Chapter 10: William
Buffy knew she should have felt guilty; yet, she couldn’t summon the feeling. She had lied to her mom, telling her she was going to study with Giles for her SATs. She had lied to Giles, telling him she was having a quiet evening at home to bond with her mom. The truth was, she needed some time away from both of them, away from thinking about exams and colleges. What were the odds she would even live long enough to go to college? A lot was bound to happen, before that. A lot was already happening right now.
Ironically, as she tried to escape for a few hours from her many responsibilities, she had ended up in the very same place where she fought most of her battles, one of Sunnydale’s many cemeteries. At least, she could be alone there – or so she thought, until a familiar bleached blond approached the large headstone where she was sitting. A few nights before, she might have greeted him with a few well-chosen insults, but not anymore.
She grudgingly had to admit that the vampire had proved himself more than useful ever since she had flung it in his face that he was anything but. She had a feeling that he was enjoying just a little too much his proving her wrong. Every night, he managed to find her, whether she was alone or with Faith or Giles, and tagged along. He had never actually said so, but it was clear he was guarding her back. For what reason though, she couldn’t fathom. In any case, now she could understand how he had won over her friends during the summer; his help on patrol was flawless. However, things might have been simpler for them if there hadn’t been their unspoken secret. She hadn’t returned to the mansion since the night she had broken down in front of Angelus.
Spike came to stand a few feet in front of her, head tilted to the side as he observed her.
“Is that a new slaying technique?” he commented with more than a hint of teasing. “Sit there prettily and serve as bait?”
She rolled her eyes at him.
“I was just trying to have some quiet time and think. Of course, I should have known you’d show up. Don’t you have anything better to do?”
There was more hostility in her words than she had wanted, but he didn’t seem affected by it. That was pretty much standard for their exchanges.
“Anything you want to get off your chest? ‘M a good listener. Ask your mum.”
Another thing that was usual. More than once, he had hinted that he would have liked to visit her mother again. He had never asked flat out for Buffy’s permission, though. She didn’t really understand why he simply didn’t go behind her back.
“You’d be upset with both her and me,” he replied with a shrug when she voiced the question. “I figure you two have enough on your plate without me adding to it.”
“And how do you figure that?” Buffy couldn’t help but ask.
“You’re here, ain’t you? Said you wanted some quiet time and instead of staying safe and warm at home, you come to a gloomy graveyard. Tells me something about how things are between you and her.”
Buffy’s gaze dropped to the ground and her hands became tight fists on her knees. She hated it when he could see through her. Hated that a vamp she wasn’t even friend with – because they weren’t friends, were they? – could read her like an open book while her mom, Giles, and even Willow had no clue that not everything was perfect in her already strange life.
“You need a bit of fun, that’s what you need,” the blond said suddenly. “Wanna fight?”
She looked back up at him, incredulous.
“Fight?” she repeated. “That’s your idea of fun? My whole life is a fight!”
“‘S different when you do it because you have to or because you want to unwind,” he insisted, grinning widely as he settled into a fighting stance. “Different when you know your life isn’t at stake. Come on, Slayer, it won’t hurt a bit.”
The words struck her, an echo of their first fight. She let herself slide off the tombstone and took her jacket off, folding it neatly over the marble. She made stretching movements as she paced in front of the vampire, never taking her attention off him, wondering.
“Shouldn’t you be different?” she asked as she finally stepped into position, arms raised and ready to defend.
“Different? Different from what?”
Before the words were even out of his mouth, he literally leapt forward, straight at her, looking like he was going to strike her face. Buffy moved to her right as she parried; but at the last instant he had shifted his course to her left and breezed by her without even trying to land a blow.
“Different because of your soul,” she said reluctantly. However hard she had tried to convince herself that a vampire with a soul was no different from his unsouled counterparts, she still couldn’t embrace the idea. And whereas Spike should have proved her theory, she couldn’t understand what was going on with him.
“But I am ‘different’,” he said darkly, almost spitting out the word. “If I wasn’t, I’d be trying to kill you now rather than playing.”
