In pursuit of William

Part 3: Meeting him again

Fanfiction by dutchbuffy2305

Rating: R

Timeline: S6, 2002, during Villains and after Grave

Summary: Lydia has an unexpected encounter.

When I woke up, I noticed that Rupert was already out of bed. The spring sunshine was pouring merrily through gaps in the curtains, and it was with less trouble than usual that I got up and shuffled to the shower. Rupert's flat is in one of these lovely Georgian terraces they have here in Bath, looking out over the park and the hills. If you stretch your neck on his balcony you can just see Royal Crescent, mercifully empty of tourists at this time of day. It was Saturday, and we were going to visit Glastonbury Tor today, so I dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.

I padded to the kitchen and found Rupert, still in his ratty dressing gown, telephoning frantically while stuffing down soggy slices of jam and bread in his mouth at the same time. Oh-oh. With a sinking feeling I turned on the kettle. I had a feeling there was not going to be a walk to the Tor today. I caught a few words he was saying and realized he was talking to Griselda, from the coven. Something was up, apparently. He finished the call and put the phone down with a clatter. He sighed deeply and went on with his breakfast.

"What is it, Rupert?" I said. "Can I help?"

He turned a very troubled gaze at me. "It's Willow." At my questioning look: "Miss Rosenberg. Griselda and her circle felt a huge surge of magic last night, and they need me to help them. She's not in control of it, it's far too much for any untrained witch to handle, and they are sure something dire is in the wind. I'm sorry, dear girl, no hiking and shopping for us. I'm off to Griselda's now, and then I immediately have to catch the earliest flight to Los Angeles."

I helped him pack and sent him off on his quest, a gallant ageing knight. I felt a pang of regret at the limits of our relationship. His true loyalty lay with his surrogate children, especially that Slayer. I'd always known that, and would have minded more if I hadn't behaved the same; after all my priority would always be William. We were fond of each other, and seemed to spend a lot of time together, but I didn't think, somehow, that any more than that would come of it.

Rupert promised to ring me at the earliest opportunity. He did ring from Heathrow, which was quite sweet. Thank God I was still in Bath, although on the point of leaving for London. I thought I'd get in a moment or two of in depth research, with the Council and the Circle in turmoil like that. I felt a great and guilty relief at being on my own all weekend. I couldn't remember the last time I'd done that, really. A nasty little suspicion crept into my mind: surely it couldn't be that Giles was keeping an eye on me for the council? I didn't want to think that he would do that, and I didn't think it. But still.

*******

I'd chosen the meeting place to be as public as possible, for safety. And where better than on one of London's busiest street corners, chockfull of European and Transatlantic tourists staring at us, hoping we were real natives? They'd hardly notice that only one of my little group was human – I mean me. And we were all British, at least. Vampires do not congregate to big cities for nothing; it's a huge advantage to be anonymous, and to be surrounded by such masses that an observer could never tell from whom the occasional odd vibe was originating.

I fugued into an exciting academic venue for a moment. How had vampires managed in a time when there were no big cities? Truly big cities were a comparatively recent thing, say a couple of centuries old. Ancient Athens and Rome were villages compared to modern London. Any stranger would have been completely noticeable. I wrenched my attention back to the business at hand: interviewing modern day vampires.

As I sat there in the pub on the corner of St. Martin's Lane, watching the theatre crowd flocking in, I felt quite hopeless. What's the point of personality retention in vampires if there is no personality to begin with? I looked at the young couple sitting in front of me. Indistinguishable from any other pair of young Brits. She, short, pale, overbite and huge bosoms, her fat thighs bulging out of the trendy boots; he, short, pale, skinny, his Adam's apple moving convulsively the whole time, as he stared at some point below my chin. I couldn't tell if it was my carotid arteries or my breasts.

"Alright," I said slowly. "What did you want to be before you were bitten?"

"Dunno," he said, shrugging. Wonderful. Only the tenth time he'd said that, in answer to my questions. He'd been a bank clerk before, he'd told me that much, and been laid off the day before he got turned. She'd been a shop assistant at Top Shop (she said; not that I believed a word of it; I don't think they sell sizes above fourteen in Top Shop, and the shop girls are all young and slender), and had followed him in vampire-dom. They had no idea what they really were, hadn't been taught, had no idea how to spend eternity. How depressing. If I ever became a vampire, I'd bloody well set out to conquer the world or die in the attempt. Mediocrity is always boring, whether in humans or demons.

