be the time to get them.”

“What?” William yelled, the sound of the chanting all but drowning them out now.

“Weapons!” she yelled.

William let go of her, and ran to where the crates were stacked, and clambered onto them, reaching a long, wide window ledge about eight feet off of the ground. He threw down a couple of swords and some knives that had been stashed there.

“Get out of here,” he yelled.

“Not a chance,” Buffy yelled back, grabbing a sword, with one hand, a knife with the other.

William ran in front of her, as the demons approached. There were three of them, all towering over him by at least a head, and probably outweighing him by close to a hundred pounds, too.

“Well, at least the odds aren’t too bad...Oh crap,” Buffy said, realizing she spoke too soon, as she spotted an additional three demons coming from the opposite way.

William had also figured the same, until he looked behind him, and now felt his stomach begin to sink. He’d fought a few vamps and demons on his own before, but usually Mike was with him, and the demons didn’t outnumber them like they did now.

“You’ve still got time, get inside!” he yelled frantically, trying to push her.

“No way, William; we’re in this together. Back-to-back now, they’re here!”

The first demon charged, and without preamble, William plunged the sword deep into its stomach with ferocity borne of desperation, and the desire to protect the woman he loved. Shocked, he watched as the demon looked down at the wound, and let out an ear splitting scream sending out shock waves in the night air. A brownish gray gooey blood-like material exploded from the demon’s body onto William’s coat, as it fell over dead.

“It’s the stomach, go for the stomach!” he screamed at her, over the increased chants of the demons, as they charged.

One thing William had learned from the past month was that each demon species had its Achilles’ heel. Through keenly observing which part of their anatomy they seemed to most closely guard when fighting, he could usually best them. Not always an easy thing to do, in the heat of battle, but he prided himself on having developed a knack for this sort of thing. Despite his bravado to Elizabeth, he more than understood that all of his human self was vulnerable, and he’d best maximize his staying potential by winning, and doing so as quickly as possible.

Buffy heard him, and with a surety from years of slaying, neatly stuck her sword in the nearest demon’s abdomen. It fell over dead, also exploding.

“Eww!” she exclaimed, as she was sprayed with the demon’s blood. “Anyone ever tell you guys that you’re really gross?”

“Don’t think they speak English, luv,” William yelled back over his shoulder, as he fought off the other two demons.

As they’d done so many other times in the past, they stood fighting back to back. Each was acutely aware of where the other was, as well as the demons’ positions.

Besides the chants whose purpose was to disorient and numb, there were no other mystical properties these demons had at their disposal. Well, there was brute strength; especially if one considered fists like anvils as such.

William struck at the two demons on his side, wounding them, but he was also taking blows, as was Buffy. A sudden punch to his stomach made him stumble into her. Concentration temporarily lost as she turned toward William, a heavy fist came down on her head, and she fell.

“Watch out!” William yelled.

Quickly orienting herself, she flipped herself up, just as the two demons William had been fighting came at her. Flipping upward, she connected with the nearest one’s jaw, and it fell to the ground disoriented. She plunged the knife into its stomach, just as the other one threw itself at her. They both landed on the dead demon, and rolled over. The demon had her by the throat, and was chanting her into oblivion.

William, who had crippled one of other demons, heard her strangled cry.

“Elizabeth!” he yelled, and with a warrior’s cry, jumped on top of the demon. Grabbing its neck, he pulled it back unnaturally far, until he heard a loud crack. The demon released his grip on Buffy, falling over onto her in a dead heap.

Buffy gasped, as the air rushed back into her lungs. William scrambled up, pushing the demon off of her; “You okay?” he asked, quickly pulling her up.

She nodded, and they turned to face the remaining two. The demons stood still, but their chants had increased. Buffy turned to look at William, and noticed his eyes had glazed over, as the chanting held him in its thrall. Turning back just in time, she saw one of the demons rushing toward them, she threw the knife at it with deadly precision. It screamed, crumpling to the ground.

“Spike!” she screamed, and threw herself on top of him, and they fell, just as the last demon charged. It ran straight into the wall they had been standing near, and fell, temporarily stunned.

“Spike!” she said, breathing heavily as she lay on top of him. As the chanting stilled, William’s eyes fluttered back to the present, finding hers. Automatically, his hands went around her back pulling in her closer, and she responded, by grounding herself into him further as they stared into each other’s eyes.

“Elizabeth,” he said, bringing up one hand to brush softly across her face, moving a piece of hair behind her ear. “I...Move!” from the corner of his eye, he’d seen the Gregorline demon silently get up and start to advance on them. He grabbed for the knife, which had fallen next to him, as he pushed Buffy over, he sat up, and plunged the blade into the demon’s stomach just as it was upon them. The demon screamed, its blood spurting out and over them in a gooey torrent.

“Shit!” Buffy said, trying to wipe the stuff off of her face.

“You okay?” he asked, trying to do the same, though not as much had sprayed on him.

“I don’t know, I think this stuff is burning me.”

He could feel his own hands and parts of his face start to burn now that she’d mentioned it. Worriedly, he looked over at her, her arms, torso, face, and hair were coated in the ooze, and he could see her skin start to redden.

“Shit!” Buffy said again, jumping up and trying in vain to wipe it off her.

“Let’s go!” William said, grabbing her hand.

“Where?”

“Let’s get you into the shower!”

END CHAPTER 166

CHAPTER 167 – WHO ARE YOU?

Mike came rushing out the back door of the bar, followed by some other men, just as William, holding onto Buffy, were about to enter.

"What happened?" Mike asked.

"Demons."

"Figured, why didn't you come get me?"

"We got jumped, wasn't any time for coming to get you,” William said.

"You guys alright?"

Buffy's head turned toward the voice, her eyes narrowing. It was the dark haired woman who had stood next to William at the bar, with so much familiarity.

"More or less, got to get this gunk washed off of us though. Seems to be of a burning nature; quite a bit, actually."

Miranda bit back a smile, noticing that Spike had seemed to have lost the working-class accent she had gotten used to hearing him speak with, “Yeah, go ahead. We’re good,” she said, stepping aside, “you and...?”

“Elizabeth,” William said, “Elizabeth, Miranda. Miranda, Elizabeth.”

Buffy only nodded, appraising the competition. She felt William’s hand tighten around hers; assuring her without words that this woman wasn’t anyone to worry about.

“Nice to meet you,” Miranda said, then turned back to William, “Go on, take care of yourself and Elizabeth.”

“I will,” he said.


