Chapter 9

"Did you talk to her?" Willow asked when Angel returned to the car.

"I did."

"And?"

"She said that he's slightly better now, but still bleeding."

"Did you ask her when she's actually going to tell us?"

"I told her it would be a good idea to talk to you guys soon, but she seemed pretty hesitant."

"Did you get a chance to talk to William?"

"I did."

"And?"

"He's normal, I guess. Pretty quiet and bashful though. He seemed to be pretty happy just watching TV with Dawn."

"Ok, so he's not brain damaged or some sort of monster?"

"You were expecting him to be?"

Willow shrugged. "I can't find very much reliable information about him. I didn't really know what to expect."

"Would it make things easier if he was brain damaged?"

She sighed, "I don't even know if there is a problem yet. I mean, I know what I found, but it was still pretty vague."

"You better figure it out quick, Willow. The longer he's here, the harder it will be to take the necessary precautions."

Angel put the car into drive and they headed out silently. Both lost in thought, concerns and doubts weighing heavily on their minds.

"What's the worse can scenario?" Angel finally asked.

"He starts killing people. Or we have to start killing people for him."

"Do you think that will happen?"

"I don't know, Angel. It would be much better if I could see him, study him."

Without a word, Angel slammed on the breaks and flipped a U-turn.

"What the hell was that?" Willow demanded once she caught her breath.

"This isn't a game. You need to see him. If Buffy doesn't like it, well, too bad."

Willow settled into her seat, suddenly nervous. She didn't like to put Buffy on the spot, because she was unpredictable in those situations. But there was no sense in putting off the inevitable, and honestly, it was nice placing the decision in Angel's hands.

They were back to the apartment complex within minutes. As soon as Angel parked, Willow jumped out the door and headed up the stairs. Taking a deep breath and not giving it too much thought, she knocked on the door.

Dawn answered.

"Oh, hi Willow! What's up?"

"I came by to see Buffy. Is she home?"

"Um, yeah. Come on in."

Willow expected to see William in the living room or the kitchen, but was disappointed. She did see Buffy however, munching on a carrot and reading a magazine at the kitchen table.

"Hey, Wills, what's up?"

"We need to talk."

The bright, fake smile left Buffy's face. "Yeah, I know we do. Did Angel tell you?"

"He did. Buffy, why didn't you?"

She threw her hands up helplessly, "I don't know. I didn't know how. I mean, how do you explain something like that?"

"I just don't understand, Buffy. I mean, how could you? You of all people should know better."

"I know. It was a mistake."

"A mistake? Like an accident? How do you accidentally bring someone back from the dead?"

"It wasn't…I didn't bring him back from the dead, and I didn't mean for this to happen."

"What did you mean to happen?"

"Nothing! It was all a…misunderstanding."

Willow rubbed her eyes. "Buffy, you messed with forces that you can't even comprehend. I've been trying to figure out what the consequences could be, but I've been coming up empty."

Buffy didn't respond, rather shifted her attention back to the magazine.

"Are you ignoring me again?"

"What?" Buffy asked. "I'm not ignoring you."

"Whatever. Can I meet him?"

"Maybe, if he feels up to it. He hasn't been feeling good lately."

"I feel quite well, thank you."

Both girls turned around, and saw William's smiling, if rather wan, face. "I thought you were resting," Buffy said.

"I was, but I heard voices and thought I would come out and greet our visitor." He turned his attention to Willow. "Good evening, Ms…?"

"Rosen…Rosenburg." Willow stammered, completely unprepared for actually meeting William. She didn't know what she expected, but it wasn't this quiet, unassuming man standing before her.

"Ms. Rosenburg. How are you?"

"Oh, oh, please call me Willow. And I'm fine. I'm better than fine. The day is beautiful, don't you think. I saw a humming bird outside and I…um…I mean, how are you doing?"

Ok, Buffy thought, when was the last time Willow babbled like a fool?

"I'm good, thank you for asking."

Buffy stood up and silently offered her chair to William. He took it with a grateful smile, and Willow mentally noted that they seemed very comfortable with each other.

"So," Willow asked awkwardly, "How's the 21st century treating you?"

