Disclaimer: All Buffy the Vampire characters belong exclusively to Mutant Enemy and Fox. I am borrowing them only. The characters and story of "The Last Leaf" belong to O.Henry's heirs. I am only paying tribute to them and him.

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CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

The Last Leaf



The next morning, William was up with everyone else at breakfast. He asked polite questions about Willow and Tara at school and told Dawn that he looked forward to helping her and Zachary with their homework again that afternoon. "The only thing is," he said, "I really do need glasses to see more properly."

"That's no problem," Dawn said. "After dark, you and Zack and I can go out to the drug store. They have glasses there of various types. As long as you don't need anything special, we should be able to find something that will help."

"Oh, could we?" William asked, his blue eyes lighting up. "I would so like to read some of your mother's books. Such a beautiful collection she has. And as much as I'm sure I will enjoy hearing the narrative poem that Zachary's is working on for composition, I would dearly love to see it written."

"Don't worry," Dawn said, "we'll fix you up."

"Just don't forget that dinner is early tonight," Tara reminded. "You'll have to go afterward."

"Can Zachary stay for dinner?" Dawn asked.

"Of course," Tara answered. "That is, if it's all right with Buffy."

"Sure," Buffy said.

"Except in that case. . ." Willow said, "I think it might be better if William had his medicine out here in the kitchen before dinner."

"You think?" William asked.

"Well, to be honest, you make a lot of faces when you drink it."

"And you don't want me to frighten young Zachary. Of course, you're completely right, Miss Willow," William said.

"And please stop calling me 'Miss.' Just Willow is fine."

"As you like."

"What are you going to do today, Buffy?" Dawn asked.

Buffy looked up from her toast a little sheepishly. "I, uh, thought William and I might take some time to get to know each other better."

"Oh, that's nice," Dawn said, with a glint in her eyes. She snuck a look at William, but he almost had his head down in his plate. Was that embarrassment she saw on his face? Now there was an expression she didn't see much of on Spike.

"Dawn," Buffy said, "It sounds like Zachary has that big composition project finished. How about you?"

Dawn immediately pulled in and did her non-communicative teenager number. "Uh, well. It's coming along. I'm just not as quick as Zack."

"What's it about?"

"Well, uh . . ."

"You haven't even started it yet, have you?"

"Not exactly. But I'm working on it."

"Maybe I can help," William offered.

"Oh, you don't have to."

"But I would love to. Please."

"Sounds like a good idea," Buffy said. "That can be your project for tonight . . . while the rest of us are downtown."

Dawn sighed deeply. "All right."

"You're going somewhere?" William asked. "A social event?"

"No. More like work," Buffy said.

"You work?" This seemed strange to William. He came from a time when women didn't hold jobs. Young ladies occasionally went to finishing schools. And there were a few places of higher learning for women, though not many. So, he didn't think it was strange that Willow and Tara were still in school. But a "lady" in 1880 did not work. Only those who belonged to the lower classes took part in such activities. And then, they were almost always in the area of menial labor. Except, of course, for the few ladies who wrote books. William thought very highly of women writers. His mother kept a journal and wrote poetry as he did. "What kind of work do you do?" he asked.

Buffy thought quickly. She didn't want to explain too much about slaying to Spike's alter ego. Although, it would come up sooner or later depending how long he stayed like this. "Well, it's a kind of like social work. There's this group of people downtown that we're all trying to help. Isn't that right?" She turned to Willow.

"Oh, yes, that's right," Willow agreed immediately.

"Ah, you mean charity work?" Now that was something that ladies from the upper classes often did in William's time. He could relate to this. "Quite commendable," he said with an appreciative nod.

"Yes, quite," Tara said, a slight smile on her face.

After everyone else left the house, Buffy and William found they had very little to say to each other. But still, their silence held a thousand unspoken feelings. William was becoming more aware of the pull between them. But he was determined not to show it. It wouldn't do after all for him to make advances on his hostess. And besides, they were only very slightly acquainted. Instead, he asked if Buffy might read to him from some of her mother's books.

Buffy thought it a strange request at first. But then she reminded herself that William came from a point in history when they considered reading a major pastime. He chose a hard covered volume of short stories written by some writer that she had only vaguely heard of.

"I'm not sure if I've read any of this fellow's work," William said. "But the name is familiar to me somehow. O. Henry. It's a pen name I believe."

"I read a story or two of his in school," Buffy said.

