Chapter 33

"Morning!"

Buffy jumped slightly, not expecting the cheery greeting as she walked into the kitchen the following morning. She turned towards the source and was greeted by the sight of an older man, who she could only assume to be Spike's father, taking mugs out of a corner cupboard on the far side of the room.

"I'm sorry, did I startle you?" he asked, filling the kettle with water and placing it to boil.

"Er, no, well, not really," she said, thrown a little in her still-sleepy state by how alert he seemed this early in the morning.

"Good. Tea?" he asked, turning to the counter where the kettle had just boiled.

"Oh, yes please, that would be nice," she replied, crossing the room and taking a seat at the round wooden table.

The man placed a mug of tea in front of her and took a seat a little further round the table.

"So, I take it you're Buffy. Sorry I missed you last night – I got a little engrossed in one of my texts and lost track of time. Then, when I finally surfaced, Jenny told me that you and William had left for the pub."

"That's okay..." Buffy said, not really sure how to reply and desperately trying to think of something to talk about. She took a sip of her tea. "What were you reading?" she asked eventually.

"Oh, a treatise on the indigenous civilisations of the region surrounding ancient Babylonia. Fascinating, really." His eyes sparkled as he talked and Buffy tried to look interested, but clearly failed miserably. "Yes, well," he said. "I realise that it's not everyone's cup of tea, but as a lecturer in ancient history, one must keep on top of these things.

"Anyway, enough about me. My one-and-only son tells me that you're reading English at Manchester."

"Yes, that's right. I'm in my final year now and I can't believe how much work there is to do!"

"Don't let him get you talking, pet. He'll never let you get away," Spike's voice drawled from the doorway. Buffy turned to see him lounging against the wall, smirk playing across his lips.

"I'll have you know I am not that bad!"

"Oh, come on Rupert, you bloody well are – you'll get her talking about the intricacies of some long dead author or poet and she'll be here all day."

"And I s'pose that makes you my knight in shining armour then, right?" Buffy asked with a laugh.

"Yeah, summat like that." He smile and walked into the room, stopping by her chair.

"I don't think so, somehow," she exclaimed derisively, turning back to his father. "Anyway, I was having a conversation with... Rupert... before you so rudely interrupted." She stumbled slightly over the name as she fleetingly considered how little it suited the man before her.

"Oh, God. Please don't. Call me Giles – 'Rupert' is such an awful name!" He looked at Spike. "I don't understand why you insist on using it. Whatever happened to 'dad'?"

"As long as you persist on calling me 'William', you'll have to live with 'Rupert'," Spike smirked.

"Well then, I will just have to get used to it, since hell will freeze over before I'll call you by that God-awful nickname of yours!" Giles said, shaking his head as Buffy burst out laughing. Both men looked at her, puzzled.

"What?" Spike asked.

"Oh, nothing. It's just, well, you can tell you two are father and son, that's all. You're just as stubborn as each other."

"I-I, I'm not – I'm nothing like him!" Spike blustered, momentarily thrown by her declaration.

"Yeah, well. Whatever. I'm gonna go and have a shower – nice to met you Giles," she smiled and walked out of the kitchen.

"I can't believe you think I'm anything like my father!" Spike's exclamation broke the silence and Buffy turned to look at him, puzzled expression fleeting across her face.

"Oh, you're not still on that one are you?" she groaned. "I thought you'd dropped that hours ago!"

"Just bugs me, that's all." He kicked a pebble across the road and shrugged, scowling slightly. "You really think I'm like dad?" he asked.

"Oh no – I'm not getting into this one again. If you're going to be going on about this all day then this topic is officially closed. If you mention it again then I'm just gonna go home!" she said firmly.

"Fine, whatever."

"And, please, for God's sake – stop sulking. It really doesn't suit you."

Spike was silent as they turned a corner. The day had turned out cold but bright and they'd decided that a walk round the village would be good idea for that afternoon.

"So, what do you think?" Spike asked, trying to change the subject.

"The village? It's very..." she fished for a word.

"Picturesque?" Spike supplied as they passed the church in its grounds, the scene somewhat stark and desolate as the normally softening trees stood bare branched and wilting in the winter cold, the old gravestones adding to the atmosphere. He caught the look on her face and chuckled. "Okay, maybe not right at this very moment..."

"Sorry, never really been one for graveyards – they kinda give me the wiggins, y'know? But, yeah, generally – picturesque would do it."