"It's been a very enlightening and entertaining. For example, did you know there's a fish that…"

"We don't need to hear the fish story again," Buffy cut him off dryly, but not rudely. William didn't seem to mind, just laughed softly.

"Anyhow," he continued, "it's an exciting experience."

"That's good. I'm glad that you are adjusting so well."

"Yes, well, I didn't have much of a choice."

Buffy silently sat a glass of lemonade in front of him, and he accepted with a polite nod. Again, the comfort level was markedly high.

"Willow, would you like to stay for dinner?" Buffy invited.

"I can't," Willow said, with genuine regret. "Kennedy is expecting me soon."

She excused herself, and promised that she would call soon. William expressed interest in seeing her again, explaining that he had many things he would like to talk about and Dawn and told him that Willow was "the smart one".

Angel took her home, and they both remained silent. Meeting William weighed heavily on her mind, and suddenly the thought of what they may have to do was absolutely sickening. There had to be another way. She would try harder.

~*~

Despite Willow's apparent acceptance of William, she was still in a poor mood when Willow finally left. Both William and Dawn knew better than to bother her when she was in that type of move, and so the house was silent nearly all night.

"Dawn," Buffy said, finally breaking the long silence. "You should go to bed. You still have school."

"It's only ten," Dawn protested. "I'm not 12."

"I know you are not 12. Just go to your room, ok? I don't care if you sleep."

Dawn wasn't in the mood to fight with her sister, so she just flounced out of the room indignantly. 

"Are you staying up?" Buffy asked William.

"I thought we could start on the book…"

"Not tonight. I'm tired."

"That's fine, Buffy. I'll retire to my bedroom now. Oh, Buffy, I was thinking…"

"Yes?"

"There's really no reason for me to stay in the bedroom anymore. I can easily sleep on the couch."

"No, William, you're still sick. And my guest. I'm fine out here."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Look, if you want, we can talk about this later…after you're stronger."

"I will hold you to that."

As soon as William went to his room, Buffy collapsed on the couch. The visit from Angel, the fight with Willow, and really the whole week had completely worn her out. She was working a full ten hour shift the next day, and she was not looking forward to it at all.

It would also be William's first day completely on his own, and the thought made her nervous. What if he passed out again? What if he started bleeding again? What if he didn't have enough strength to get his meals?  She sighed. He was an adult, he could take care of himself. Hopefully.

All of this worrying about William brought back ugly memories of her mother's illness, and later, Spike's torture. She took their well beings on her shoulders, as well as the safety of Dawn, and her friends, and her entire world, and she just wasn't that confident in her abilities.

She hadn't thought about Joyce in a long time. The paid had eventually dulled, and then disappeared, and Joyce's memory lurked in the corners of her subconscious. It seemed that her mother was always around, just a part of her life, and that made it easier to live without her. But now she couldn't help thinking of the tests, the hospital, the pain, the pills, the careful instructions from the doctors, the fear that permeated the entire house until it suffocated them.

Buffy knew that her mother would like William. She would be thrilled with William, in fact. They would have a lot in common, Buffy figured. They both were smart. They both liked art. Joyce liked Spike anyway. And there was no doubt that William would adore Joyce, for the same reason Spike did. She was a strong, independent, intelligent, mother figure. Just what he needed. Spike liked strong women.

The more time she spent with William, the more she was able to completely separate him from Spike's memory. There were similarities, to be sure. The way he pronounced certain words, the way he tilted his head, the way his eyes sparkled, random mannerisms and general impressions. She recognized the eager way he looked at her, and the almost hungry way he gazed at her. She was familiar with the poet that lurked just beneath Spike's hard veneer, and she knew his soul. But there was much more to William than what he shared with Spike.

Somehow, in the depths of the night, the thought depressed her. She enjoyed William's company, and each day she felt herself growing closer to him. But he wasn't Spike. Having William around just reminded her that Spike was gone.

With these troubling thoughts, she finally fell into a restless sleep and tumbled into horrible dreams.

"Mommy? Mommy?" She didn't respond, no matter how many times Buffy called her name. She just stared sightlessly at the ceiling, unmoving. "Mommy? What's wrong? What are you doing?"

The ambulance workers shoved her out of the way. With blood on their hands, they picked up her mother. Blood smeared across her face, across her clothes, clotted in her hair.