The two of them sat comfortably in the livingroom and Buffy read story after story to him. It was a romantic collection, full of proper gentlemen, poor shop girls, and ironic endings.

"His work has certain similarities to Dickens," William said. "They both deal with the common folk for the most part."

Buffy just nodded. She didn't know much about Dickens and they still hadn't read the only story of O. Henry's that she actually remembered from school.

The next story was called "The Last Leaf." It was the most heartbreaking one they'd read thus far. It was about a pair of young women living in Greenwich Village, artists both. One of them came down with pneumonia, which was dangerous in those days. The young woman became convinced that she was going to die when the last leaf on the vine outside her window pulled away in the early winter storms. The doctor told her friend that if she kept thinking so hopelessly that she surely would die.

But then, the old painter who lived downstairs from them became involved. He was a crotchety man, who had tried in vain to paint himself a masterpiece that would give his name and life meaning. He didn't always know how to show his fondness for his young neighbors. In fact, he told the well friend that he thought it was a ridiculous thing for the sick woman to get such fatalistic ideas into her head about falling leaves on a vine.

Just the same, the sick woman continued counting the leaves as they disappeared, till finally only one was left in the gathering darkness before yet another storm. She predicted that when that last leaf fell, she would die. But the next morning, even through the tempest of the night before, the leaf was still there. And though there was yet another storm that night, it hung on again to the next day. Finally, the sick girl decided that if that leaf could cling to life then so could she. She took food and began to fight her way back to life. It was only after she was declared on the mend that the doctor told them that their neighbor from downstairs, the old painter, had died of pneumonia. And the well friend had to break the news to her roommate.

"I have something to tell you, white mouse," Buffy read, "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia today in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him on the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colors mixed on it, and – look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece – he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."

After she read the last words, Buffy fell silent. She felt touched by the story, for she too had fought her way back to life, searching for that one leaf to give her hope. Had Spike been her leaf? How important it had been to have him to cling onto. Without him she would have blow away into nothingness. She rubbed the printed page with her fingers and was only pulled out of her reverie by the sound of William sniffing. He had been so touched by the story that he was crying openly, tears running down his face.

"So, sorry," he sniffled. "Behrman just had so much love for those girls."

Buffy put down the book and handed him a wad of tissues. "Yes," she said. "I believe he did."

- - - - - - - - - -

Willow and Tara were just on their way to lunch between classes. Their arms were linked and their heads were close together as they busily discussed homework assignments. They were so completely lost in each other that they didn't hear Willow's name being called behind them.

"Willow!" Amy called as she ran up to them. "Wait up! Willow!"

Finally Willow heard her name and came to a halt. It had been a while since she had seen her deratted friend. In fact, she'd almost forgotten about her. "Amy," Willow said. Her tone was that of someone meeting a long lost friend. The day was bright. She had her lover on her arm. It was easy to show Amy a little friendliness.

Tara's expression, however, was not so welcoming. She saw an ominous aura around Amy, full of darkness.

"You guys sure move fast," Amy said, panting. "I've been calling after you for some time."

"What do you want?" Tara asked. There was no friendliness in her words. She saw Amy as a seducer, pure and simple.

Amy's eyes flickered to Tara momentarily. She understood the tone of the other woman's voice. This one could see through things to the truth. Doc was wise to want her out of the way. "I just wondered if you two heard the news. But then, you probably have because after all . . . well, you knew him. You guys may even be looking into it already."

"What news?" Willow asked. "What are you talking about?"

"You knew that guy Warren, didn't you? I seem to remember you telling me he built this robot that looked like Buffy and that you used when Buffy was dead."

"Oh, yeah," Willow said. Just after Amy had been deratted Willow had been at a very low point. So she had told her just about everything that had happened to them all during the past few years, including the stuff about the Buffybot. "We know him and all, but I wouldn't say we're actually friends."

Amy looked around her, as though to make sure that no one else was within earshot. "He died, you know," she whispered, leaning in closer to the two other witches.

Willow shifted uncomfortably. "Died? How?"

"Well, that's the thing. It sounds an awful lot like it was caused by magic of some sort. I heard it on the news. They were offering it up as a kind of mystery. But it made me afraid that maybe there's some sort of evil witch or something around. Do you know if Warren was into black magic or anything like that?"

Willow looked at Tara. Her lover's usually sweet expression was growing hard. "No," Willow said, "but he wasn't that nice a guy. How do you know he died by magic?"

