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Chapter Twenty

"Are coming downstairs today?"

Buffy looked up from blank little book in front of her; tiny little scribbling's of words were marked along the page. Mostly, it was a haphazard mess. She still hadn't gotten used to using a fountain pen; it released a lot more ink than a normal ball point. Still, it served it served its purpose: letting her catalogue a journal of her feelings and get some shit off her chest.

Buffy hadn't written in a diary for a long time, but with not much else to do aside from read when she didn't want company left her staring out the window while she feigned sickness.

That part was funny to her. Really, it was crazy how Victorian people just bought that you were sick and left it that. It was as if they just accepted that you either were ill or just didn't want to be fuckin' bothered.

Too bad it didn't work like that in her time. If Buffy told anyone she wasn't feeling well somehow that meant an army was needed to mend her back to health.

Hazel-green eyes settled on Kit, taking in his dark day attire mixed with a few pastels. The creamier greens on the vest made it seem less like dinner wear, while the blacks were just enough to insinuate that he wasn't what the English called a dandy. Truly, Kit dressed like a stylish Giles with less tweed. Too bad the genes hadn't rubbed off.

But, that had nothing to do with her replying to his question.

Buffy didn't want to go downstairs. Not today; maybe tomorrow. She knew she probably should. One day playing the sick dude would be fine; two days in row would make people talk. The blond wasn't ready though. She felt like she needed more time to sort her thoughts, to sort the ramifications of once more being used like a tool in someone's game of end-the-world.

Really, she wanted to blame someone. Spike? It didn't feel right. Being upset with him was an old pastime, and, she was tired to shifting blame to someone who didn't deserve it; not when he was just as much a victim as she was.

The Dijinn? At best he was an instrument. It would be easy to be angry with him because he was so far away and out of reach—somewhere that didn't matter. It would be safe and simple to blame him. She didn't need a scapegoat, someone to feel better about being upset with.

But being angry at herself didn't make sense either; she'd done that enough.

The real problem was the hurt, the hurt that didn't have a target to direct it at.

"Buffy?"

She blinked once as she was tugged out of her reverie. Kit was closer, kneeling in front of her with his hand clasped in hers on her lap. Her other still held the pen far above the open journal on the small table.

It would be easy to spend another day in her jammies and robe.

Too easy.

"I'm not sure," she finally answered, looking away and out the window.

"Do you want me to tell them you're still recovering?"

She sighed and closed her eyes against the sunshine shining through the lace curtains. After a moment she opened them. "No, I think I'll go down today. Just not for another hour or two. Can you tell Ian to bring up a cup of hot chocolate?"

"Certainly," the watcher told her as he released her and stood up. As he straightened his clothes he said, "You should know William wasn't about yesterday either."

That didn't surprise her. She nodded, fingers pressing into her cheek and elbow on the table.

"If you need me I'll likely be at whatever silly event the lady of the house has arranged for today."

Buffy smiled at that and turned to look at him when he made way for the door. "Spike's sister, huh?"

"I'm not sure what you mean." He turned his head to look at her, pausing as his hand settled on the doorknob.

The grin she offered was genuine, lifting her spirits just so. "It doesn't take a detective to figure out you've got it bad for her."

Kit sighed with exasperation. "I beginning to think I'm the one that needs some translation."

It felt good to laugh, especially when it was at the expense of her so called temporary 'teacher'. "I just mean that you're probably going to spend the day with Spike's sister. You like her, obviously. And not in that nice-to-meet-you kinda way, but more in that it'd-be-nice-to-share-a-home-with-you-one-day kinda way."

"Somehow I understood that."

"Well?"

He rolled his eyes, breaking the image of being a super young Giles. "I'll see you later, Buffy."

As he shut the door the smile remained, but eventually it faded and she found herself looking out the window once again.

She tapped the fountain pen against her cheek after a while and looked down at the book, eyes roving over what she'd written. It was dry and she could finally turn the page. As she did so she nibbled on the end of the writing instrument.

So many thoughts, so many feelings and not enough bound paper.

She didn't like that she had to keep lying to Spike—William. She hated when her hands were tied. It wasn't just about them, not with so many lives on the line; though, it really did boil down that in the end.

In some way… didn't it always?

Angel… Glory….

It didn't seem like much, but when you combined it with all the little things… the tiny bits that added up over time…

When had things become so complicated in her life? When had she become so jaded? So broken and indecisive? So prone to looking in the mirror and asking herself just who was staring back at her? Was it one moment or a hundred combined? And why or when did it lead to this precipice?