I grimly worked through my whole questionnaire, in spite of feeling that, although statistically everything counts I suppose, there wasn't much to interest me in this interview. I'd read so much material in the Council Archives on all these fascinating, larger than life Vampire characters (one can't call them heroes), and apart from William I'd yet to meet one who was even halfway interesting. It must be me, working the bottom of the pyramid. Thousands are turned, few manage to survive longer than couple of decades, let alone centuries, and fewer were Masters or had a calling to do interesting things to the world. New ideas began germinating in my brain. I shouldn't interview all these random vampires, who hadn't yet made a name and maybe never would! I should do a survey of known masters and broach them in their lairs or flats or whatever. If I had, say, a Slayer, or an experienced field agent as a partner I was sure I could find out the most wonderful data.

I finished the transaction for the evening and watched the two vampires shuffle and waddle off respectively. They'd told all – well, sigh, bloody nothing – for a tenner. Pathetic or what? I decided to do some window shopping on my way home. My council stipend isn't that big, and I tend to look at just about every piece of clothing on sale in the whole of London before buying anything, and I really needed some summer clothes. A linen suit, the summer version of tweed, sandals…

I was walking through Neal Street, thinking of popping down to Covent Garden Centre to check if  the boots I'd coveted were on sale yet, when I saw an oddly familiar figure pop out of the underground exit at the corner. I stared after it, at first not knowing why the man had caught my attention, when I saw his profile for a moment! My heart stood still. It was Him! My William here in London! Why on earth? Shouldn't he be in Sunnydale, assisting the slayer in whatever crisis Rupert was over there for?

I followed him, of course. He wasn't wearing his duster, and his hair looked odd. It was a mass of curls, with dark roots beginning to show. He looked smaller, no longer propelling his body down the street with that arrogant swagger, but walking head down, with hunched shoulders.

He rounded the corner and went into one of the pubs. I hesitated for a moment before following him. Would he recognize me? It had been more than a year, after all, and it was a safe bet he'd not been thinking as much of me as I of him…Besides I was wearing jeans and contact lenses, and nobody ever recognized me. I went in.

He was standing at the bar, having just ordered a lager, and was paying the barman with lots of small coins. I'd heard of the eating and drinking habits from Rupert, but hadn't really thought about how a vampire would acquire the money to pay for them. Must be difficult. Or they would just steal, most likely. When I entered and sat down at a small table his head went up and his eyes stared straight into mine. He frowned for a few second and then turned away again. Phew. He was a really sharp observer, he'd noticed me immediately, and it was pure luck that he didn't remember who I was exactly.

I was rummaging in my bag for my purse, which always migrates to the farthest corner, when I saw black clad legs stand at my table and heard his voice asking if the seat was taken. My hands froze and I looked up at him. Oh God. The blue eyes were still as divine and penetrating as ever, and a slight smile played around the full lips. When I did nothing but stammer and stare he sat down anyway.

"Long time no see, um…?"

"L-Lydia," I stuttered, still unable to tear my eyes away from his face. Mmm. The lips. The nose. The eyes. The sexy scar. My eyes travelled downwards. Those big sure hands, which knew exactly where to give a woman the most pleasure. I felt a hot flush rise and with an effort willed my eyes back to his face.

He was sitting very still, looking at me patiently. The patience gave me a slight chill, somehow. He hadn't struck me as a patient man before, and this stillness seemed unnatural. He was different, utterly different. The predatory vibe was not in evidence, his whole stance and attitude seemed changed since our first meeting.

My curiosity won over my embarrassment. "What are you doing in London?" I asked. "You're different!"

A very slight twitch of the lips. "Passing through. Different? Perhaps."

Well. Not very forthcoming. I kept on trying. "Shouldn't you be in Sunnydale? Helping the Slayer?"

This time I'd made him wince. Progress, in a way. He didn't answer, though. I ploughed on anyway, having learned in all the interviewing that persistence usually pays off. People start to feel guilty if they refuse to answer too many of your questions, and eventually give away more than they intended to.

"Are you going back to Sunnydale?"

"Don't know yet."

This issue was better abandoned. Okay. Enough other tacks available, weren't there?

"Did you visit your grave?"

"What?" He nearly choked on his beer.

"Your grave. Your own grave. It is in London, isn't it?" Persistence, persistence!

"Why the hell would I want to visit my own bloody grave?" he sputtered. "Now I remember you. The woman with the endless weird questions, who wrote a dissertation on me!"

