William
I must admit, the size of this establishment certainly lends itself to my pensive nocturnal musings. Before finding myself in this century I was confined to my rooms, madly setting my thoughts down to paper. Not that my actions have changed significantly after arrival. They'd simply been upgraded to a more tidy sort of paper and ink. But I've always found it more helpful to settle my body and mind if I am able to walk at my leisure. The physical movement seems to facilitate the stream of thought. A regular constitutional can do wonders for one's health of both mind and body. I can certainly entertain the habit during the daytime, but doing so at night was previously a rather perilous activity in my newer surroundings.
Hence, I find myself once again pacing the halls as I contemplate the many things I've learned in the last few days. They'd certainly rivaled the first few days after my arrival to this time. The results of my experiences have undoubtedly served to make me aware of the ways in which I have changed in such a brief period of time. In some ways, I find that I rather like some of these changes. In others, I am equally certain I do not.
I am most certainly not the man I was when the vampiress cornered me in that stable. I am also most certainly not the demon that I became over the course of more than a century. And as much as I envy the love and experience he apparently captured, I am recently of a mind to think that I do not want to be him. But if I am neither the man I was nor the man I became, then who am I? That is the question that has been plaguing my mind this evening and fueling my walks through these dim and quiet halls.
Buffy would insist that I am all that was good about who I became, yet still a separate entity unto myself. Angel insists that he and I are one and the same and that it is simply the chains of my inhibitions preventing me from self-actualizing. My own view, as yet unchanged, is that he is merely the evolution of me through the passage of extensive time and experience, and lack of conscience, none of which are luxuries I will ever again behold. So whom among us has the right of it? The distressing answer upon which I ponder is that if I can not rectify an answer to that question, nothing else I do now matters. How can I expect Miss Buffy to love all of me as I am, when I myself do not even know who I am?
Buffy
I guess it's sort of handy Angel has all this space to roam around in. I'm used to letting my thoughts run wild to and from patrol. But here in LA, patrol is a touch more difficult given the size of the city, much less proximity of graveyards. Nests are probably a dime a dozen in the more run-down areas and according to Wes, there's nearly as many demons as there are people. But I've already patrolled this evening and so here I am at oh-god-thirty still trying to get my thoughts sorted.
I wonder how slayers in the past patrolled such crazy large cities? Probably about the same way I did before we moved to Sunnydale. Which was pretty limited in scope since I was mostly just trying to keep Lothos from killing me at the time. Speaking of, that really was kind of a cheap shot. Where's the honor and glory in seeking out a newly called slayer? Then again, vampires aren't exactly the most honor-bound sort, are they? Spike was, with his weird code of only fighting one who might win. Then again, Spike really was an odd duck, wasn't he?
And that right there is my problem. Here I am, trying to figure out things between me and William and instead, I'm thinking about Spike. As much as I hate to admit it, maybe Giles was right. Maybe everything I've done with William the last couple of months was really just a bad attempt to atone for everything that happened with Spike. Did I just subconsciously substitute one for the other?
And yet, listening to Dawn and Fred talking, it seems like my whole attempt to consider them two different people was wrong. Did Spike really tell Dawn that he was the same person, just disconnected from all the rules and things that make society and culture work? Sure it works badly sometimes, but still. William seems to think he's absolutely not Spike, but is that because it's true, or does he think that because that's what I told him?
If I think of him as absolutely not Spike, it's hard to get past the mannerisms and the intensity, not to mention the looks. If I treat him as the same, just not quite Spike, then it seems like I'll be waiting for him to become Spike and that's not fair to him. I know the situation is pretty unique, but there's got to be some sort of happy medium in all this.
And can I find a happy medium? Maybe I'm not supposed to. I'm still young and there's a lot to life that I haven't experienced yet and there are things that mean maybe I'm not ready to decide my future… and it's probably best not to go strolling through that minefield. Heck, I've already died twice. Three times if you count when Warren shot me according to Xander, but Willow thinks the flatline he heard was just technical interference. Either way, probably not long enough to count. The point is, my expiration date has come and gone.
I used to think I knew who I was and what I wanted. I was so sure. I had this vision of a future me and just couldn't see anything else. Then I had to go and send Angel to hell and I sort of lost myself. Heck, I threw away everything about that self and decided that the end of the day was as far ahead as I wanted to look.
Of course, that didn't last long. I can't undo being the slayer. But I didn't want to surrender anything to the slayer. I wanted to still be Buffy Summers, regular girl from LA, who occasionally has to slay a demon or two, maybe stop an apocalypse if I have to, but otherwise, just plain old Buffy.
Angel and Riley both drove that idea home. Angel left so I could be a regular girl and do regular girl things. Riley left because the regular girl didn't need him enough. If I'd just been more regular girl and less slayer girl, he'd have been happy. And I tried. I really tried to be that person. God how I wanted to be that person. I even wondered if the slayer was somehow erasing that side of me.
Which makes me think that maybe Dawn and Fred are right. Maybe they didn't know or love the real me, because they've never wanted all of me and everything that went with it. Maybe I don't even know me. I don't think I've really gotten comfortable with the two sides of me and what doing so means. I think I'm closer now than I ever have been. I think maybe I was starting to get there. God, Spike, why did you have to go and…
William
Oh, dear. I hadn't anticipated that in the course of my wandering I would perchance come across her. My one consolation is that she seems to be a deep in thought as I was and hasn't yet noticed me. Hopefully, I can quietly turn and…
"William?"