Oh, big word there, Buffy.

She smiled, unable to stop herself. There was no reason to be happy, none at all. And yet, for the first time since high school she found herself really wanting to be. Was it because she didn't have everyone breathing down her neck just then? Was it because she didn't have to worry about the bills that were neck-deep? The lights going out? Having enough food for the week to feed Dawn?

Maybe.

Maybe it helped just being able to take the time to refocus on the real job at hand instead of letting life's little bumps get in her way. That's what it had been like before, right? Before the council got involved, before Jenny died, before her job had become being an adult without a mother and no way to take care of herself or her sister. She'd forgotten about that hadn't she?

She'd forgotten about the little moments of joy in between: the ones where Willow smiled and told her about a new computer program; the ones where Xander laughed in the cafeteria as he molded little figures out of the potato surprise; the ones at The Bronze while Oz blared out a riff on his guitar; the ones where Cordelia whined about being bait; the ones where Giles rubbed his glasses until she could have sworn there'd be a hole in them; the ones… where she pretended not to notice when Spike was at her house… talking to her mother about only the PTB knew what.

Somewhere between money, things not working, and three idiot kids playing the bad guys while her friends tried to remake her into what they wanted her to be she'd damn well lost herself… she'd lost those wonderful spaces between all the agony and pain

She'd lost what had made her amazing.

Spike had always tried to convince her of that, perhaps more so than he'd tried to show her, to make her believe, that he was truly in love with her.

Again, she was reminded of her own acceptance. But this time it was more about doing something wasn't it? She had to make the active choice to be the writer of her own life.

There was no plan; at some point she would go home and have to face the friends, the bills, and the empty fridge again. But for now… it felt good to know she wanted to be happy and that she was going to do something about it.

New Buffy. New day.

Now she just needed to actually do something about her Spike problem. More tears would come, more than yesterday. But, that was ok. Crying was ok.

"Hot chocolate?"

She blinked, pulled from her thoughts for a second time that day. Ian was halfway across the room by the time she heard him, now setting a tray in front of her. "Thanks," she said as she looked at the silver.

"You look happier."

She didn't mind smiling this time. "I once heard someone say that to be enthusiastic you must act enthusiastic."

"Not faking it though, are we?"

"Not a chance. I've just decided to do something about it."

He grinned as he poured her drink and Buffy set her things aside. "I don't have a clue as to what you mean, but I'm happy that you are feeling better."

"You have no idea."

#

Christopher Giles, or as he preferred to be called by close friends: Kit, had found himself in the midst of a dangerous conundrum.

Lady Aniston, at the permission of her husband—who was too far tucked away in London to put up a proper argument anyway—had opened up her spouse's precious collection of pre-BC artifacts. Before his very eyes on a pedestal sat a deceiving fertility statue; one that, if left in the very close company of a consummating couple, would bring forth a demon that would start the end of days.

But it wasn't just this one.

There were others; he could count at least thirty out of the hundred in the collection that would start trouble—enough to call this timeline's Slayer in to do nothing more than die if they were all activated at once.

And really, it might not be so bad if Lord Aniston were a watcher himself. If that were the case these artifacts wouldn't even be in the same room, nor would they be shown to the ton. He needed to write a letter to the council immediately.

"The Pandora Statue," he heard a voice. "I've heard that this was the original 'box' in the tale, or the jar depending on your preference. Legend says that when Pandora and her husband coupled near the statue that the following day it released all the world's evils. Mothers slew their children, husbands their wives, sisters and brothers their siblings.

"Man, supposedly, couldn't handle the malice, contempt, and frustration they had never experienced before and took it out on those they loved most."

Kit looked over to the voice, green eyes meeting sapphire. For a moment he was stilled by that, the smile in the ocean of her gaze. But eventually he saw the rest of her. The day gown she wore in elegant green was somewhere between dark and light; he couldn't tell which because of the way the sunshine reflected off of the material. The pattern of tiny white roses gave her an air of innocence; though, he wasn't sure he would label her as much. If nothing else the combination emitted something akin to gentle aloofness.

Lady Maclay reminded him very much of a woman who tried to always be kind to others, who thought too deeply, and perhaps rarely took time for herself. Her knowledge of the true origins of the statue hinted that she might be a reader who did more than tuck an Austin drama under her pillow at night.

"You have a very good eye," he said finally, following her trail of sight back to the artifact as he clasped his hands behind his back.

"Like you, Lord Blackwood, my husband was a watcher. It doesn't take much of a good eye considering those circumstances."