"Thesis."

"Whatever."

"You remember our, um, interview in my motel room?" I prodded hopefully.

He looked at me oddly, and then I saw realization dawn. "You mean I should remember you coz I gave you a poke?"

He shook his head. "Sorry love. 'S not what that was about. Shouldn't have done it, bloody well knew that, was just pumping you for information."

My head might have known that, but the freezing sensation in my gut told me something different.

"Do you have a place to stay?' I asked, don't know why really, desperate not to let him get away, I suppose.

A scarred eyebrow rose. "You offering?"

"Well, yes."

He considered this for long moments. Since when had he become so deliberate and weighed every option? I really needed to ask him more questions. I thought I knew how to make him relax a bit more.

At last he said, "What are you expecting in return for that favour?"

I blushed. Damn his directness. "No strings attached," I said hastily.

He looked unconvinced, but also very tired, not flirtatious at all, and accepted the offer with a nod. It gave me an incredible thrill to travel home with him. Walking next to him to the underground entrance, waiting on the platform, sitting down on the seats together…I should know better, but it was so romantic, like taking a real boyfriend home! He was very silent, sitting in the shuddering noisy underground car with his head tipped back and his eyes closed. He looked awful in the bright lighting, pale (well, vampire), drawn, actually quite dead.

I ached to take care of him, feed him up, coddle him, nurse him back to health, and then, um, yes, have lots of sex with him. He could drink my blood, use my bathroom, use me for whatever he chose. I vowed to break up with Rupert the moment I got home and it wasn't night in Sunnyvale. This was the real deal.

We walked the last few meters to my flat, still in silence. I opened the door, and invited him in. He stood uncertainly the hallway, looking too tired to move. I showed him Sanjev's old room. He recoiled and said: "Is there another vampire living here?"

Could he smell or otherwise sense Sanjev's former presence?

"No, no, " I said hastily. "My friend's brother used to stay here, after he was turned through no fault of his own, but he's gone now."

He still hesitated, but went in after a bit. It struck me only now that he didn't have any luggage.

"Where are your clothes?" What he was wearing seemed about to fall apart, ancient jeans, formerly black, now grey with age, and torn everywhere, and an equally ancient black shirt, that was also ripped and stained.

"This is it, love," he said wearily.

I rummaged in my cupboard and found him a toothbrush, a new grey T-shirt of my own, and some ancient trousers of Cyril's, that still looked better than his own. I showed him the shower, and went to see if I still had some frozen blood in the fridge. I did, and made us a pot of tea while I was in the kitchen. When I returned with blood and tea, I found him in Sanjev's room. He'd thrown himself on the bed, face forward, completely nude, and appeared to be sleeping. He must really have been exhausted. I put the two mugs on the bed stand and left him to it.

I indulged in staring for a few moments only, revelling in the sight of his glorious nakedness in my flat. Those sculpted muscles, the firm buttocks with those lovely dimples on the side, the strong legs, the sweet boyish curls at his neck. It was all I could do to keep my hands off him, while at the same time noticing that he was rather thinner than before. Better get some sleep myself, I'd need to be fresh in the morning. Apart from wanting to look my best, I'd need all the energy I could muster to wrest some more information from the formerly chatty, but now so close-mouthed vampire.

Damn William slept away the entire day. I cursed him for that, because it was Sunday, and tomorrow I'd have to work again. Late in the afternoon I heard him stir for the first time. I went in and offered to warm up the blood and make fresh tea. He asked me to knock first, next time. The arrogance had wasted no time returning! I fumed internally, a little more gratitude would have been nice, I thought, but I left him to shower alone.

I'd been out buying clothes for him, his trademark dark jeans and a black sports shirt (I'd checked his ancient, quite nasty jeans for size). I'd gotten fresh blood as well, and when I sat him down in my tiny kitchen with a mug of blood and a glass of whisky, I was expecting a fruitful evening for me, preferably gleaning lots of new information, and something even more exciting on a personal level.

He was looking a little better after his long sleep and the liters of pig and bovine blood I'd provided. I can't say that he had bags under his eyes, like a human person would, but he looked pale and thin and there was something weary and wounded about him. I wondered how long he hadn't fed and where he'd been. When I tried these questions to start the session off with, I got absolutely no answer in return.

He sat there smoking, sipping his whiskey, showing nothing on that face of his that used to be so expressive, and saying nothing either.

