Title: Two Weeks With William
Author: Edith Campbell
Section: 5
Relationship: Spike/Buffy
Disclaimer: Alas, they all belong to the mighty Joss, except for
the ones I made up to use in Spike's memories (ie. his sister).
Those are mine. :)
Distribution: I don't mind, but please let me know where it's being
distributed. :)
Rating: PG 15 for language
Spoilers: Up to 'The Gift' Please note that Buffy is back. How?
Use your imagination. :) Major 'Fool For Love' spoilers.
Feedback: Oh please! Yesterdays_Child4@y... Thank you for all the
lovely comments last time. :) You're all too nice!!
Summary: While fighting a pack of vampires with Buffy, Spike gets
knocked unconscious. When he wakes up, Buffy is presented with a
slight problem: Spike thinks its 1880. In order to repay Spike for
attempting to save Dawn, Buffy brings him to Giles, who determines
that he is suffering from a temporary amnesia. Will the gang be able
to accept William? What will happen when Spike comes 'back'?
Dedication: To a certain somebody, for listening to my ramblings all the time. :)

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'The Slayer thinks she's a martyr
And I love her well
But, dammit it all! She's a bitch
And has condemned me to hell.'

Buffy snorted and mumbled, "Remind me to thank Spike for that one
later."

She had been holed up in her room for five hours, having left only
twice, once to use the bathroom, and then again to make a quick run
to the crypt and do some more poem searching. She had to admit that
they had been quite possibly the most interesting five hours of her
life. She felt as though she had been given a personal glimpse into
Spike's soul or whatever it was that made him decent, and she wasn't
at all disgusted by what she saw. Thrilled, slightly scared, and
confused, but not disgusted.

She had made a point of mapping the progress of his poems. His
earlier poems had been very romantic and corny and bad, and as a
direct result, she'd used up a whole box of tissues. They'd been for
Cecily, and not for her. His love had been different then, she
thought. More innocent and pure.

He hadn't written a thing for almost a decade after he'd been
turned. But, in 1889, a whole new variety had shown up. They were
dark and evilly sensual. They wreaked of mystery. They gave the
Slayer chills. The tone didn't lighten up for a good hundred years,
and he'd gone through seven thick books.

By the time Buffy got to the books he'd used up in his years in
Sunnydale, she was almost spent emotionally. She couldn't bring
herself to read the ones about Angelus- she knew Spike's pain would
be equal to hers and for some reason, she didn't want that.

The ones about her came as the greatest surprise. They had started
out stinging and vindictive (and had left Buffy thoroughly pissed off
at the vampire), and had progressed onto mockingly light. However,
the ones from the last year reminded her of a more bitter version of
Cecily's poems. They were poems from a man who had loved and lost,
and was deterred by his own experience. They caused a startling
realization in Buffy.

He really did love her.

She felt like the queen of all that was slow when it hit her. How
could she have doubted it? Spike, who was evil, and scary, and bad,
and most certainly did not have a soul, loved her. HER. And she was
definately not evil, scary, or bad. Most of the time, anyway.

Was it vanity that slowed down the realization? Did she want to
think that he did everything to get into her pants, because it was
the safer thing to think? And how did it make her feel?

It didn't make her feel bad.

"Ick, heavy thoughts!" she grumbled, reaching for pen and paper. She
wanted to make note of a few of Spike's shorter poems that she didn't
understand, and demand an explanation when he returned to his
regular, annoying self.

Quickly, she wrote down the first one.

'Today I know they've gone away/ I hate to be alone.'

She understood the last part well enough, as she didn't exactly care
to feel alone herself. But, she wanted to know who, and why they'd
left, and how it had changed Spike.

The second one seemed equally cryptic, if not more so.

'I saw my sister today/ She wasn't 137'

The third was also about his sister.

'She's afraid of vampires/ Am I afraid of myself?'

As she recapped her pen, Buffy felt the tiniest inklings of guilt.
Spike's poems were very personal; she knew that much. She really had
no right to just steal his books and give them a good read, but she
couldn't help herself. Looking at William was effecting her, in all
the wrong ways, and it was causing a huge appetite for Spike
knowledge. And she knew he sure as hell wouldn't tell her what she
wanted to know.

Mentally, she was making a huge bother to differentiate between
William and Spike, and it had her at a disadvantage. She couldn't
bridge the gap; couldn't understand how the sweet, caring man had
turned into something to rightfully fear. It made the fuzzy feelings
she felt more confusing too. Were they for William? She felt them a
lot around him. Or was it the realization that was Spike was...
something other than the stereotype she'd shoved on him?