When he looked at her again she was smiling softly, but not looking at him in turn.

"I've already sent a letter, if you must know. The council doesn't much appreciate my input, but they won't be able to ignore this. I imagine that within the week Lord Aniston will have substantially more money than he did before, and, a distinct lack of thirty artifacts."

In that moment he wasn't sure if he should be concerned, or if he should have been more careful. And then he refrained from frowning over the fact that this was something he would have known had he done more than look into Spike's immediate family. Had he dug deeper he would have found out that little tidbit about Lilith's late husband.

"You appear shocked," she told him next. "You shouldn't be. Wulf wasn't very involved before the accident. He always preferred Scotland to the main office. Said there was more going on, and, that he wished they'd just send the slayer his way.

"It's no surprise you didn't know."

"…Why didn't you say anything before?" he asked, wondering how much she knew.

"I should think that was obvious." And then she did look at him. "My family knows nothing about the darker aspects of this world, and, we've generally either been in their company together or in the company of others."

Which meant she didn't know about Buffy. Good. There were numerous times she could have spoken up in front of her and hadn't. So, she likely imagined that 'Dare' had no idea about his true career and was taking polite measures to not speak about it in front of 'him'.

"Thank you," he told her.

"I hazard to guess he doesn't know then. I imagine he should though, given that he might take on your title one day, my lord."

He chuckled at that. "I could very well plan to marry. I'm not so old, after all. Dare is… more of a precaution."

"You like to plan." She nodded, understanding. "But that doesn't answer my question."

Kit sighed, trying to figure out the right answer to a query she had more implied than asked.

"If he doesn't then he should before he decides to marry. I understand his circumstances, you know. But, eventually you'll have to get right down to it with him if you don't marry."

Really, what he needed was a subject change.

"Kit."

Perfect timing.

His gaze shifted to the right as Buffy made herself known, lacking any of the pastels he himself chose to wear. Still, despite the dark blues in her attire she appeared to have brightened. The gray cloud that had been hovering earlier looked to have completely gone from her presence.

"Are you feeling better, Dare?" Lady Maclay asked.

"Much, thank you." She nodded and looked back at Kit. "I don't mean to be rude, but I was wondering if you knew where William was. I need to speak with him."

"He's still abed," Lilith admitted, thinking perhaps Blackwood wouldn't know. She frowned slightly. "Reggie and I tried to urge him into getting some fresh air, but he rebuffed our suggestions." She sighed and clasped her hands in front of her. "Truly, I don't think he's sick. I worry that there's something on his mind, something he's trying to figure out. It upsets me that he won't speak to me about it.

"It's rare William doesn't seek my council."

Kit remained quiet for a time; they all did. He was most assuredly aware of what was troubling William, but he could hardly say so in front of his sister. Still… knowing that she had been married to a watcher…

"Would you mind talking to him when you see him?" she asked Buffy with a smile. "Perhaps this is something he doesn't feel comfortable talking to me about; perhaps a male friend would be better."

"I don't mind at all," Buffy told her as she returned the expression. "If you would excuse me then." She bowed just enough and turned—leaving.

Lilith watched Dare go, once again frowning. "Truly," she told Blackwood, "I hope he can get through to my brother. It's not uncommon for him to be morose… but, generally I'm able to comfort him. This time…"

Kit placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a reassuring look, squeezing only when she met his gaze. "Sometimes there are things people cannot communicate easily with those who are closest to them. William is likely no exception."

"Agreed. Would you take a turn around the room with me?"

"I would love to."

#

Buffy raised her hand, stopping just before knocking. Her eyes closed and then opened as she bit her lower lip. Her fist loosened at the same time before squeezing again. She swallowed and took a deep breath in, exhaling once.

She knocked.

Her hand lowered as she waited. She considered knocking again, especially when what was actually a few seconds felt like the pass of a few minutes. But, a voice called for her to enter.

When she came in he was sitting at a desk closest to a window. His body, clothed in a velvet red robe, was bent over something. The telltale sign of a scratching pen told her he was working on something—writing a letter perhaps.

"I'm sorry, Lily. Really I am. But, I just need some time alone today. Perhaps we can talk about it later? Tonight? Do tell Aniston I likely won't be down for dinner."

"Should I have her send it up?" she couldn't help but ask.

Some part of her regretted it once his back stiffened, once the scratching ended. Her jaw drew tight as he set down his pen and turned to look at her. She resisted the urge to go to him, embrace him, as he met her gaze… chilled blue eyes both pained and anxious.