I got a little impatient. "Well?"I said sharply. "I housed you, fed you and clothed you; surely some answers on innocuous questions wouldn't be too much trouble?"

Again the eyebrow rose, a trick I'd always envied since seeing a James Bond film as a young girl, but hadn't managed yet.

"No strings attached, I thought you said, pet?" he drawled, unmoved, and took a drag of his cigarette.

I was stumped. "But…but..." I stuttered. "Common politeness would dictate that a guest…"

He uttered a sharp bark of a laugh. "I haven't felt compelled to be polite in a long while, and I've never been common."

Well, that was helpful! I don't usually lose my temper very quickly, but I remembered from our first encounter that I had suddenly slapped his face then as well, without any conscious decision on my part, it seemed. Straight through the spine to the hand, without interference of the brain. I was pretty near it right now. I had of course no way of getting him to talk at all. He seemed quite resistant to reasonable and civilized arguments. Perhaps an uncivilized one would make more of an impression.

I went over to him and sat on his knee, putting my arms around his neck. He actually flinched and almost tipped me on the floor, but apparently he managed to restrain that first impulse. What was it that had changed him so much? I couldn't imagine the earlier version of William the Bloody being surprised or fazed by such an action from any woman - or man for that matter. He was more self-absorbed and less attentive somehow.

I shifted about a little and played with the curls on his nape. He sighed and moved his head away from my hands.

"What do you want?" he said tiredly.

"I could make it worth you while answering a few questions…" I tried to be seductive, but I'm not sure it worked. The neon-lit atmosphere in my kitchen and his stoic expression weren't exactly conductive to that kind of mood.

"I'm abso-bloody-lutely overwhelmed. I'd get to put my hands on your lily-white body? How could I refuse? But I will anyway."

He stood up and put me back on my feet. I was reminded of his strength again, it seemed to cost him no effort at all.

"Goodnight, Lily" he said and went back to his room.

I gritted my teeth and nearly stomped my feet as well. Damn him! Arrogant sarcastic bastard! I sloshed some whiskey in a glass with trembling hands and paced up and down the living room drinking it, trying to cool down and at the same time devising a battle plan. How did female spies do it? Or did that just happen in films? That night in California he'd been the one doing the seducing, and I'd been an absolute pushover. I'd no idea how to turn the tables. I'd tried to talk to girlfriends about it, but I must say they didn't seem able to give any pointers. It was all just tales of either having to fend eager blokes off, or staid marital sex, or drunken, half remembered encounters on Saturday nights, again with the eager blokes. And to think of it, if they weren't married they'd spend half the time bitching about not being able to find a guy, and the other half complaining that all men wanted was sex. No help there at all. No tips on having a man actually in your flat and having to persuade him to have sex with you. Pretty grim.

Ah. There was my mistake! This was not a man, this was a vampire. Blood would be the key, not sex. Or perhaps a combination of the two…I quickly dressed in my vampire tart get-up, putting up my hair to get the bite-scars in better view. I was still sort of trembly, so I downed another drink for courage. Should I actually cut myself to get his attention? No, he'd be able to smell me anyway, wouldn't he? Humans were food to him.

I knocked, for politeness sake, but went in without waiting for an answer. He was lying on the bed, hands behind his back, contemplating the ceiling. He turned his head to look at me, a look of such resignation on his face that I almost gave up on the spot. But I persevered. This was too much of a unique occasion to let qualms keep me from my goal. I tried to sway when I walked up to the bed and knelt down on it, giving him a good view of my cleavage and scars.

"Aren't you tempted?' I said. "Can't you smell all that lovely blood pumping away in my veins? It's just under the skin…Smell it, won't you? Try a little taste, I know you want to."

I saw muscles in his cheeks clench and he swallowed. Yes! At last, a reaction. I reached up to the neckline of my corset and started to pull the zipper down, willing him to look at my breasts, not my face. I trailed a finger down my chest, between my breasts. Bad films and alcohol make a woman resourceful, I suppose.

"Where do you prefer to bite? The neck? Or in the soft flesh of a woman's breast?" I was getting quite excited by all this, I could smell myself. Embarrassing, usually, but to his nose this must be very evident, and enticing I hoped.

"Do you want me to do the work?"

I wiggled on his lap and put my neck in front of his mouth. He was still looking very human and put upon. I wished he'd vamp out, I knew how to deal with that. I could feel his erection growing, and tried to suppress a feeling of victory. Any moment now. I put my hand on his crotch and rubbed it, none too gently, as my vampire lovers had taught me. He arched his back and uttered a strangled groan.

