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Chapter Sixteen

William stared down at the cards in his hands; he eyed the numbers, the suits, the colors, and yet they had no real meaning for him. He fidgeted, cold blues narrowing and watching them as if the people portrayed where going to jump out and give him the answers he needed. But, in truth, he couldn't give a damn about them. It was just easier to focus his open gaze on something while his mind wandered.

It wasn't right. It couldn't be.

But how had it happened? One moment he was opening up, confiding in his best friend, and then the next he was pouncing on him like a man possessed. In a way, he wanted to think his body had acted on its own; however, in another way, he felt as though it hadn't. He wanted it; he desperately wanted to do things with Dare that he'd never imagined doing with another man—mush less a woman. It didn't make any sense; he hadn't been himself… had he? He'd never been attracted to men; ever—not once. It bothered him to his bones. Wouldn't he have noticed sometime before the age of twenty if he liked men? Most men he'd encountered who were of that sort did, at least in his experience.

Perhaps that wasn't it though. Perhaps it had nothing to do with liking men. Perhaps he just liked Dare. God, was that why Reg's attraction had unsettled him? Why he'd felt a sense of relief when she'd retracted it all?

But, there were so many, many things wrong with this. He couldn't let himself do this, whatever it was. Ignoring religion, as he was inclined to do because he'd never been much of a religious man to begin with—being a creative sort—he just never thought it made sense for him. He'd always been a little innocent, but at the age of thirty he'd long come to know there were men who liked men, women who liked women, and sometimes there were those who liked both. Hell, he even knew that there were married men and women who dallied from their spouse with said spouse in full awares and doing it as well—sometimes in the same room together. Internally, he bristled at the idea of doing it himself—but, damnit, he was getting off track.

The point was, he, William Pratt, was not attracted to men.

It wasn't right. He couldn't be.

"Will, are you going to play or not?"

He blinked, and met the curious gaze of his elder sister.

"Well? Are you? It's your turn and you've been staring at that hand for longer than necessary." She smiled.

"Sorry," he muttered and played his turn.

"Is something on your mind?" Reg asked as she looked at her cards, obviously trying to figure out what to put down. "You appear wholly indisposed, dear brother."

"Lost in thought about the books, that's all," he lied as he watched her play and the turn go to Lilith.

"You want me to look them over?" she asked next.

He sighed. "Why not, you might have better luck with them than I have. I'm not so talented with numbers."

"I should have been born a man," Reg sighed out wistfully. "I'm good with numbers… horses… gambling… pistols. It's rather unfair, don't you think?"

"Life if full of unfair hands, dear," Lilith told her as she took her turn.

William dropped his cards face down, unable to focus. "You two go on and play, I'm not going to win against Reg. You've a better chance than I do, Lily."

The oldest snorted in a very unladylike fashion, but said nothing more.

"Perhaps I won't get married to an Englishman, perhaps not at all," the darker-haired female allowed as she adjusted her hand.

"No one strikes your fancy?" Lilith asked as she glanced over at her.

"I just don't fit in, dearest," she admitted. "They all love me, but I'm playing a part, as you well know. I'd rather just be myself, but etiquette dictates otherwise." She was sighing again as she laid a few cards down. "I'm already growing tired of the parties, the dancing, the smiles…"

"Just make it through the rest of the season, Reg. Then you can come to Scottland with me. We'll find you a nice highland lad," Lilith told her with a grin. "Those boys don't mind a little rebel in their wife; they're quite used to it, I assure you."

"I still say my life would be easier as a man."

William was a little disinclined to agree, but then he'd never been good at being a man anyway. Perhaps it would have been better if Reg and he had been born differently, though that thought had his mind reeling back to where he didn't want it to be. He was suddenly transported back to last night when Dare told him, that in fact, he was a good man. And those images did nothing but make certain parts of his anatomy very uncomfortable.