She recalled hating that look before; now all she wanted to do was ease the emotion behind it. "I apologize for not being who you expected," she told him, thinking that the longer she spent in this era the more she was going to sound like her watcher.

He hesitated, one arm resting on the back of his chair as his whole body twisted sideways. His gaze deviated from hers, looking just to the side somewhere. She watched as his lips parted. "It's quite alright. I needed to speak with you."

"Would it bother you if I sat down?"

He shook his head and motioned to the small table in the center of the room; the one that wasn't terribly far from his bed. "Please do." And then he stood himself, adjusting a retying the sash on his robe. "Do you want me to ring up tea?"

"No thank you. I had breakfast not long ago." As she got comfortable he took his place across from her.

"Dare—."

Buffy interrupted him by holding up a hand. "No, please, let me talk first. I've spent the better part the night before last, all day yesterday, last night, and this morning thinking about this." She lowered her hand to her lap. "I've come to realize that there are things you need to know about me, things that have to do with you and I, before you tell me whatever it is you have to say about us. Not because I hope what you will have to say to me is favorable, or because I think it will change what you mind if it isn't."

"…Very well."

She nodded and linked her two hands together. Buffy couldn't help but focus on the top of the table in front of her, the lace covering of white smoothing over a thin white cloth under it. "My life was once simple, very simple: black and white. I was young, naïve, and really… fake—shallow, in all honesty. But that changed and certain parts of that simple life became more complicated. It didn't matter though because I made new friends. Friends that supported me, listened to me, and that I knew everything about. We talked about our problems, fears, worries, and aspirations for the future." She smiled as she thought about Willow, Xander, Cordelia, Oz, Giles… even Spike. "But then things became the kind of complicated that people fear fixing. We all began to carry burdens—the world—on our backs. Each one of our own unique problems and issues we were afraid to tell the other about. We stopped talking." Even she had.

Buffy looked up at him then, meeting that warmed ice blue. She could tell he was trying to process it, to understand. In his own way he did, and that made her happy. She couldn't quite help the smile that made her teeth show despite the tears she had to hold back at all the mistakes, the memories. Not just his and hers—the whole gangs'.

I miss how it was before.

Buffy took a deep breath in and went on after she let it out, "And then I died and—."

"You what?"

"Not literally," she amended. "I went away for a while, not meaning to hurt anyone. In my own way I tried to help them." She paused, thinking how to explain it better without giving it all away. "Something had happened—something that broke us apart. Something that… broke me. So, I left." In a way it wasn't a lie, but more a combination of what had happened after Angel died and after she'd come back to life. "When I came back they tried to pretend nothing had happened, like nothing was wrong. Nothing got solved and it all got worse.

"My family became more broken than it already was. In a way, I blame myself because, somewhere in the process, the man who loved me became that much more broken. I pushed him away, only realizing after how much I'd screwed up." Buffy took a moment to gather herself by pushing a few shorts strands away from her brow.

"Talking—the lack of talking and being honest and steadfast with one another… that's what messed everything up. I was too afraid to be the me I had become. It wasn't the hurt, the problems, or the things we had a hard time solving that ruined it all.

"It was that we weren't honest with each other.

"That's why I'm telling you this. Because you need to know that I don't expect anything from you but your understanding—your belief that what I feel for you is real. Not your reciprocation, your affection, or even your company. You don't owe me anymore than the acknowledgement that what I feel is real."

"And what is it you feel for me?" he asked quietly, perceptive eyes holding fast to her own.

It was then Buffy hesitated. While it felt good to get her heart out of the cage it had been bound in… she'd let her mouth get the better of her. Honesty… that's what this was all about, wasn't it?

She recalled the first time she'd asked Spike if that weird event with the Vampire nests was a date, when he'd first told her that he'd loved her. She remembered how suddenly it had been for her, how it had been impossible for her to process… How difficult it had been for him to tell her.

Honesty, she repeated to herself. Not talking, she said in her own mind, that's what got you into trouble.

So be it.

"I'm in love with you, William."

AN :: It's a month late, I know. I barely ever get anything written during the holidays. I'm submitting it a day early because it is late. I'm going to try and get another chapter in over the course of the next week, this month at the very least. Thank you all for being patient with me as I attempt to do my very best.

As for the chapter itelf… hey, I managed to slip in some Lilith/Kit. Go me. Did you like the revelation? I wasn't too sure about revealing her here this soon, but it's chapter 20 after all. I bet you're all bemoaning the end of this one, wanting more.

I'm working on it! Ha!

See you all soon. Enjoy.