"Leave the brooding to Angel!" Buffy commanded under her breath,
before shoving her head under her pillow in frustration.

There was a knock on her door at the exact moment, and she sat up,
suddenly alert.

"Come in!" she called.

The door swung open, and Willow stuck her head in.

"Hey there, Buff," she said, with a smile, "Just wanted to see if you
were okay, and if I was still needed."

"You've been here for five hours?" Buffy balked, with a small, guilty
smile.

"Longer," Willow corrected, "Came to make sure William didn't get
extra crispy, remember?"

"Shit, Wil! I'm sorry!" she exclaimed.

Willow only shook her head. "Someone's looking all broody. What's
up?"

Buffy sighed, and glanced at Spike's poems. "Reading Spike's poems
gives you a real headache."

"That bad, huh?" Then, "Spike's POEMS?"

"Yeah. Don't tell Xander. Spike'll be mad enough already when he
finds out I stole them."

"Secret's safe with me!" Willow declared, sitting on Buffy's bed, "So
did you find out anything juicy?"

Buffy snorted. "Other than the fact that our vampire has serious
needy issues, nada."

"Needy issues?"

"Yeah. He has an obsession with being wanted. Kinda weird."

"Do you want him?"

"What!" Buffy gasped. There was an issue she wanted to avoid like
the plague. She didn't even want to think of how sexy he looked in
his duster, or the way his jeans hugged his ass- which was a very
nice ass-, or how very blue his eyes really were- and whoa! Enough
of those thoughts.

Willow laughed. "Do you want him AROUND? I mean, I know before you
NEEDED him around... but do you want him?"

Buffy chuckled. "I don't know. Ugh- do I have to admit it, or can
this be one of those unspoken things?"

"He was a mess when you died, Buffy. I mean, we all were, but with
Spike..." Willow trailed off, saddened by the memory. "He went
crazy. If it weren't for Dawn, I think he would have dusted himself."

There was a bit of an awkward silence before Willow stood up. "I
should really get going."

"Thanks for everything, Wil," Buffy smiled up at her.

"No prob!"

With that, the redheaded witch turned and left. Buffy lazily grabbed
a book, and opened it. She was surprised when a piece of looseleaf
fell onto her lap. Carefully she unfolded it. The cursive was messy
and drunken, but clearly Spike's. She began to read.

"For Buffy," she read aloud, "A poem by Percy Shelley, who I believe
is a real pillock for what he did to his first wife... bloody good
poet though!"

"Music, When Soft Voices Die," she continued. "Music, when soft
voices die/ Vibrates in the memory --/ Odours, when sweet violets
sicken/ Live within the sense they quicken. / Rose leaves, when the
rose is dead/ Are heap'd for the beloved's bed;/ And so thy thoughts
when thou are gone/ Love itself shall slumber on."

Something unusual flooded through Buffy, and she was on her feet and
out her door almost immediately. She needed to see Spike that
instant- needed to see William. Needed to see the man behind the
poems.

She burst through the door, and stood before the surprised vampire.

"Miss Summers?" he stammered, "Did you find them... awful?"

"God, no!" And then she did the unthinkable. She raced forward,
wrapped her arms around William's neck, and proceeded to give him the
sweetest, most tender kiss she could imagine.

When she pulled away, William was stuttering and hypothetically
blushing. She kissed him again. She couldn't help herself.

"Thank you, William," she murmured, stepping back and away from
him, "Thank you for... well, I guess not dying when you... erm...
died?"

William stepped towards her again, and she recognized the predatory
stare in his eyes. He didn't stop walking until he was right in
front of her, crowding into her space in typical Spike fashion.

His voice was a low growl when he replied, "I love you, Slayer."

Both he and Buffy stepped back in surprise, and William felt his
mouth fall open.

Timidly, Buffy asked, "Spike? Hello? You in there?"

The vampire before her just looked confused and flabbergasted. "I'm
sorry, Buffy! I-I don't know what came over me. I just... I just
felt that you were a Slayer, and that- something in me... Well, I
honestly don't know what happened."

Neither, quite frankly, did the Slayer. She did know, however, that
her sweet kiss tally with Spike was now up from one to three. She
laughed uneasily.

"Ha, must be the poetry."