They walked along in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the last of the winter's sunshine in the clear, crisp evening. Spike led her off the road and down a narrow passageway, lined with thick bushes that had yet to totally lose their green. The corridor opened out into a wide hollow. A small cliff formed one side and Buffy could see the main village road ran along its top. About half way down the cliff, a trickle of water sprang forth and formed a small waterfall down into a pond at the base of the cliff. The runoff created a stream which ran off down the incline passed the opening to the passage. Large stones had been placed across the stream to allow people to cross to where the path continued on the far bank.

Spike smiled and danced light-footed across the stream, nimbly jumping from rock to rock, hardly even having to look down to see where to place his feet. Buffy followed more cautiously, aware of the fact that the winter rains meant that the rocks were almost entirely submerged in the water.

Spike sat down on the bench which was positioned on the far bank and watched her cautiously cross the river, remembering the first time he'd tried it back when his family had arrived in the village when he was a young teenager. Crossing the stream wasn't as easy as it looked, despite the stepping stones and many a time he ended up in the icily cold water instead of dry on the bank laughing at someone else's' misfortune. Yet he quietly breathed a sigh of relief as he watched Buffy gain the bank unharmed and dry and she joined him on the bench, laying her head back against his shoulder and gazing up at the rapidly dimming sky.

"It's nice here, though a little muddy," she said as she leaned forward to examine the clumps of dirt that had resolutely lodged themselves to the soles of her trainers.

"This is s'posed to be the heart of the village, you know? It's what it was named for..." Spike said lightly. Buffy frowned at him, not getting what he meant. "Well, think about it..." he continued. "Look at the trees..." he indicated there surroundings and Buffy properly noticed for the first time that the hollow was surrounded by a vale of trees, their bare branches leaving the area exposed at this time of year, but she could imagine that in Spring and Summer the basin would be protected from the sun by the lightly rippling leaves and she smiled.

"Right, trees. Nice, but still can't see why that has anything to do with the village?"

"Do you know nothing?" Spike asked aghast, then quickly backed off at the look that the petite girl at his side flashed him. "Well, anyway, right – they're ash trees. And this is a spring – the water comes up out of the ground here, forming a natural well. Ash-well. Ashwell, see?" he asked.

"Oh, right. Hmm, that's kinda cool." Buffy shrugged and returned to watching the sky darken.

"You have no poetry in your soul at all do you?" Spike asked, sounding a little exasperated.

"Oh, and you do?" she teased.

"More than you!"

"Hmph!" Buffy sounded, turning away from him on the seat and crossing her arms.

"Oh, come on! What's wrong with you now?" Spike complained.

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me ?" Buffy declared, turning back to him with a look of disbelief on her face. "You're the one who's spent most of the day in a massive sulk just because I happened to mention that you share character traits with your father – and I can't see what the big deal about that is anyway, he seems like a really nice guy..."

"So we're back on dad now, are we – I thought that you didn't want to talk about that anymore?" he snapped back in response.

"I don't!"

"Fine!"

"Okay."

"Exactly."

They scowled at each other for a minute in the rapidly failing light, before the hooting of an owl sounded suddenly nearby, breaking the atmosphere. Seemingly simultaneously, they both became aware of the ridiculousness of the situation and burst out laughing.

"What was that all about?" Buffy asked through the laughs.

"I have no idea," Spike chuckled, reaching out to lightly stroke the side of her face. "Guess that was our first fight..."

"What you talking about? We've fought loads of times before" Buffy said, her laughter dying away.

"Well, yeah, but not since we... Well, you know – this is different," he tried to explain.

If anyone had asked him later, Spike would have told them that he could almost physically see the disconnection – the moment that she drew herself back from him – and his heart sank – something that was fast becoming a familiar sensation for him. Every time they were together, every time that they made a connection he could feel her there, with him, just for a moment. And then she would realise where she was and she would suddenly be gone, retreating to hide behind the sunny smile and perfect blonde locks.

So, in the moment that he saw her go, Spike did the same thing.

He leaned back, affecting his usual careless slouch, leather-clad arm draped over the back of the bench, legs long and lean, stretched out before him and crossed lazily at the ankles. He coolly took in his surroundings, careful not to meet her face until he'd schooled his expression back into one of casual indifference.

Fine, he thought as the mask fell into place. If she wants to pretend that there's nothing more between us that the occasional shag, then so can I..."

Once he was confident of his act, he leisurely stood and stared to walk off before looking back at where Buffy was still sat on the bench.

"It's getting late, pet. We should get back," he said, a small, sad smile escaping momentarily to fly across his face before being ruthlessly crushed under the boot of the affected persona so carefully worn. He shook his head and walked off, not looking to see if she was following him or not.