Again, he was the one to attack, this time with a flurry of punches and kicks that Buffy countered with increasing difficulty. If that was playing, she was glad he wasn’t out to kill her and that brought the sobering realization that she was very far from her top form. Too many worries and too little sleep were taking their toll.
“I’d be taking advantage of your weaknesses instead of following you around like a lapdog, making sure no one else did.”
The words were bitter, and Buffy jumped back, momentarily out of his reach. So, that was why he had been patrolling with her. Unwilling to let the talk turn back to her weaknesses, Buffy took another verbal shot at him.
“But you’re like. the same. Sure you’re not killing and helping us instead, but you’re not brooding or. I don’t know, shouldn’t you be all tortured and stuff?”
She forced herself to stop there, but the unvoiced words seemed to hang between them.
Shouldn’t he have been tortured by his soul as Angel had been?
For long seconds, he stared at her, hard. Then, without warning, he turned on his heels and walked away, duster billowing behind him. His words seemed to echo in the graveyard, and sent a chill down Buffy’s spine.
“Who said I wasn’t?”
As he stormed away from Buffy, Spike instinctively directed his steps toward Revello Drive. If he waited for the Slayer to agree, he’d be waiting to see Joyce forever. And if it pissed Buffy off. well, even better. Right then, that seemed like a perfectly fine idea. She didn’t show the slightest regard for what he may feel, so why should he care what she thought?
When he knocked on the back door, Joyce was immediately there and to his surprise, she invited him to come in. He did so cautiously, wondering why she had offhandedly given him an invite, and was startled when he noticed that the lady of the house wasn’t alone. He expected the Watcher to protest at his presence, but Giles merely nodded and continued to munch on a chocolate bar.
“I just came ’round to say hi,” the vampire said quickly, his gaze going from one human to the other and back. “Didn’t expect you to have company.”
Joyce waved her hand dismissively as she swallowed a piece of chocolate.
“No problem at all. You can come by any time you want. Although I suppose coming during the day might be a little difficult.”
She chuckled at that, and Giles grinned. Something seemed a little peculiar, and Spike sniffed the air, wondering if the two might have consumed a little too much alcohol. All he could smell however was the almost overwhelming smell of chocolate.
“Yeah, well, Buffy doesn’t seem too happy about the idea of me being here,” he said distractedly, still trying to comprehend what was happening.
The name brought stern looks to both previously smiling faces.
“What Buffy says isn’t always the truth,” the Watcher said with a shake of his head.
“But we might have been a little hard on her,” Joyce said pensively.
The two of them began talking about the Slayer, and Spike felt oddly out of place.
“Listen, I’ll be on my way,” he said at the first occasion. “Didn’t want to bother you. Night Joyce, Watcher.”
“But we didn’t even have hot chocolate yet!” Joyce exclaimed, sounding disappointed, and Spike felt a pang of warmth hit him at the tone of her voice. Could it be that she had missed his company? He certainly had missed hers.
She smiled and handed a few chocolate bars to him. “Here, take these. It’s not hot chocolate, but it’s really good!”
He took the bars and pocketed them without a second glance. He wished she had asked him to stay. He wasn’t going to impose his presence though, especially with Giles there. He still felt awkward around the Watcher, still remembered all too well the torture he had witnessed the man endure.
After leaving the Summers’ residence, Spike stayed out until sunrise was close. Increasingly, he hated spending time at the mansion. Angelus was regaining more strength every day, and earlier Spike had had to knock him out in order to double the chains and secure them more solidly to the wall. He could easily imagine what kind of mood his grand-sire would be in now that he had probably awoken. Spike would need to find Willow the next night, ask her if she was making any progress with the spell. And if she wasn’t. Well, it was certainly better to give Angelus a soul, even with the possibility that he might lose it again, than to take the risk of him escaping and wreaking havoc on Sunnydale.