It didn't matter if he was attracted to him; it had to stop. He had to stop this nonsense, whatever it was. He couldn't very well blame Dare; the man hadn't been the one to attack him with his lips. No, that had been all William's doing. And the worst of it was he'd probably confused him more than William was by his own actions. He didn't want to lose that friendship, but he needed to get his head on straight and his body under control. He couldn't mislead him into thinking there wasn't something there that wasn't. He cared about him and liked spending time with him; however, that was where it had to end.

Hell, maybe he was just lonely. The refusal of Cecily had done more than make him feel like less of a man; it had made him realize just how much he didn't fit in with his peers. He'd always known it, but that night had made the knife twist further. Was he latching onto Dare because he was the only one who'd shown him any sort of affection outside of his family? It was true he didn't have friends, not even male ones. The only people he could have gotten close to—the artists—looked down their nose at him. The last time he'd tried to join a poetry group in the ton he'd been all but given excuses.

God, that had to be it. It had to be.

He was just so damned lonely for some kind of human affection outside of his family that he was projecting onto the closest person he knew would let him because of his preferences towards men. In that sense, it really wasn't right. He simply couldn't take advantage of Dare like that when he knew it wasn't going to go anywhere. Immediately, he felt guilty and knew he had to talk to him.

"And that's game. You win again, Reg. Shall we go down for lunch?" Lilith asked as she glanced at her beaming younger sister.

"Absolutely. Will?" She looked at him expectantly as she gathered the cards up to put them away.

"Ah… yes." Lunch sounded rather good right then. Perhaps some food would help him gather his thoughts better in preparation for what he had to do.

#

Buffy stared out the window to her room, her fingers curled around a curtain as she glanced downward. It had a fine view of the back yard, and enabled her to see that some of the guests had taken to eating lunch outside—probably in part due to the fine weather and because that stupid schedule that had been dropped off said there were a few activities to be had outside.

Ian had helped her dress and was gone after she'd assured him she'd be fine; she really didn't want him going without food on her account—just because she couldn't seem to make one foot out her door for fear of encountering the very man she needed to encounter didn't mean he had to suffer.

As Spike would say—bollocks.

But, what could she have done instead? Pushed him away? Even if she could have she wouldn't have wanted to. And what kind of result would that have had anyway? She'd pushed him away enough already; doing so here, where she needed to do the opposite, it seemed, would have created a whole bunch more problems. He already felt alienated by his peers, by the woman he loved. If she'd pushed him away and denied him like she once did William would have felt all those feelings rushing back.

And damnit, she'd still forgotten to get Ian to send a message to Kit. Stupid brain, stupid body, stupid Victorian England. She found herself reaching up with a fist and tapping herself in the forehead while she shut her eyes, as if to send it all away.

"I think you've got enough of a headache to deal with without injuring yourself, Buffy."

She whirled at that voice, eyes wide and mouth open just a hint. She stumbled only just so, reaching for the window ledge to get leverage. Her back half pressed into it as she stared at a ghost. It had to be a ghost; that, or she was losing her mind.

The woman smiled and allowed her hands to interlink in front of her. "I must say, the Victorian gentlemen look is really good on you."

Buffy blinked a few times. Yes, definitely losing her mind.

She laughed softly. "Whistler said you might need someone to talk to. Plus, I need to experience… or something." She rolled her eyes and settled another quirky smile on her.

"…Tara?"

She chuckled at her this time.

She looked as if she'd never died, never been shot, standing there in an ankle-length pea green skirt with butterflies embroidered, a long sleeve white shirt, and a spaghetti strap rose see-through over that. Her hair was pulled into low pigtails without the braid; the brown-russet strands of it looking too perfect to be real. Jewelry sat around her neck, ears, and wrists in the witchy way she'd always been used to.

Buffy swallowed. So many things were running through her mind. So many emotions. Guilt, sadness, relief and more to name. Half of her wanted to crumble into her because she was someone she knew, someone from a life she wasn't sure made sense anymore—someone who might be able to make sense of it. The other half of her just wanted to cry at what seeing her made her remember.

"It's ok, Buffy," she said quietly as she opened her arms, as her eyes softened.