William let go of Buffy’s hand just long enough to fumble with the keys to the basement door. “Be careful, it’s dark. Light went out last week, and I keep forgetting to replace it,” he warned, reaching back for her hand. She took it, and they made their way down the stairs. Once there, he reached up, and pulled a chain for the overhead light.

She looked at him questioningly, not seeing anything but the furnace, washer and dryer, and a bunch of boxes.

“It’s this way,” he said. They walked to the other end of the basement, where he produced a second key, and let her into his room. He left the door open so she could see, before he turned on the light in the ceiling. Coming back to her, he closed the door, locking it.

“Going for that minimalist look I see,” she said, frowning at the Spartan conditions. “Not as nice as your... your home,” she said, just barely catching herself from saying apartment.

He stared at her, but didn’t respond, “Don’t need much, I guess. Come on, bathroom’s this way.”

Buffy followed him into the small bathroom. He turned on the faucets; “There’s a towel behind the door; best you get out of those things quick as you can. It’ll take a while for me to adjust this,” he said, as he knelt in front of the tub.

She hesitated for a moment; embarrassed suddenly to be undressing in front of him, even though his back was to her. But the offending, ooze soaked clothing was only making the burning worse. She tore them off, leaving them in a pile on the floor, quickly grabbing the towel from the door and pulling it around her.

“I think it’s ready,” William said, standing up. He looked at her, then looked away. “You want to be careful if you adjust it. The hot is on the opposite side than usual, and there’s more cold than hot, unfortunately. Oh, it’s not such a good spray, you might have to...”

“I’ll figure it out,” she interrupted.

“Right.”

“What about you?” she said, noticing that his forehead and scalp had turned from pink to bright red from his own burns.

“I’m okay, I can wait until you’re done,” he said, putting his hand up to his forehead and trying to not wince.

“No William, it’s your shower, you shouldn’t have to wait.”

“Elizabeth,” he said, looking up in exasperation. “Please just get in, um I mean, unless you’re suggesting...uh, nevermind.”

Her eyes widened for a moment, “I wasn’t,” she said quickly, “but that’ll work.”

He just stared at her, his mouth opening and closing.

“I’m just being practical, come on, lets get this burning crap off of us!” she said, getting into the shower. She pulled the shower curtain most the way closed, leaving enough room for him to enter, and dropped the towel back out onto the floor.

He stood there, frozen, as he heard the shower start, and then a piercing scream.

“What’s wrong?”

“Guess there was still some cold water in the pipes. Sorry, it’s okay now.”

He let out a relieved breath.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well what?”

“Are you coming in, or are you just planning on standing out there until I’m done?” she asked, peeking at him through the opening.

Looking back at her, he pulled off his shirt.

Smiling a little to herself, she ducked back behind the curtain to give him some privacy. She heard the sound of his belt hit the floor, and moments later felt him enter the shower, and saw the shower curtain move as he closed it the rest of the way.

Her back was to him, her hair in the water’s spray as he entered. She didn’t say anything, just lifted her arm up, and tilted the showerhead back, so that he could rinse off as well.

“It’s still on you,” he said, looking at her back, which was streaked with the brownish gray still, red showing around the edges.

“It’s sticky.”

“Hold on,” he said, half way stepping out of the tub to reach something on the sink.

“Got something that’ll help,” he said, taking the washcloth from her.

“What is it?”

“I believe that the name is Fels Naptha,” he said, as he rubbed the hard bar on the washcloth.

“Isn’t that...?” she asked, as she felt him start to rub her back.

“Laundry soap, yes. Works wonders on hard to clean spots of blood and guts I’ve found though.”

“No wonder my mom used to buy it,” Buffy mused.

“It’s coming off now,” he said, as he worked the washcloth in small, gentle circles around her back, careful to not cause more pain to her already irritated skin. He reached over and got a bar of milder soap, and used that to wash away any residue of the harsher one from her back.

His movements slowed, and he became mesmerized by just the feel of her back under his hands, as they slowly moved over her soft skin. So very much he wanted to kiss the little spot right between her shoulder blades, the one he knew always made her shiver in delight. Instead shook his head to clear his reverie, and moved the showerhead to rinse her off.

“Here,” he said, having soaped up the washcloth again, “you do your face and your front, while I take care of your hair for you. Make sure you don’t get any in your eyes. Stings like a bi...a lot,” he corrected. “I know.”

“What about you?” she asked softly. “You should be getting this stuff off of yourself, too.”

“I’m okay, I didn’t have as much on me. It’s almost gone on it’s own,” he said, starting to massage her scalp with the shampoo.

“I don’t remember bringing my shampoo,” she teased him, sniffing.

“Um...yeah, well, I like it too.”

“I know,” she said smiling to herself, although she knew he’d had his own favorites, none of which had ever been vanilla anything.

She closed her eyes and let herself relax as he massaged the shampoo into her scalp. He pushed her head back under the water, and after rinsing out the suds, added conditioner, running his fingers through the tangles, like he’d seen her do, until her hair was snarl free and squeaky clean. He smiled at his handy work.

“Good as new, luv,” he said, “wanna get dried off, or want to stay and soak up more of the barely warm ambience of my pathetic shower?”

She turned to look at him, and shook her head, “No, it’s your turn now, William,” she said, as she shimmied around him, her bare flesh on his, causing him to gasp softly.

Pushing on his chest, she backed him into the water, and reached over his head to direct the spray for his height. As she did, she slipped a bit, falling into him. He grabbed onto her to prevent them both from falling. He looked at her, his face betraying both his desire and emotional turmoil from having her so close to him again.

“Um...”

“Yeah,” she said, taking a step back, but not taking her eyes off of his, “you should maybe turn around now.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers, but all too aware of the rise and fall of her breasts, and the heat between their bodies. Buffy noticed it too, of course. Even without looking south, even before she’d fallen into him and felt his desire, even before he’d washed her back, and for a moment she’d thought she felt his warm breath on her skin. There were no surprises here; they’d always had heat between them.

She’d kept her eyes on his, but couldn’t help seeing the bruises on his torso. However, it was when he had turned, that she had to swallow down a gasp. There in vivid colors crisscrossing his back, were scars and bruises, proof of his new and dangerous life he’d been living. Lower down the back of his knee was angry purple, and swollen. It was no small wonder he’d been limping.

Buffy took the washcloth, and began to wash his back, as he had done for her. William winced when she went over a particularly nasty one starting on his right shoulder, although she tried to be as gentle as she could.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Putting aside the washcloth, her fingers feathered over the angry gash.