Buffy’s day and evening had been a nightmare. A very disturbing, very freaky nightmare. It was just wrong for adults to behave like kids, and it was even more wrong for their children to witness it. She was certain she would need therapy about seeing her mom and Giles make out like two horny teenagers. At least she had found them before they had done anything more. embarrassing than kiss. Moreover, she now had enough blackmail material against Giles to last her a lifetime. It was still hard to believe that her serious Watcher had been so wild in his youth.
She parked the car and got out, trying very hard to ignore the dent and not think about her mother’s reaction to it once the effects of the candy had passed. For now, Joyce was pouting, having finally given up on protesting that it was too early to go home. They walked to the front door together and came upon the last person Buffy wanted to see right then. She had a test in the morning and no time left for a half insane vampire. She was about to tell him in no uncertain terms, when he smiled at her and her mother, seemingly relieved.
“Good evening, Mrs. Summers, Miss Summers. I trust you ladies are well? The streets have been rowdy tonight.”
Her mother giggled, and Buffy blinked in confusion before understanding. Where had Spike found some of that damn chocolate?
“I’m fine, honey. I’d be even better if Buffy wasn’t such a spoilsport though.”
With that, Joyce winked at the vampire and sashayed into the house. Buffy watched her go, incredulous, before looking up in desperation. Why did things like this always happen to her? Spike looked just as mystified by Joyce’s behavior, as proved by the small frown on his brow.
“Why are you here, Spike?” Buffy asked with a deep sigh.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Summers, but it’s. It’s William, Miss, if you would be so kind. Although it isn’t very appropriate for you to call me by my Christian name. And I came here thinking. I mean.”
Despite herself, Buffy couldn’t help smiling at the obviously prim ‘William’ in front of her. So, that was what the vamp had been like in his youth, huh? She would never have imagined it. She had actually never given it much thought, but she would have been ready to bet he had been a bad boy since the cradle.
“Go ahead,” she encouraged him. “I don’t bite.”
Had he had any circulation, Buffy was sure he would have been crimson. As it was, she wasn’t certain there wasn’t a little more color in his cheeks than usual.
“Well, I realize now that it might have been unnecessary for me to worry,” he babbled, looking anywhere but at her, “but as I said, the town is particularly unruly tonight, and I thought you might have needed the protection of a gentleman. Not that I can hardly call myself such a thing anymore.”
The chuckle that had been rising in her throat died at the incredibly deep pain apparent in both William’s voice and features. Spike was a certainly good actor, if he had managed to hide these kinds of feelings. Also, the idea of William wanting to protect her seemed peculiar, to say the least. Then she remembered Spike’s words in the graveyard the night before and realized his offer of protection was what he had been doing for the past few nights already.
“It was very kind of you,” she acknowledged with a smile, wondering if Spike would remember any of this. “I truly appreciate the thought. But as you can see, mom and I are fine, and.”
Just then, two cars speeded down the street, music blaring through the open windows but not loud enough to cover the boisterous laughs of the cars’ riders. William frowned at passing car before turning his gaze to Buffy.
“May I offer to remain here for a few hours?” he suggested. “I would feel better knowing that your sleep and your mother’s are protected.”
She was about to protest, but he looked determined, and Buffy had the sudden thought that if she didn’t agree he might very well spend the night on their front porch. She would probably regret it as soon as Spike was back to himself, but with a sigh, she nodded. It wasn’t as if this version of Spike was any danger to her or her mom, after all.
“Come in, William.”
She led him to the living room, and rapidly explained to him about the cursed chocolate bars. He seemed appalled at the idea that he was under the influence of magic, and even more so when Buffy told him about the babies-eating demon. All the while, she was imagining how Spike would have reacted, what he would have said. One of his sarcastic comments, maybe?
“It is truly dreadful that a young lady like yourself has to fight such awful creatures,” he offered with a sad shake of his head.
For a second, Buffy was stunned, and again couldn’t help but wonder if Spike would ever have uttered these words.
“I need to get some sleep,” she said apologetically. “Maybe you could stay until just before sunrise? I am sure we will be safe after that.”