Though she didn't cry, she did hug her-immediately. "How are you here?" she whispered. "How…?"

Tara rubbed a soothing hand down her back while the other swept over her hair to both smooth it out and comfort her. "Why don't we sit down first and I'll tell you." She pulled away and looked over at the small table in Buffy's room. "It looks like someone brought you tea before. Feel up to sharing?"

"It might be a little cold," Buffy admitted with a smile.

"Nothing I can't take care of," she told her as she moved over to it and took a seat. Her hand touched the tea pot as Buffy joined her. "There, nice and hot." She took the handle and poured for them both. "You're in quite the mess here, aren't you?"

"Understatement of the century."

The brunette grinned as she set it down and went about putting sugar and cream in her cup.

"Why are you here? What's going on?" she asked again, too curious to mess with her tea just yet. Green eyes scrutinized Tara. "Not that I'm ungrateful…"

"Whistler was supposed to come down and have a chat with you about the two Vengeance demons, but he decided I'd be a better fit for the time being." She picked up her cup and took a ginger sip. "It's almost like Giles'… I miss him." She sighed. "Anyway, he wanted me to tell you not to engage Hallie or Anya—to fight them. They're not here to cause trouble in the slightest for anyone. The PTB weren't expecting them to show up, but then so much has changed because of Spike's arrival."

"Is that who you work for?"

Tara met her gaze and nodded.

Buffy blinked again. "Now I want to be in the know even more."

Tara laughed. "It's really easy, Buffy. Honest. When I died they gave me two options. I could either live out the rest of my afterlife happy and at peace… or, I could do some good in the world." She frowned and looked down at her cup. "I couldn't really save Willow, you know? So, I took them up on it and got a second chance at life."

"Are you a demon like Whistler now?"

"Goddess, no." she smiled cheekily at her. "I'm me—human. I've just got a few extras, is all. You know, to help me do what I need to do. I'll live and age just as I did before. But, while I'm here I'll get the chance to help."

"Are you allowed to see…"

"Willow?"

"Yeah."

Tara sighed at that and lifted her cup, she took a few whiffs of it and sipped again. "I'm still in training, but ultimately I'm supposed to take Whistler's place on behalf of the PTB for you and the gang. Helping you here is like a trial run for me, to see if I'm ready. So, yes, ultimately I'll get to see Willow… I'm just not ready to see her yet." She paused, looking at her cup and one thumb rolled over the lip. "She's got to learn not to lean on me, Buffy. A relationship doesn't mean needing someone all the time, it means give and take and wanting that person around to take the journey of life with.

"I'm happy with where she's at. I've… checked on her a few times. But, right now she needs to get through this hurdle on her own.

"That dark place she went to…"

"I understand."

Tara smiled again as she met her gaze. "I know you do."

There was quiet for a moment was both women thought over that information, going back over what had happened to them both—what had gone wrong and where they were now. But, after the pass of a minute, Tara broke the silence.

"How are you holding up here? Whistler said you might need someone to talk to after last night."

"Well, you're certainly better company than him," she grumbled as she sat back and crossed her arms over her chest.

"He can be cryptic at times."

"I was going to say annoying, but sure."

It seemed Tara couldn't stop grinning and Buffy enjoyed that. It was good to see her happy in some way after what they'd both been through. "It's hard," she told her next. "I just… I don't want to put him through it all over again—me. I never did it right after I came back. I kept letting Xander bully me into what was right and wrong; I didn't want to disappoint anyone. I kept trying to go back to being the me I was before."

"But, we've all changed, Buffy. That fight with Glory made a lot of changes. You being dead didn't do that." She frowned and reaching out, taking her hand. "You can't always please everyone just because you're the slayer and people tend to hold you in some kind of higher… regard. Staying on that pedestal gets lonely."

"Don't I know it." She pulled her hand back and rubber her face, sighing as she then stared down at both of those hands. "You weren't around for the fight with Angelus… but, I think that's when it got bad."

