The Miseducation of Buffy Summers by Verity
Chapter Two

Summary: Sunnydale, CA, 1997: Buffy Summers lives at 1630 Revello Drive with her family: a younger sister - Dawn, her mother - Joyce, an art historian, and her stepfather - Rupert, a professor at UC Sunnydale. Her life couldn't be more ordinary. Until her stepbrother William comes to spend the summer with them in the wake of his mother's death...

Written for taboo_spuffy on livejournal. Thanks to my loyal betas, automaticdoor, coyotegoth, and wickedwitch74!

Disclaimer: Everything that you recognize belongs to Joss. The rest belongs to me.

He couldn't figure out why Buffy avoided him. Not that he was particularly fond of her, but she'd always taken a strong dislike to him, from the time they met at their parents' wedding. He was ten, she, barely five.

"I don't like you," she'd said, sticking out her lower lip and looking for all the world like a sulky Glinda in her flower girl dress. Got to give credit to Miss Buffy, always was direct.

Will watched her slip back up the stairs as he let go of Dawn, who was still grinning at him. She was about the age that Buffy had been the last time he'd seen her, but the difference between the two couldn't have been more marked. Dawn might be shy, but once you got past that that, she was as sweet and open-hearted as sunshine. Buffy, regardless of the forthright exterior she put on, was the unfathomable one.

Rupert tapped him on the shoulder. "If you're so keen on computers, why don't you show Dawn how to use one?"

"Sure," Will found himself saying agreeably. "Got plenty of time for you, Dawn."

But his mind stayed with the image of their sister, walking back upstairs, away from both of them.

That was how he had seen his mother last, too: walking up a staircase.

His father hadn't asked about the details, and Will wasn't sure he had it in him to share them. She'd been his mother, after all; there'd been no love lost between them in recent years, but he felt obliged to keep her secrets, keep her memory bright. Not for his father, but in spite of everything, for himself.

She'd paid for everything, his education, his lodgings at Oxford, books and fine clothes and anything he could ask for, but nothing that he truly wanted. He'd spent most of his teens running with his working-class mates, who only teased him about being a toff occasionally once they found out how good Will was in a fight. Despite everything, he'd aced four A-levels, and found himself leaving his pals in Manchester for digs in Oxford come the start of Michaelmas term.

At Oxford, Will had done well, but found himself lonely. Save Wesley, with whom he'd shared lodgings since second year, he'd had few friends. But he'd preferred hitting the books, with a bit of pool sharking on the side, to trying to socialize with gits in sweater vests who spoke BBC English.

Much like the one who lingered in the doorway as he began to unpack his computer in the study. Will was conscious of both sets of eyes resting on him: his father's, guarded; Dawn's, unabashedly eager. Dawn hooked up the keyboard and mouse while he lifted the monitor to its place on the desk; then, he showed her how to tighten the screws on either side of the monitor connector when she plugged it in. A few power cables and some strategic draping of the cords later, it was ready to go.

"Can I turn it on?" his sister asked Will eagerly.

"Go ahead," he told her. The system began to boot up, and the familiar grey background cast a dull light on her hair. Will shot a glance up at his father, who hadn't moved from the threshold.

Finally, Rupert turned toward the hallway. "Dawn needs to help Joyce set the table in an hour," he said mildly. "Just wind things up by then."

Well, he'd passed some kind of test, which made Will flush with resentment for a moment. But then he turned back to the computer to help Dawn login, and took a deep breath. You're all right by me, kid. I won't let you be no one's pawn.

He'd played too many games already.

His first real sight of Buffy came at dinner, where she sat opposite him and grimaced when she thought no one was looking. She was wearing a faded grey t-shirt that bore the legend "I Survived East West Field Hockey Camp '96," and her blonde hair cascaded loosely across her shoulders. Taken all together, it was a look that proclaimed a studied and absolute disinterest in the houseguest who happened to be seated across the table.

Unfortunately for Buffy, she had a mouth that was just made to pout.

Will arched an eyebrow, and she made another face. "Field hockey?"

"She's one of the best in the state!" Joyce interjected before Buffy could speak, setting a large bowl of mashed potatoes on one of the trivets as she did so.

"That's right," her daughter confirmed, as she began to butter her roll rather aggressively. "I've been playing since I was 12." For the first time, she looked Will in the eye, and smiled. "Until they started a women's team at Sunnydale, I played with the boys. And I was very, very good there, too."

"A great athlete is our Buffy," Rupert said affectionately, coming in with a steaming bowl of carrots. He paused as Dawn scooted her chair closer to the table to let him pass. "But good in school, too."

"Except for math!" Dawn crowed.

Buffy sighed and frowned at her sister. "We all know you're a genius, sweetie." There was that smile again. "But someone in the family needs to be able to threaten your boyfriends when you get old enough to date. God knows Mom and Rupert won't be any help."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Ewwww, don't be gross. I am never going to date. I am going to have a laboratory in Menlo Park... with kittens. Lots of kittens."

Rupert chose that moment to clear his throat loudly. "And now... I think it is time to begin dinner. Joyce, would you like to say grace?"

The third time Will saw Buffy that day, he had entered the kitchen innocently in search of a glass of milk.

She was silhouetted against the light from the refrigerator when he entered the kitchen. He sucked in his breath, looking at the outline of her softly curving ass. Then she turned around, two liters of Diet Coke clutched to her chest and a jar of grape jelly in her hand. "God, can't a girl make a sandwich in peace?"

"I just wanted a glass of milk," he muttered. "And I think you'll find that fizzy drinks work poorly in a sandwich."

Rummaging in the breadbox on the counter, she ignored him.

Will pulled out a carton of skim milk, frowned at it, then shut the refrigerator door. "Have I committed some unpardonable offense against you, Buffy?"

"Buffy?"

She turned around, leaving her sandwich on the counter. Will made an effort not to stare at her breasts, unrestrained beneath the thin cotton of her t-shirt. Pineapples, he thought to himself. Think of pineapples. That's a very off-putting fruit, there.

"You don't belong here," she said. "This is my family, and you are not a part of it. Arent you old enough to take care of yourself? Doesn't your mommy have relatives with shoulders for you to cry on?"

He couldn't breathe for a second. Couldn't think. He managed not to drop the container of milk.

Apparently Buffy could see from his face that she'd made some kind of mistake, and she tried to take a step back, stumbling when she hit the counter.

"Sorry," he said, not sure why he was bothering to apologize. He returned the milk to fridge; he'd have no appetite now. "Off to bed, then."

"Wait-" he heard her say, but Will had no time and no patience for her now. He'd come to California to escape his demons, not confront them. Soon enough, he knew, that day would come.