He nodded his approval as he looked around him, obviously looking for something.
“Need anything?” she offered.
For the first time, he seemed a little hesitant as he replied.
“If it is not too much trouble, maybe. something to write?”
“To write?” Buffy repeated, puzzled.
“Yes, I write. That is, I try to write poems. I am not very talented, I fear, but.”
Shaking her head in wonder, Buffy pulled a notepad and a pen from the nearby desk and handed them to him.
“What do you write about?”
Again, he seemed embarrassed. “I. if it would not be too presumptuous, I would like to. to write about you?”
There was a clear question in his last words, and Buffy smiled at him gently. “I would be flattered.”
Because William was just too cute, overprotective one second and almost bashful when talking of his writing, and because she was sure it was the last time she would ever speak to him, Buffy followed a strange impulse and leaned over to brush her lips across his cheek. William looked at her in amazement, blinking furiously.
“Good night, William,” she said softly before retreating to her room.
“Good night, Miss Summers,” was his choked reply.
Here again, this isn’t quite how I remember it. What I recall is that I went to the Summers house that evening but didn’t wait by the door. Instead, I came in at the insistence of a frightened Dawn who had been alone since coming back from school and didn’t know where her mum and sister were. My poncy self tried to reassure her as well as he could. We made a mess trying to cook her some dinner, I helped her with her homework, promised that everything would be fine when I didn’t know any more than she did. When the Slayer and Joyce came back, they found us in front of the telly. Buffy sent both her mother and sister to bed and then reluctantly thanked me for taking care of Dawn. After that, it pretty much happened as you described it. Her thinking I was charming, me offering to stay and protect her – as if the Slayer needed protection in her own home – the admission that I wrote bad verses. And the kiss.
It was such a small thing. Less than a second, the barest touch of her lips to my skin. It undoubtedly meant nothing to her. Spike wouldn’t have thought twice about it. William was overwhelmed. That simply wasn’t proper at all; yet, she had done it, and he couldn’t regret that she had.
That simple and oh so chaste kiss seared my soul, my very being, imprinting itself in my mind and body like a lover’s most tender embrace. William probably fell in love with Buffy right there and then, the first lady to ever grant such a tender gesture to him. Spike.
Fuck. I’m both Spike and William, ain’t I? Even now, William is in me. Buried deep, no doubt, but still present. Why do I bother trying to pretend we’re separate entities?
I started to have a crush on her that night. Even the way she treated me the next time I saw her didn’t change that. It didn’t help that I composed terrible poetry until morning thinking of her and left the less awful of my creations for her before I slipped out of the house half an hour before sunrise. I wasn’t completely under the spell anymore by then, but there must have been some residual effect, because in my right mind I would never have left incriminating proofs behind. I returned to the mansion, thanked God that Angelus was asleep, and went straight to sleep. Dreamt of her. Of her fighting, laughing, smiling. Dreamt of her lips. Of a lot more than her lips. It wasn’t only kissing we did in my dreams. And it wasn’t chaste at all.
When I came out of my room late in the afternoon, Angelus watched me pull the blood from the cooler, all the while grinning. He had learned to keep his mouth shut while waiting to receive his food, and so didn’t say a word until he had drunk the last drop of nasty blood that was our dinner. But after that.
After that, it seemed as if he’d never stop. Somehow, he seemed to know. I suppose I must have said her name in my sleep and he heard, that’s the only thing I can think of. He taunted me, told me in graphic details what a good fuck the Slayer was, how tight and responsive she had been under him, that she was a fast learner, that all it would take was a night with her and I would be free of that pesky soul of mine. Told me he’d help me turn her; break her, until she was nothing but an eager slave to me. To us. I don’t think he realized that all he did was convince me not to ever dare touch her.
Inside, I was shaking from his words, but I refused to give him the pleasure of that knowledge. I remained calm, and put an end to his ramblings by lying and saying the witch had found a better curse and was in the last stages of her preparation. That shut him right up. What I didn’t know at the time was that his re-ensouling was indeed a matter of days.