“It’s alright, rest of it feels...nice,” he said, hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

He gave a small nod.

“Okay, now for your head...hair!” she amended quickly, when she saw him freeze.

He reached out his hand behind him for the bottle. She was disappointed, but didn’t say anything. His blonde, Spike curls had been calling out to be touched, as she unabashedly stared at them now. Still, encouraged by his little admission, she returned her attentions to his back, alternately stroking and massaging.

“Ready for the conditioner?”

“Thanks,” he said, putting his hand out. Instead he felt it being squeezed onto his hair, and her hands rubbing it in. He gave himself over to her touch and the nearness of her body almost, but not quite touching his. Bitter tears of yearning fell at what he’d been denying himself, for what he told himself he didn’t deserve.

“That’s enough!” he said suddenly and a bit too loud.

Buffy froze.

“I mean, I got it,” he added, when she didn’t reply.

Quickly he finished rinsing his hair. “Best find some clothes for you, think yours are done for,” he said not looking at her, as he turned around.

“Are you finished, or do you want me to leave the water running?”

She shook her head.

William turned off the water and pulled open the shower curtain, grabbing a towel he handed it to her. After grabbing his own, he stepped out of the tub, pulling the shower curtain closed between them as he did, partly to preserve what remaining warmth was in the room, but more so because he couldn't bear being so close to her this way anymore.

Without another word, she heard the door to the bathroom open and close, and she was alone. Buffy stood there in shock for a few moments, wondering what had happened. Finally, she covered herself with the towel, listening for him to return with the clothes he’d mentioned. Seconds turned to minutes, and her shock began to turn to anger.

Outside of the bathroom, William paced around the room, muttering to himself. Going to the dresser, he rifled through a sock drawer, until he found what he was looking for.

Hands shaking, he opened up the new pint of whiskey and drank straight from the bottle. His eyes stung along with his throat, but he felt calmer after a long pull. Closing the drawer, he found some clothes in a pile and got dressed, absentmindedly even putting the duster back on.

Buffy sat on the closed lid of the toilet seat and listened as the drawer was opened and closed, assuming that he had been looking for something for her to wear. Thinking she heard him approaching the bathroom, she stood up, but no knock came. She waited and waited, wondering what the hell he could be doing for so long. Her foot tapped impatiently on the cold tile floor, as she grew angrier and angrier, at both her untenable situation, and at him.

Forlornly, she looked down at her own ooze soaked clothes on the floor. The acidic blood of the demons had burned through them, leaving them in tatters. “Definitely not a good option,” she muttered.

Finally, she stood up, and went to the door, clutching the towel around her. She put her ear to the door. Hearing nothing, she opened it up, and was surprised to see William just standing against the wall near the door, staring off into space. A couple of large candles burning on the dresser, now replaced the harsh overhead light.

“What are you doing? I thought you were going to get something for me to wear, so I could leave.” She glanced down at his hand and saw the bottle, and her lips tightened into a hard expression.

Slowly he looked up at her. “Elizabeth,” he said softly, his eyes focusing as if he’d just become aware of her presence.

“Hello! Clothes! Unless you want me to leave wearing this towel, but I will if I have to; I’m sure as hell not sticking around here to watch you abuse yourself.”

He didn’t answer her.

“Fine, I’ll find some myself,” she said exasperated, turning away.

His hand shot out and grabbed her arm, “Don’t walk away from me!” William yelled.

Instinctively, she swung at him, but he grabbed hold of her wrist a split second before her fist made contact with his nose. The bottle broke as it hit the floor, filling the room with the smell of whiskey.

“Let me go!” she yelled back, twisting to get away, but he held tight.

“Who are you? I look at you and I don’t see William anymore, and I don’t see Spike! I don’t know what I see anymore. What do you want from me?” she repeated.

The towel had fallen to the floor, when she’d swung at him. Still holding onto her raised hand, and other arm, he looked down at her body, her chest heaving angrily. Unconsciously, his tongue licked his lips, as he stared at her.

Suddenly, he pulled her towards him.

“Bastard!” Buffy said through gritted teeth, as his mouth crashed down on hers, tasting of whiskey, and she moaned as his tongue slipped inside her mouth. One hand firmly taking hold of her breast, the other held her around the waist, tight against him.

Her arms went underneath his coat, as she helped him shrug it off. Heedless of his injuries, and furious that after all this time, her traitorous body still responded to the violence and the anger toward a certain peroxide blonde as foreplay.

Roughly, she pulled up on his shirt, until her hands made contact with his skin. She heard him gasp, whether in pain or pleasure, she didn’t care; wouldn’t care. He’d brought her to this point of insanity, let him deal with the results.

Mouths still joined, she felt his hands lifting her up, and her legs automatically wrapped around his waist, while her hands reached between them to undo his jeans. She only managed to get his jeans part way unzipped before it stuck, and he couldn’t do the rest of it, while holding her up. Her hand rubbed his straining cock through the offending material, and he growled out his frustration before stumbling over to the bed. He fell back onto it, and she toppled down with him, making herself ignore what surely was a grunt of discomfort as he landed with her on top of him. With a fury towards him she hadn’t felt in years, she roughly pulled his T-shirt over his head, enjoying with satisfaction the ripping sound it made, as she did so.

William looked at her in surprise, his eyes large with unbridled lust, as she sat up and yanked his pants down, throwing them on the floor. He put his knees up, causing her to slip forward right onto his cock, with only a bit of adjustment needed, then grabbed her, pulling her back down on him.

Buffy’s hands threaded through his curls, pulling hard on his hair as they kissed. He groaned, as his hands rocked her hips against him as he thrust up into her. His head was tingling and his lips sore, from the way she was going at him.

Feeling like his hair was about to come out in clumps, he grabbed onto hers just as hard, pulling her up from him for a moment, and looked into her face. He saw her eyes blazing at him in lust and fury.

“I hate you,” she hissed at him. William just stared at her for a moment, then slowly nodded, “That makes two of us,” he finally said, a look of resignation on his face.

Letting go of her hair, he grabbed hold of her shoulders and rolled them over, still inside her. Fueled by her words, and his own self-loathing, he let her body be a vehicle for his frustration and anger, as his thrusts became harder and faster.

Her moans gave way to tears as the truth of situation finally broke her.

William kept pummeling into her, until suddenly, somewhere along the edge of his consciousness, he realized she had stilled. He stopped, and looked down at her face, saw her eyes tightly closed, and lips trembling with silent sobs.

“Oh God!” William said, horrified. He pulled out of her, and rolled over.