He turned his head away and let me go on rubbing his dick. I could feel his throat working where the flesh of our necks met. I had unbuttoned his fly and actually gotten a first grip on the coveted penis when suddenly I found myself lying upside down in a corner of the room. What had happened? I felt utterly confused. I untangled myself from the awkward position clumsily, my bottom landing on the floor with a thump. My upper arms hurt a lot, and my neck as well. He was standing next to the bed, chest heaving, hands gesticulating wildly.

"What is it with you bitches? Are you all after this body? Well, I'm not your whore, so get out of here before I kill you!"

He sounded absolutely furious, and near tears at the same time. I didn't understand what I'd done wrong, but I'd enough sense to slink off and leave him be. I needed a few stiff drinks before I could even think of sleeping. I felt utterly humiliated and furious, but I could sense there was a little more going on than just not finding me attractive. I'd stumbled on some weak spot or old slight somehow. Issues.

At last I went to bed and must have fallen asleep. When I finally woke up it was horribly late, I should have been at work already. First thing I did was check his room, and wouldn't you know it, he was gone. Ungrateful bastard. I tried to revive myself by a hot shower and a cup of instant, although I usually drink tea in the morning, when the phone rang. Bugger. One of my officious colleagues, probably.

"Yes?" I said grumpily into the speaker.

"Lydia? Are you ill? I tried to ring you in the office, but they said you weren't in yet."

Rupert! Just the man I needed for some answers. I had to be circumspect, though, didn't want to end up in the coven again, wasting my time in home-spun dresses

"Rupert, lovely to hear from you. No, the girls and I spent a little too much time in the pub last night, drinking away our sorrows. Feeling a bit hung-over, actually." When lying, stick as closely to the truth as possible. It's too hard to remember lies as it is.

He clucked a bit about that, but as he was no stranger to the lure of alcohol, it didn't spark any special interest in him. He told me he was coming home, as he put it, but would be bringing Miss Rosenberg. Apparently the little witch had tried to destroy the world with magic, and damn near succeeded. Griselda and the girls were going to straighten her out. I must say, I felt a lot of sympathy for Miss Rosenberg. Good on her, trying to destroy the world. Well, not really of course, but points for effort, I like a woman with ambitions. And having to face the sympathetic but sanctimonious witches after that- I really didn't envy her.

"How is the rest of the gang?" I enquired, trying to sound mildly interested, but in reality quite avid for info on my William, or Spike as they called him.

"Unfortunately, Tara was killed by one of their enemies, and that set Willow off," Giles said. "Buffy and the others are all quite well, if grieving."

Yes. Not very informative. "And the others? I mean there was quite a collection of odd characters in the group, witches, vampires..." I said innocuously.

He hesitated. "People come and ago," he said, evasively I thought. "Anya, Xander and Dawn are fine, as is Buffy." Hm. He was extremely protective about Buffy, and it was odd he didn't mention Spike. Had he and the Slayer fallen out or something? I was dying to know everything, but decided the phone wasn't the right medium to wangle it out of him. Dinner, booze and discreet cleavage would be more likely to do the trick.

"Will you be coming to London soon?" I asked.

He hesitated again. "I might, but I'll be quite busy in Devon in the near future. I'll give you a call, all right?"

Well! I was getting a brush-off, a gentle one this time, but two in the space of twelve hours was a bit much! I sat down in my kitchen after hanging up and had a good cry. Not that Rupert and I had been really in love with each other, but it still hurt. Was it me after all? Not attractive enough, or too academic and pushy? I felt extremely low and called my work to say I was ill, and went back to bed to nurse my hangover and my bruised self-esteem.

I really indulged myself and had two days off. I'd gone to the video rental shop and rented a heap of vampire movies and rewatched them in bed, gorging on chocolate and French cheese. I went out and bought a frivolous summer dress and two pairs of shoes (Manolo Blahniks! on sale at Harvey Nicks, actually above my budget and quite impractical, but nothing gives a boost like new shoes).

I finally started to feel a bit better and mentally reviewed my plans. The reunion with William I'd been envisaging went quite differently. I'd dreamed of meeting him again in a moonlit graveyard, filled to bursting with knowledge on vampires in general and him in particular, and impressing him with it so much, that he'd make love to me on the spot and we'd live happily ever after. I could see now that that might be an unrealistic scenario. I needed to rethink my strategy. It needed stronger measures, obviously.

TBC