"That's not her blood!" Buffy insisted, but they ignored her. "You're hands are bloody." Bloody handprints all over the living room, covering the couch, blood dripping onto the floor staining the carpet.

They carry her away, and Buffy can't reach them. They carry her out the door into a black abyss, that grows darker and deeper. It sucks her mother into it, and Buffy shouts after her, but all she can see are bloody tracks.

"S'ok, pet," Spike said from behind her.

She spun around. "Spike! Oh God, they took her. She's all bloody, and they wouldn't let me clean her."

"I know, luv, but she'll be fine."

"How do you know?"

"It's not as scary as it looks. You know that."

"Is she? Did she go to Heaven?"

"Course pet. Your mum was  a good woman, a classy lady. Course she went to heaven."

"Spike, all that blood…it's yours."

"It is."

"Where are you going?"

"Can't follow you and your mum, Slayer. Got my own thing I have to do."

"No, you've done enough."

He walked out the door, and she noticed the blood was gone. But the darkness was not.

"You can't follow her, Spike. You can't see her!"

"Not going where she's going, pet. Don't need to follow her."

Before she could ask him where he was going, the darkness followed him. She was left

alone in her house, surrounded by darkness. "Where are you going?" She cried.

They keeping telling me to go…to go to hell.

Buffy woke up with a cry, tears already falling down her cheeks. Oh God, oh god, was that a Slayer dream? What did it mean? No, it couldn't be a Slayer dream. No, no, it was just a bad dream. A nightmare.  

"What's going on?" William demanded in the darkness. "Are you ok? I heard you, and I came in…"

A strangled sob escaped Buffy's throat. She didn't know what the dream meant, but it had frightened her at a very base level, and though she knew the inky blackness of night intimately, it didn't stop her from being afraid.

William kneeled beside the couch. "Buffy? Buffy, pet, what's wrong?"

Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Startled, he tried to pull back, but she wouldn't let him go. She needed physical contact, needed an anchor to the world until the sun came back. He relaxed and wrapped his arms around her, and slowly the tension left her muscles.

William held her and gently stroked her hair until the tears slowed and dried. He meant to ask her again what had upset her, but he didn't want to break the comforting silence. He inhaled softly, thrilled by the feel and scent of her. She was soft and warm.  He had never, ever been this close to a woman.

He was mortified to feel himself growing hard, and he closed his eyes and did his best to will it away. It didn't work. He waited desperately for her to fall asleep so he could escape, but the last thing he wanted to do was release her sweet body.

When she finally did fall asleep, he still didn't let her go, though his knees were screaming in protest and he was still straining uncomfortably against his paints. Finally, he was forced to lay her carefully on the couch and untangle her arms from his neck. She stirred slightly, but otherwise, continued to sleep peacefully. With a sigh of relief, he hurried back to his own room.

He lay stiffly on his bed, his legs straight, his arms tense at his side. He was forced to free his hard member, and instantly sighed in relief when it sprung loose of his pants. He had touched himself before, tentatively, with extreme caution and fear, but not often. Only when it was absolutely, positively necessary, and even then he hated to do it. All he could think of was the disapproving glares of his minister and his mother.

But they were the very last things on his mind now. Nothing could have been farther. The only thing he could think of was the slightly sweet, slightly salty way Buffy smelled when she pressed her body against his. All he could think of was the feel of her soft, unsupported breasts against her check. The texture of her long hair that wound around his hand.

The more he thought of her, the harder he stroked himself. Soon he was picturing her naked. Despite the mingling feelings of embarrassment, humiliation, and wrongness, he couldn't stop his over-reactive imagination. He imagined licking her salty skin, tracing her breasts with his lips, kissing her stomach and thighs. He thought about touching her in her softest, secret places, murmuring her name as he explores her body, studying her like a map to buried treasure.

He envisioned finally entering her, taking her, making her his. He knew only that it would make him feel powerful, but not what it would feel like to be inside of her. That didn't matter though. Just the thought of doing something so wicked, yet so delicious was enough to send him spinning over the edge.

He cleaned the mess up desperately, exhausted and yet exhilarated. He knew it was wrong to think about her like that, but he could not deny how much he wanted her.