“I’m sorry. Elizabeth. I'm sorry, oh God..." he kept repeating.

His apologies only served to make her cry harder, until her stomach hurt and throat tightened from the effort of making them silent. She felt the bed shaking, and looked at him. He had scooted up, and was now holding his head in both hands and rocking against the wall, as he mumbled his apology to her again and again. She wasn't sure whom her heart was breaking for more, him or herself. After all, they'd both let this...all of it, go too far, until they had totally screwed up everything that had been so wonderful about them.

Seeing him like this sobered her up. Afraid he was going to hyperventilate, she put her hand out to still him. He looked down at her hand, then at her with tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"Shhh," she said, "it's not your fault; it's both of ours."

He shook his head, and reached down next to the bed. A bottle of Jack Daniels appeared in his trembling hand.

"Yes, it is,” she said firmly, putting her hand on top of the bottle, before he could get the cap off, “and that’s not going to help.”

“Won’t hurt,” he said, laughing maniacally at some inner joke.

“William!”

He stopped laughing and looked at her. “What?”

“Lay down and close your eyes,” she said, as she gently took the bottle from him. “You need to get some rest now.”

“I can’t. Can’t sleep, can’t rest. That’s why I need that, I can’t do it without it,” he said, his eyes glancing up at her in shame.

“Yes you can,” she said softly, “I’ll help you.”

His breath shuddered, as she pulled on his arm, coaxing him into lying back down.

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” she said. Once he was lying down, with his eyes shut, she curled up next to him, and began to trace circles on his chest, going a bit lower every couple of minutes.

William made a few mumbles of resistance, but he soon gave into the feeling. As she went lower and lower on his abdomen, she could feel the increased rise and fall of his chest, as his cock strained toward her hand. As she finally made contact with it, she heard him moan softly.

He started to turn towards her, his hand reaching out to stroke her breast, but she gently pushed it away. Instead, she lifted up, so that his arm could go around her. Her hand teased him a while longer, alternating between his cock and his balls, until his breathing became labored. As it did, his movement of his hand on her back, and in her hair also increased, matching her stroke for stroke as he grew harder and harder, until she herself was also breathing in rhythm to his excitement. A little moan escaped her lips, to his much louder one, as she felt him begin to come.

Afterwards, he took hold of her hand as she released him, and kissed her fingers, then brought it to his chest, as his other arm held onto her tightly. “Thank you,” he mumbled sleepily, kissing the top of her head.

She didn’t reply, just lay there wondering how she was going to go about leaving. Her thoughts soon drifted to the fact that by now, he should’ve been...um, wiping up. She tried to crane her neck to see if there was something within range, and spotted his towel and a woefully, thin blanket at the end of the bed.

William made a little hurt sound when she tried to rise, and tried to pull her back, but she managed to sit up and grab the two items.

“Here,” she said, handing him the towel, as she lay back down.

“Huh?” he looked up sleepily from heavy lids.

“Never mind,” she said, and began to wipe off his stomach.

“Oh,” he said, taking it from her and finishing for himself. He tossed it away from the bed when he was finished.

Buffy looked at him, and listened, as she heard him start to snore.

“I’m sorry, guess you were right...” he mumbled, fading off.

“It’s alright William, just go to sleep,” she said, pulling the thin blanket over him as best she could.

He nodded once, and she heard him snore again.

Lying there, she tried to make sense of it all, but there was no sense to be made; each thought eventually leading back to her own sense of inadequacy and failure.

Now, she just wanted to leave, go home and lick her wounds, anything other than being pathetic enough to stay the night, and have him not want her there when he woke. Still, each time she tried to get up, he pulled her back, even though he was still asleep.

Figuring that at some point he would be deeply enough asleep so that he wouldn’t notice, she decided to just close her eyes; it would just be for a few minutes, she told herself. But weariness from the long, grueling day overtook her and soon she was sound asleep, in William’s possessive embrace.

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

A few hours later, Buffy startled awake, disoriented. As the memories came back to her, so did the tears. Not wanting to awaken him, she carefully moved out of his arms, and this time he was too deeply asleep to notice. Getting up, she took one of the candles and looked around, until she found a T-shirt and pair of his jeans she could wear, and put them on. Miraculously, she managed to locate her purse, and took out a small notebook and pen. Quietly, she tore the note off of the pad, and walked back over to the bed.

Unabashedly, she stared down at William’s now peacefully sleeping form, looking so much like Spike, it made her heart hurt, and she wasn’t even sure why. In the glow of the candles, she couldn’t help being reminded of his old crypt, and how in his sleep, he would look so innocent, that for a while, she could forget that he was a vampire. Now she could almost forget he was human.

Leaning down, she placed a soft kiss on his head, “Goodbye, William” she whispered. Taking another look at the note, she crumpled it and stuffed it into her pocket; there just wasn’t anything left to say.

END CHAPTER 167

CHAPTER 168 - OUTBREAK

NOVEMBER 15, 2009
SATURDAY
NOON

***
William lay on a hill above the Lake District, journal by his side, and watched the wispy clouds above. Although it was sunny, the weather was cooler than normal for a late summer’s day. William shivered, wishing he’d thought to bring his jacket, but in his hurry to take some time for himself while the rest of the family rested from their busy holiday, he’d forgotten. He closed his eyes, and tried to will himself to feel the sun’s warmth, over the cool wind. It must’ve been working, because suddenly it seemed as though the temperature had risen, and his body felt suffused with comfort and warmth.

Opening his eyes he startled. A woman stood above him, the sun shining around her blonde hair like a halo. She smiled at his startled expression.

“What are you?” he asked.

“What do you want me to be?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

She kneeled down next to him, and put her hand on his face. “It’s really quite a simple question, William. You know who I am, but what do you want me to be?”

He swallowed, “How can a man...how can I ask anything of you?”

“Because you won’t ask for anything that I’m not already willing to give you.”

“But what if what I want, I don’t deserve?”

“Then I’ll still gladly give it to you with an willing heart.”

He grabbed her hand and kissed it, grateful tears springing to his eyes.

“So, what do you want me to be?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did you feel, right before you first saw me?”

His blue eyes widened with understanding, and he smiled at her. “That was you. You were my warmth, my comfort, my....”

“Yes,” she said sadly, standing up and taking a step backwards, “I was, and can be again, but not if you don’t hold on to me.”

“What?” he asked scrambling to his feet. Looking around he saw that he was no longer on a gentle hillside in England, but back in Julian, and it was Elizabeth standing at the edge of the lookout beyond ‘their tree.’