The soft hesitance of her voice echoes through the silence towards me, the sound of it rendering any chance of escape impossible.
"Buffy." I turn and present a cordial nod of acknowledgment.
Is it only less than a day since we last chanced to meet in such a way, confronting ugly truths neither wished to give voice to and yet great was the need for such? Will this meeting prove any better? I have learned a great many things in such a small period of time. Perhaps, this meeting was not one of chance but of fate?
"Can we talk?"
"I think we need to talk."
Our voices collide with the same directive, and neither of us can prevent the small amount of mirth caused by such a thing, though the weight of the matter causes it to quickly disperse.
"Ladies first?" I offer.
Rather than beginning to speak, she seems to consider that for long moments.
"I think," She begins hesitantly. "That's part of our problem. I've been making decisions without giving you the time or space to really decide. And while that's a necessary part of being a slayer, it's not always the best for a relationship. So, how about you go first?"
I'm sorely tempted to point out that in saying as much, she has already done so, but I doubt such a trifle would serve any greater purpose.
"Very well," I acquiesce. "I suppose I should begin with an apology."
"William, you don't have to…"
"Please," I raise a hand, stifling her protestation mid-sentence. "Let me finish? You may be less inclined to protest once I do."
She nods affirmatively, crossing her arms in a self-protective rather than angry manner.
"Yesterday morning, I spoke to you in a manner that was beneath a gentleman, and should never be directed towards another person, even in the throes of anger."
She nods again but doesn't meet my gaze in doing so.
"I won't apologize for the truth contained in the words I said, but the cruelty contained in them was uncalled for. I can't even say that I didn't intend to cause you pain. In my basest self, I wanted them to hurt. But I did not intend that they should reopen old and unhealed wounds that you still carry. For that, I am truly sorry."
"I'm… not entirely sure how to take that." She answers, a confused look upon her face.
After a few seconds, she seems to either accept or dismiss my words in favor of her own.
"But, I think that maybe you were a little bit right."
Now it is I that am uncertain how to accept her admission.
"I think that as much as I've tried to keep you and Spike separate, and I've been trying to make amends to you, but I think maybe also to him through you."
How can words pierce so deeply? More so than any dagger.
"And in trying to make amends for dragging you away from everything you knew, I have been making decisions for you and that's not fair to you. It wasn't something I did intentionally. I never ever wanted to hurt you. But it seems that's the one thing I'm really good at."
I note the small bitter smile drawn across her lips, a likely companion to my own.
"But you're also wrong,' She says, finally looking up to meet my gaze with a newly kindled fire. "The other night had nothing to do with him. It wasn't whatever reason you think you've figured out. Pity? Revenge? Nostalgia? It wasn't about Spike. Or me. It wasn't even about sex, not really. It was about you. It was about easing your pain, even if just for just a little while, and showing you that you're a good man. You deserve to be loved, William, and I wanted to show you that… I do."
I am at war with myself, doing my best not to be easily swayed by her words while desperately wanting to believe them. If the overheard confidence between Wesley and Gunn is to be believed, she's telling the truth. And searching her face, I can detect no sign that she is speaking anything other than the truth.
"I believe you," I finally answer her unspoken question.
Relief floods across her face and before I know what has happened, I find my arms quite full of a most enthusiastic and exquisite young woman whose lips are dueling with my own. It causes something near to physical pain to break such a heavenly seal and push her away from me, to the relative safety of arm's length.
"William?" She searches my face for some indication to clear her confusion.
I watch as, upon finding none, she closes in on herself without even moving, her eyes going distant and cold. The not so distant words shared between Wesley and Gunn call themselves to mind.
"Buffy, I would like nothing more at this moment than to commit your lips to eternal memory, among other things." I pause, giving her time to realize what I've said. "But there is more to discuss, and I fear that if I don't say it now, we may simply replay this distressing tête-à-tête over again without resolution."
My words seem to have the desired effect, at least partially, as she chances to look into my eyes once more with a cautious glance.
"Yesterday, I spoke true. I know no other way to love you than to love all of you. I love every facet of your beauty and strength, your spirit, and your heart. I am not afraid of your divine calling. I would no sooner wish you to hide your strength than I would wish to cut out my own heart."
I can see bright hope beginning to bloom as my words take hold, and it makes the next words I must say that much more difficult.
"But I have since realized that to demand nothing less than all of you is unfair to you. I can not ask you to love all that I am when I don't even know myself who or what that is."
Fear begins to drown hope.
"I am no one, Buffy."
She begins to protest, but I silence her once more.
"Lord William Pratt died in a common stable one hundred twenty two years ago. He became a monster until he too died mere months ago. I am neither Lord Pratt, nor the monster he became. I don't know what I am, other than a man in love with you. And that is a question I must resolve before I can go any further."
She begins to shake her head back and forth slightly, not accepting my words.
"Buffy," I say, capturing her face and forcing her gaze to meet my own. "This is not goodbye. I am completely yours for as long as I shall live. But if I am to ask you to be mine for as long as you shall live, I must first know who I am. Do you understand what I'm saying, Buffy?"
After a few interminable seconds, her beautiful jade-colored eyes widen with understanding, and she nods once to confirm.
"And for me to do that, I need you to leave me here."
"But…"
"I need to know who I am, Buffy, before I lose in you whatever little of myself I have. Please, can you do this for me? For us?"
She closes her eyes, a single tear slipping from one, and offers only a silent nod in reply.
I place a chaste kiss upon her lips. A sincere promise of more to come.
And then I turn and walk away.