"Like I said, they offered it up on the news as some kind of mystery. His insides were all smashed up, but there were no marks on the outside of his body, except on his back where he hit against the wall. Only magic can do something like that . . . Or maybe a well spoken curse."

"Well, I don't know anything about it. I don't even know why you're telling me this story. Maybe Rack or someone from his coven knows about it."

"Oh, no. I already checked. That's why I thought I would mention it to you. Maybe this Warren raised some sort of evil spirit and you guys should go out looking for it before someone else gets hurt. That's the kind of thing your group does, isn't it?" Amy looked innocently from on to the other of them.

"Yeah, I guess." Willow held her books tighter against herself. "We save the world every now and again. That sort of thing."

"So maybe you want to look into this."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Well, I won't keep you. I just thought you'd wanna to know. I'm sure you guys gotta get to class. Let me know what you find out." Amy gave them a little smile, then turned, and walked away.

"Don't look at me like that," Willow said to her lover.

"You did it," Tara said coldly. "You're the one who killed him."

"No. I didn't. I hit him with enough magic to knock him out. But I didn't use enough to kill him. I swear."

"That's obviously not true. Either you wanted to hurt him or you're completely out of control with your powers."

"Look, all we have is Amy's word on this. I say we go online and do some hacking. We can find out what the police report says. The guy's mind probably just turned to jelly and it killed him, like the curse on the diamond says."

"We have some time now," Tara said.

"Yeah, so we'll go and hack. You'll see. Amy has it all wrong."

Unfortunately, the police report confirmed what Amy had said. There was a whole file from the coroner saying how many different bones had been broken and how strange it was that the outside of Warren's body was untouched by trauma except for his back. Tara was furious. She barely talked to Willow for the rest of the day. And by the time they got home, they weren't talking at all.

When they walked in the door to Buffy's house, they found William in the diningroom once again with Dawn and Zachary. They were discussing new math. Since Buffy had no interest in such brainy pursuits, she was watching television on the couch.

"I'll get dinner," Tara said, mostly in Buffy's direction. "It won't be long. I just brought home a few things." And she streaked toward the kitchen without glancing back.

Buffy caught the tone and asked Willow what the matter was.

"Oh, nothing," Willow answered, trying to be nonchalant. "She just had a bad day at school, that's all." She pulled Buffy further into the livingroom. "How are things going with William?" she whispered.

"Not bad, I guess. But not good either. I spent most of the day reading to him."

"Really?" Willow scrunched up her freckled nose. "What did you read?"

"Mostly O. Henry."

"Oh," Willow said. She'd paid more attention to her literature classes than Buffy had, so she knew who that was. "I guess that makes sense. He was pretty much from the same time as William. Maybe slightly later."

"And then I got him to watch some soap operas. He actually liked those. He likes romantic stuff."

"Yeah, Spike has a romantic side. You should see the way he looks at you. Sometimes it's sweet and romantic. Other times it's searing and sexy."

"Yeah, well right now, William's main expression is one of confusion."

"Has he shown any special feelings toward you yet?"

"Not yet. But there were a couple of times this afternoon when I caught him staring at me."

"Good. You'll see. We'll break through this amnesia thing yet."

"Dawn!" Tara called out from the kitchen. "Will you guys set the table? We don't have much time for dinner tonight."

"I better steer William out to the kitchen and have him drink his medicine," Willow said.

"No. Let me do it," Buffy said.

"Oh, sure. I understand. When Tara was sick, I was the one who wanted to be her primary caretaker. I officially turn William over to you. I'll go see if Tara needs any help with dinner."

When Buffy came into the diningroom she found Dawn clearing the table of books, while Zachary and William stood talking behind their chairs. "Zack," Buffy said, would you help Dawn set the table and carry things in from the kitchen?"

"Oh, sure, Miss Summers. Right away. William was just telling me that he'd like a little change in his wardrobe and I told him that my father has a closet full of clothes he doesn't wear. He keeps his old clothes because he figures he can wear them to work around the house. But then he always hires someone else to do things. After a full day in the hardware store, he's kinda tired of being Mr. Fix-it. I'm sure I can get him to weed out some stuff for William."

"That would be quite wonderful," William said. "I'm growing rather tired of black. It's so severe. Of course, I'm not into bright colors either. Something muted would be fine. Just not black. It's so funereal, don't you think."

"Well, it's not actually my style either," Zachary said, tugging at his own steel blue pullover. "I'll see what I can come up with and bring it over tomorrow."

Well, Buffy thought. It was obvious that Spike didn't get his fashion sense from William.