“You’re not holding on,” she warned, still walking backwards.

“Elizabeth, don’t move! Don’t go!”

“It’s too late, William. You wouldn’t hold on,” she said, as she stepped backwards into the abyss.

***

“No!” he screamed, thrashing the bed covers.

William opened his eyes to the dim light of the low burning candles, and to the fading scent she’d left behind. Or maybe it was from the dream; he wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

Shakily, he sat up on the side of the bed, his head swimming dizzily, but he willed his aching and battered body upright, and went into the bathroom. There, still lying on the floor still, were the remnants of Elizabeth’s demon-tattered clothing. It hadn't been a dream; she'd really been here. Sinking down against the tub, he put his head in his hands, and wept.

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

He was still sitting in the bathroom, when an hour later he heard pounding on his door.

"I know you're there Spike! I saw your car outside," Miranda called through the door.

"Go away!"

"No, I won’t. I told you to get out of here for a few days, and I meant it!"

"Fine, I'll leave!" he yelled.

"Good, don't come back before Monday; Tuesday, even," Miranda said, with a parting knock.

Furious, he pulled himself up, threw some things into a bag, grabbed his car keys, and headed out. He stopped on the way to grab a couple of bottles of Jack Daniels, "Take 'em outta my paycheck," he said to Miranda, stomping off.

Throwing his stuff into the back seat, William sat in the car, wondering what to do, and where to go. He had no intention of going to San Marcos. Having not been there in quite a while, he knew the Wittman's would come to check on him, and he didn't want to deal with either their concern, or have to lie to them. It was just too much for him to handle.

Instead, once at the highway, William drove north, and headed up the coast. His intention was to keep driving until nightfall. Instead, an hour past Santa Barbara, he pulled into a nondescript, small old motel off of the highway. After paying for two days at the front desk, with instructions that he wasn't to be disturbed, he bought some snack foods from the vending machines. As he’d requested, his room was in the far back of the motel.

William pulled up in front of the room, and grabbed the bag from the back seat, and let himself into the room. It was small, its walls painted tan, with faux paintings of some nautical scenes, one over each bed. The room had a desk, a phone, and a small television set. The bathroom/sink area was at the far end of the room. Tossing his stuff on the extra bed, William drew the blinds closed. Except for the a little stream of sunlight where the curtains didn’t quite close over the edge of the windows, it was pitch black in the room.

Tossing his shirt over the chair, William sat down on the bed, and uncapped one of the bottles. Pouring a good measure into the tumbler he’d retrieved from the sink, he drank it down, neat.


NOVEMBER 16, 2009
SUNDAY
4:00PM

With no sense of how much time had passed, Buffy sat huddled in bed like a person in shellshock, since returning home early yesterday morning from her impromptu William-finding mission. Though the simple truth was that it was just as much purposeful, as shock. She’d come to realize that Spike had been onto something back in Sunnydale, back when she'd found him in the high school basement so very long ago. He'd told her if you didn't move, didn't speak, didn't think, that it didn't hurt as much.

Only three times since yesterday, had she spoken with anyone, and only one of those times, had it been by her initiation.

As she was driving home yesterday, she'd received a phone call from Dawn. Although she didn't want to, she knew if she didn't talk to her, Dawn would just call back until Buffy finally answered, and if she didn't, she'd worry. Reluctantly, she took the call, and as brief as she could, she told Dawn about William, less the personal stuff. She kept her voice steady and emotions in check because she knew that Dawn would rant and be furious at William, when she couldn't be.

"He's working in a demon bar?" Dawn had sputtered, "Is he crazy?"

"I'm afraid so," Buffy had answered, with a small, tight laugh.

"Really? Crazy-crazy?"

"No, not like vampire-in-the-school-basement-possessed-by-The-First-crazy, more like, I-found-out-I-was-a-vampire-and-now-nothing-means-a-damn-crazy. Other than that, I'm afraid he knows exactly what he's doing."

"What's that? Trying to get himself killed?" Dawn asked.

"Looks like," Buffy said softly.

"Oh, Buffy! I'm so sorry. I swear I'm going to kill him before he gets the chance. I'm going to go down there and kick his ass. I'll have John go with me. We can..."

"Don't!" Buffy said. "Let it go, Dawn. He made it clear it's his life to do what he wants with it, even if it gets him hurt...or worse.”

"You don't mean that, Buffy."

"I have to mean it, Dawn," she said, taking a deep breath. "I got to get off now, I'm driving, okay? Please Dawn, don't do anything, let it go."

Dawn hesitated.

"Please Dawn? You've got to promise me!" Buffy pleaded.

"Okay, Buffy. I promise, but only for you," she conceded the backwards logic, keeping her fingers crossed, just in case.

~~~

Then yesterday afternoon, Clem had come over. When she didn’t answer the door, he had come in anyway.

“Buffy?” Clem said, poking his head into the bedroom.

She looked up at him slowly, “Clem.”

“What happened Buffy? I didn’t hear your car last night. You saw him, didn’t you?”

Buffy nodded, “Yeah, in L.A., actually.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she’d replied, turning away.

He didn’t say anything for a minute.

“You sure? You know I’m a good listener,” Clem said softly.

“I know. I just can’t, not right now.”

“Okay, but if you want to...”

“I know. Thanks.”

Clem turned to walk away.

“He’s so lost,” she said in a small voice.

He came back into the bedroom, and sat down on the bed, and took her hand. “I know. I can go and talk to him. I’ll make him listen Buffy, even if he doesn’t want to.”

She shook her head, “No, you can’t. Nobody can. He won’t listen. If he won’t listen to me...”

“I know him Buffy. I know how stubborn Spike can be.”

“And don’t you think I do?”

“Of course you do...”

“Then don’t. I’ve already tried.”

“You sure?”

She nodded.

“Okay, but if you change your mind...”

“I know. Thanks, Clem.”

He’d left soon afterwards, but only after she promised him that she’d get up and eat some soup he’d brought over.

~~~

In the middle of the night Buffy suddenly rose, and went to find her phone.

“Hello?” asked a sleepy voice.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“Buffy? Is that you? What’s wrong?” asked Giles as he sat up and automatically reached for his glasses from his bedside table.

Buffy explained to him in as much and as little detail as possible, about the demon problem in L.A. where William was working.

“It’s a bad scene. I’m afraid for him Giles, afraid that he’s going to get himself killed. These Gregorlines, they weren’t your every day run-of-the-mill type demons.”