"I know what you're talking about," she told her as she reached for one of the little treats that had come with the tea. "When I agreed to work under the PTB they let me look into your life, Buffy. I hope that doesn't upset you."

"No, it doesn't. In a way, it's a relief."

"Willow and Xander were young then. And you're mother was still coming to grips with you being a slayer. What they did when you got back from LA was wrong. The party, the pretending it was all ok, the blaming." She was frowning again, pausing before taking another bite of the tiny pie thing. "But, they're human. You can't hold them in some kind of infallible place. They make mistakes."

"I know," she muttered as she finally reached for her tea and took a sip. "But, regardless, I think that's where everything started to fall apart. It's like we stopped really talking. I mean, it was always hard to talk to Xander because he like liked me and he'd never liked Angel and that created a wedge… But, with Willow… We'd always been close before that. And it just got worse over the years. I felt like I was pulling further and further apart from her—them—because some part of me didn't think they could understand."

"Xander hating Angel wasn't the only thing to create a wedge," she told her.

Buffy blinked. "What do you mean?"

Tara finished her treat and washed it down with more tea, then pouring herself another cup. She wasn't looking at Buffy as she spoke. "He didn't just dislike Angel because of you, or because of what Angelus did. He didn't hate Spike either because of those reasons. Look at how he treated Anya."

"I'm really on planet confusion now."

"Xander is… demon racist?" she said, looking to try and figure out if that was the right word, her long digits tapping her chin as she looked upward. "Well, you know what I mean. He's been that way ever since Jesse was turned into a vampire. That's probably why he never fully accepted Angel, Spike, or Anya. He could never understand why there were grays—like Whistler and Clem—when his friend couldn't find a way. Did you ever wonder if he thought they could have given Jesse a soul?"

"I don't know…" Buffy said, thinking on it more as Tara's words washed over her.

"You're not the only one who's bad with talking, Buffy," she told her as she mixed the cream and sugar into her tea. "You can't take all the blame. Willow and Xander have kept things to themselves for the same reasons you did—they didn't want to burden you, they didn't think you could handle it, or they thought they could do it on their own. You're not all that different—being a slayer or not doesn't make a difference. Even Giles has his own demons to fight because of what happened to Jenny.

"No one is perfect. Even the slayer."

Why hadn't she ever confided in Tara before? All of this made so much more sense with someone to bounce off, to tangle her thoughts with, and come to grips with the mess of information in her head. That's what she'd needed—someone to really talk to who knew it all the same way she did. "Is there anyway I can give you a review? I really don't want Whistler back." Her nose scrunched playfully and she grinned, feeling a million times better already.

Tara laughed loudly at that. "They already know, Buffy. Trust me."

"Really though, this has helped a lot. I mean, I'm still not sure how to deal with William or Spike, but I at least know how to deal with the problem back home when I get back."

"I'm here for that too."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"You know," Tara told her as she set her cup down and level her with a certain look—as if she were a school guidance counselor or teacher. It was a look that Buffy decided fit her very well. "I realize that you want to PTB to lay it out for you; that would be a heck of a lot easier. But, if they did that then you wouldn't have the free will to make your own choices. And people need that. So, I'm not going to tell you we don't have answers, or that it's fair—what they do. But, it's the right way to do things even when it seems… fucked up." She blushed a little at the curse which just made Buffy grin more. "You're not going about it wrong right now. Give Kit time to figure out how to summon the Dijinn and let William go his way. The main goal here is to separate them. Being with Spike is something you have to decide on your own.

"But, if you want my advice—the Tara advice that's not PTB related—I say you should do what Ian told you. Let him set the pace and things will fall where they need to be.

"Spike loves you. Becoming the man he was in the past isn't going to change that. You and I both know it. He'll figure it out soon enough."

"It's not exactly a road map, but I appreciate it."

"Anytime."

AN :: I had this chapter done a few weeks ago. But, I wanted to make sure it was just right. And I like to update about once a month with fanfics these days. Gives me more time to work on my original fiction. At any rate, hope you enjoyed it~!