Giles had gone into his study and was now looking into his demon database, as they spoke. “You’re right Buffy, these demons usually work as scouting agents for a cult of demons named the Frashiks who usually only come around when they’ve gotten word that a town is ripe for the picking; that is, there’s no slayer to stop them.”

“But it’s L.A., Giles! Not exactly the size of Sunnydale.”

“Yes, I realize that, but these demons have tried to take over large cities before, it’s just that they’ve yet to succeed.”

“And you think that’s why they’re in L.A. now?”

“I’m afraid that assumption may very well be correct.”

“Then I’ll have to take care of them, I’m still The Slayer.”

“A slayer,” Giles corrected, gently.

“A slayer,” she said, resigned.

“No Buffy, let me call Wesley and make sure he knows. He’s got over a dozen slayers in L.A. he can put on it.”

“Shouldn’t he have already known about it, then?”

“Yes, one would think that.”

“Well, I’m not going to wait for Wesley to get his group of slayers involved, Giles. I just can’t!” she said. William might very well have a death wish, but she’d be damned if she’d make it easy for him.

“I’ll call Wesley to find out right away, and get back to you.”

“Giles, it’s 3:00am here.”

“Do you want me to wait, Buffy?”

“No,” she said, swallowing, “I don’t.”

“Then I’ll call you back,” he said hanging up.

Twenty minutes later, the phone rang.

“Giles?”

“Yes. I just talked to Wesley. I had to track him down. It seems that him and his slayers have been in Mexico for a couple of weeks taking care of a demon problem in Encinada. The interesting thing about it, is that they’ve been fighting the same type of demons; the Gregorlines.”

“Pretty convenient coincidence, isn’t it?” Buffy asked.

“Yes, that’s exactly what we thought, that they’d been set up to be out of town so that the demons could establish a foothold in Los Angeles. Wesley is rounding up the slayers as we speak, and bringing them back to L.A. He’ll have them there before day’s end; by the evening for sure.”

“Did you tell him about Ipso Facto?”

“Yes, he’ll have a couple of slayers stationed in the bar tonight, with a couple more in the outside, and another few patrolling the general area.”

“What did you tell him about William?”

“You needn’t worry, Buffy. I only told Wesley what he needed to know about, although I did warn him that William now looked like Spike again, but that he most definitely wasn’t a vampire. Of course, the slayers would know that instinctively.”

“Why would they even think it? Most of them have never seen him, unless any of them were from Sunnydale.”

“You forget, William the Bloody’s fame quite proceeds him. He is very much in the annals of watcher’s textbooks, those that hadn’t been destroyed, and the newer ones we’ve put together in the past seven years; along with pictures, of course.”

“Forget?” she snorted.

“What I mean, Buffy,” he said gently, “is forgotten how he was, and is, perceived outside of your very personal experiences with him.”

“Oh,” Buffy said, her mind retrieving and reviewing, in nanoseconds, the very vast library of just what those very personal experiences with him had been.

“Still, shouldn’t the damned textbooks have been updated, to reflect that William the Bloody just happened to save the world?”

“Of course, they have been. I dare say though, I can’t imagine, given William’s current state of mind, that he would want that sort of attention from the slayers either.”

Buffy sighed, the fight gone out of her. “You’re right Giles. I’m sorry if I sounded so...”

“Exasperating?” he offered.

“I was going to say like a bitch.”

“I’d never think that of you Buffy. I’ve got far too much respect for you. And Buffy, one more thing?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

A small snort escaped her before she answered. “Easier said than done.”

“I know, but try anyway. For me?”

“I’ll try.”

“Good. I’ll let you know the outcome, as soon as I hear from Wesley. Don’t worry, William’s safety is the highest priority of the mission.”

“I would’ve thought that saving L.A. from the demon hoards would be the highest priority.”

“Well, next to that, then.”

“Fair enough. Thank you, Giles. For everything.”

“You’re welcome, Buffy.”

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


NOVEMBER 17, 2009
MONDAY
6:00AM

Buffy startled as the clock radio came on, alerting her to the time. Wearily, she got up out of bed, and went to turn on the coffeemaker, like she did every morning. Her head throbbed, and she felt light-headed. Grim faced, she made a mental note to eat something before she left the house, so that she wouldn’t fall over in an exhausted heap in front of her class. She grabbed the coffeepot and poured the half-cup it had already made, replaced it, and headed for the showers.

By the time she got to school, she was feeling a bit better, physically, anyway.
Mrs. Carpello came down to her classroom as she was getting her lesson plans in order, to tell her that Lily wouldn’t be coming in that day.

“Her son Brian is home from school with the flu. She said they had to take him to the hospital on Saturday. She said he had an extremely high fever, and wound up having a febrile seizure.”

“Oh my God, is he okay?” Buffy asked.

“He is now, but he’s still pretty sick. She said he was fine on Friday evening, but by Saturday morning he was sick as a dog; throwing up, fever, sore throat...”

“Didn’t he get a shot?”

“A flu shot? I don’t know,” Mrs. Carpello answered. “Probably. All the schools were offering them. Anyway, Elizabeth, I just wanted to let you know that Lily wouldn’t be in, so if you need any help let me know.”

“Okay, but I’m sure we’ll be fine. If you talk to Lily again, will you tell her I’ll give her a call after school?”

“I will.”

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

Buffy went back to working on her classroom plans, the ones she’d neglected to do over the weekend, as she tried to ignore the pounding headache which was coming back with a vengeance. Her stomach had also started to hurt.

“Probably because you didn’t put anything in it except coffee and toast for almost three days,” she told herself.


8:30am

Buffy looked up at the clock, then down at her watch, and made a face. Usually by this time, half her class had already arrived. School officially started at 8:50, but about half of the kids went to the All Day room before school, so their parents could get to work on time, and almost all the others were dropped off by now.

Getting up, she went out into the hall, just in time to see about a dozen of her students heading down to the classroom.

“Hey, I was beginning to wonder where everyone was,” she said.

“This is all of us from the All Day room,” Sally said.

“How many are there usually?” Buffy asked.

“I don’t know, a lot more!”

“Where is everyone?”

“Sick.”

“I’ll be right back,” Buffy said, turning to Sally. “You’re in charge for a few minutes, okay?”

Sally stood up straight, “I’ll make sure they get started on their morning work,” she said, seriously.

“I’m sure you will, but I’ll be right back.”


Buffy walked into the office, and until Sue was off of the phone. It was a call-off by one of the parents, she could tell.

“What’s up?” Sue asked her.

“That’s what I was going to ask, I’ve only got about a dozen students here this morning, where is everyone?”

Sue just looked at her, “Didn’t you seen the news this weekend?”

Buffy shook her head, “No, I was...out of town.”

“Well, that flu they’ve been warning about, it’s hit, and hit hard. There are schools closing all over from so many of the students being home sick. I’ve had over 30 calls already this morning,” she said, turning, as the phone rang. “And that’s probably another one.”

“Hello? Yes, I see. I’ll let Mrs. W. know.”

“That’s another one, Seth is out for the day.”

Buffy shook her head, “I don’t understand. What about the flu shots they all got a few weeks ago?”

“I don’t know, sometimes it’s too little, too late, or it’s another strain,” Sue said.

“Crap!”

“Yeah, you said it.”

“Well, guess I’d better go and teach the students I do have here today.”

“Okay. Listen; if any of the kids start to get sick, just send ‘em down right away. I have a feeling I’m going to be calling moms and dads to come get their little angels all day.”

“Looks like it,” Buffy said, as she walked back to her classroom.

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

NOVEMBER 17, 2009
MONDAY
NOON

There was pounding, insistent, painful pounding. There was also ringing.

“Mr. Worthington? The front desk needs to know if you’re going to be checking out or if you’re staying on,” said the motel maid’s voice through the door.

William struggled to shake off the sleep he fought so hard to find.

“Mr. Worthington?”

“What is it?” he called.

“It’s past check-out time, and we were wondering if you’re staying another day?”

William looked up at the ceiling, trying to clear his head of the inevitable hangover. He hesitated before answering; did he want to stay here? Lost?
And where was here? Nowhere, came the answer. He was nowhere, with nothing of himself to claim. Was this what his life had come to, hiding out in a place even worse than the basement room of Ipso Facto?

Chagrined, he slowly sat up. “I must have overslept,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll be down to check-out in a short while.”

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

JULIAN

By lunchtime, three students had gone home sick, and by the end of the day, she was down to five, one of whom she was sure was getting sick as well. The headache she had didn’t seem to respond to anything she threw at it, and although her stomach felt a bit better, her throat was now scratchy, and she felt feverish.

“Psychosomatic,” she told herself. After all, being in a room full of sick people all day...and another reason she would never have made it in the medical profession.

Mrs. Carpello called a meeting for after school.

“Think she’s going to close the school tomorrow?” Marilyn asked Buffy as they walked downstairs to join the others.

“One can only hope."

They walked in and took their seats. One of the teachers was already speaking.

“...we’ve had more than half our students out ill today, and I think that if we’re anything representative of the county at all..."

"It is,” Mrs. Carpello said, “it's been on the news all afternoon. Most all the schools have had an extreme number of absences. I expect that the school board will hear from the county and state health departments this evening, and close all the schools tomorrow, and possibly for the rest of the week in order to contain it.”

“That will be a lot of school to make up," Marilyn said.

“True," Mrs. Carpello answered, "but we have more latitude here, than at the public schools. We’re small enough that we can find out what will be most convenient for the majority of families; even if it means a couple of weekend days. If not, there’s always the option of making spring break shorter, or going another week or more into summer break.”

Groans were heard.

“I know you don’t want that, no one does, but that's where it stands for now. The important thing right now is to get this outbreak contained before we have 100% of our students sick.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“So, how will we know about tomorrow?” Marilyn asked.

“It should be on the evening or late news. I would say, don’t plan on being here tomorrow, unless you hear otherwise from me. As far as Wednesday, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I need each of you to call the parents tomorrow, and find out how many of your students would still be staying home. Then you'll report back to me. After I get a count from everyone, I’ll be able to tell you. If more than 50% are well enough to return, we’ll resume with classes. If not, you’ll repeat the calls on Wednesday and Thursday."

“That’s a lot of calling,” Buffy said. “Each of us will have to call something like twenty sets of parents to find out how the kids are doing, and then call them back to let them know one way or the other? That’s forty some phone calls, and it’s not like we'll just be able to just ask, ‘What’s your child's status? Thank you and good-bye.’ None of us will be able to do that."

“I know it is, Elizabeth. But you can also ask them to call and let you know if their child is well enough to return, and also, I’ll update the message board, as well as the answering machine, so one phone call should do it. Per day, that is."

“Mrs. Carpello, Elizabeth has a point,” Sue said, “I don't know of any other school whose teachers have such a close, personal relationship with their students and families. However, under the circumstances, I think that you should utilize the automated phone system to both notify them of the school closings, and to ask them to leave us a message about their child's health. If it’s something serious, then they can call the teacher directly, or ask that we call them back. I also think that the message board should be utilized. There’s an easy way to set up a questionnaire regarding if their child is still ill, and what day they expect them to be well enough to return. I can stay after and set that up, if you wish.”

“You all like that idea better?” Mrs. Carpello asked.

Everyone nodded, enthusiastically.

“Very well, thank you for the excellent idea, Sue. I’d still expect to hear from all of you tomorrow, to keep me updated. I suspect that you’ll be hearing from many of your student’s parents, regardless.”

Buffy let out a sigh of relief. The meeting was over a few minutes later. She and Marilyn walked out to their cars together.

“I’m glad you said something, Elizabeth. Otherwise we would’ve spent all day tomorrow and tonight on the phone.”

Buffy coughed, “I’m just glad Sue spoke up. At least it didn’t make it just sound like I was whining.”

They stopped at Marilyn’s car.

“Well, guess I’ll see you later in the week, then,” Buffy said.

Marilyn nodded, “Yeah, maybe. By the way, how are you feeling? You don’t look so good yourself.”

“I’m okay, just have a headache I can’t seem to shake today. I’ll be alright.”

“You’d better be,” she said, shaking her finger at her, “somebody has to stay well.”

“I’ll be fine. Same goes for you!”

Marilyn laughed, and crossed her fingers, as she walked off to her car.

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

3:30PM

Thinking of the rich soup that Clem had left her, Buffy reluctantly stopped at a convenience store to buy something quick, light, and more importantly, microwaveable. She knew she had next to nothing in the house, but couldn’t stand the thought of going to a regular supermarket. She bought some canned soup, a loaf of bread, yogurt, and some 7-Up, promising herself, she would actually purchase some real food sometime this week.

On her way out, she ran into one of the parents of one of her ill students in the parking lot, who had also come for quick ‘sick’ foods, such as popsicles, applesauce, and ginger ale. Katie’s mom kept her talking in the light drizzle, for over ten minutes.

By the time Buffy arrived home, she felt like she didn’t even have the energy to get out of the car. Just opening the bottle of 7-Up seemed like an effort. Still, she poured herself part of a glassful, and took it to her bedroom. Telling herself she just needed a little nap, she lay down on top of the blankets, and fell asleep.

Three hours later, she woke, teeth chattering, and shaking with chills. It took all of her effort to pull the covers around her.

A couple of more hours later, she once again awoke, drenched in sweat, and nauseous. Yanking off the covers, she sat up slowly.

“This can’t be good,” she said feeling her forehead and wondering where she’d put her thermometer the last time she’d used it.

Taking a sip of the warm 7-Up only served to suddenly make her want to throw up. Somehow, she made it to the bathroom, and threw up into the sink. Her sweat-drenched clothing was making her chilled again, and she sat down on the toilet, and with effort, pulled them off. Teeth clenched from the effort, she put on her nightgown, and robe, and started off to the kitchen.

“Damnit!” she said, finding only one aspirin left in the bottle. Gritting her teeth, she swallowed it down with some water, hoping that it would stay down long enough to do her some good. She grabbed a bucket from the laundry room, and went back to bed.

It wasn’t to be the case; no sooner had she lain down, than she had to throw up again. Leaning over, she emptied the scant contents of her stomach into the bucket.

Covering herself up, she lay there shaking with chills again, as her fever climbed higher and higher.

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

LOS ANGELES
IPSO FACTO
8:00PM

Miranda hadn’t said much to Spike since he’d come on tonight. She’d been more than ready to have it out with him, if he’d showed up in the state he’d been in when he’d left. However, he’d been nothing but polite, subdued, and even sober, since he’d started his shift. That in and of itself was strange, but she kept quiet, watching him from a distance.

William was distracted all night. He’d had a vague, but gnawing sense of unease, starting with the drive back to Los Angeles, and only increasing as the night wore on. Thinking that it must be demon trouble brewing as the source, he kept careful watch on the place. If anything, though, the demon population seemed to be quite light tonight, and those there, weren’t the types usually given to violence.

However, more than once during the evening, William had the distinct feeling that he was being watched, but scanning the bar did little to ascertain whomever or whatever was watching him.

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

JULIAN
9:00PM

Buffy awoke, sweating profusely. She somehow managed to get out of her cocoon of blankets, and fought the arms of her robe until she had gotten out of it as well. Trying to stand, she swayed on her feet, and sat back down. Her head thundered with the sound of her own blood pumping in her ears.

Slowly, she teetered to the bathroom, and looked in the medicine cabinet for the thermometer; it was there. She stuck it under her tongue, almost making herself gag, and took her temperature. It buzzed, and she took it out, holding it away to read the numbers. 103.9 degrees it read. She took it again, not believing it.
103.9 degrees, it read for the second time.

Buffy stood in the bathroom, trying to remember what she knew about breaking a fever. Running cool water over her wrists was the first thing that came to mind. Wasn’t that what her mother had done when she was a child? Or had she read it somewhere? She turned on the tap to cool, and forced her wrists into what felt like the icy stream for a few minutes. However, her temperature didn’t show any change when she took it again a few minutes later.

Glancing over at the adjacent door to the spare room, that had most recently been William’s room, an idea came to her feverish brain. Opening the door, she walked across the room to the closet door leading to the annex. Holding onto the walls for support, she slowly made her way up the narrow stairs to the attic for the first time since William had left. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she labored to reach the top. Once there, she swayed from dizziness, and just nearly managed to not fall backwards down the stairs.

As she’d suspected, the sealed off room was much cooler. Hopefully, it would bring her temperature down; she just had to stay there for a while.

In the pitch dark, and with her inherent slayer sense of space diminished by illness, Buffy stumbled over the boxes William had been looking through, only righting herself seconds before crashing into the windows. She stood there a minute, leaning against the wall, panting. Finally, as she regained a modicum of her equilibrium, she inched her hand up the wall, until it made contact with the large metal ring on one of the vertical slated windows. Pulling it hard, the shades opened up across most of the room, illuminating the space.

Slowly she made her way over to the couch. As she collapsed onto it, a cloud of dust billowed up, making her cough. Reluctant now to lie on the dirty couch she eyed the floor, her foot sweeping over the inviting coolness of its surface.

Scooting off the couch, she leaned back against it for a while, but exhaustion and dizziness was making her light-headed, and soon gravity won out. Buffy stretched out on the floor, the coolness feeling good to her feverish skin.

At eye level, she caught sight of a half-empty bottle of water. The floor sloped slightly in that direction, but something underneath the couch was stopping it from rolling; something she’d never seen there before. Curious, she moved the bottle aside, and began to pull.

It kept coming and coming: a large, flat object, wrapped in brown paper. Somehow she got it out, and with one hand, started to tear the wrapping off the back. When she had torn it all she could, she managed to turn it over, propping it upright against the couch. Half of the paper came down, and she pulled the rest of it to the bottom.

In the moonlight of the room, for the first time, she saw the picture William had painted in art class for her that summer. It was of her, and it was beautiful. Standing with her back to the viewer, wearing a light blue dress, which seemed to gently billow in the warm breeze, she stood at the water’s edge of Clear Lake at Fuller’s Resort.

This must have been the surprise he’d hinted at this summer. He had already given her a couple of smaller still life’s he had painted - one of fruit, and one of a wine bottle and glass, which she’d hung up next to the kitchen table.

***
“I’m working on another one. It’s quite a bit larger,” he’d told her.

“What is it?” she’d asked.

He’d smiled, arching his eyebrows; “It’s a surprise. You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Meanie,” she said, flopping down on his lap, “you’ve got me all curious now. How big is it? What’s it of? Tell me, tell me!”

He laughed; a full-hearted laugh, which lit up his face, and always made her joyous to see. Then he’d kissed her, “Uh-uh. I won’t reveal state secrets that easily, missy.”

“Oh no?” she teased, kissing his neck slowly, the way she knew would have the most effect.

“Uh-uh,” he’d replied, though not quite as firmly this time. “And as for how big it is,” he said grinning, as he’d grabbed her hand and put it over the bulge in his pants.

“Wow! That is big!” Buffy said, eyes wide in mock horror.

“Come ‘ere you saucy wench!” he’d said in a low sexy voice. Still kissing her, he’d stood up, and carried her to the bedroom.

***

“Oh, William,” she whispered, throat tight and tears coming to her eyes, knowing he’d probably never see her that way again.

END CHAPTER 168
 

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