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Chapter Twenty-One

Was that what it felt like then?

As if you weren't sure of the right reaction, if even one existed?

As if you were so busy trying to wrap your mind around the omission that you'd forgotten that you were supposed to react?

When it all began to settle, he realized the initial feeling to flow through him was elation: unwavering and extraordinary elation. And then a feeling of finally. He could hear this voice in the back of his mind saying, Oh god… is this real? An ache evaporated; in its place was warmth and completion. He could only compare it to a brilliant light suddenly breaking free from the confines of a dark shell, suffusing into every crevice—exiling the night and leaving in its place…

…Hope.

His throat caught, tightened, and then flexed. His heart was stuck in it even as he stared into deep green, half drowning in that gaze. A heat poured up along his neck; it traveled to the backs of his eyes and burned heavily—daring him to cry for reasons he didn't understand.

There were so many emotions he didn't comprehend, so many of them coming to the surface and ripping at him to be released. He could feel words wanting to escape—words he didn't even know. They were words he wouldn't know until they moved beyond the space of his lips. And he feared releasing them and letting them open to the air, whatever they were. He feared his voice would not be his own; that whatever he said next would not entirely be him.

The emotion was so strong, so fervent…

William closed his eyes, asking the unknown within to let him be for a moment, to let him think. He didn't understand what it was, this outcry.

"William?" he heard Dare whisper as William lifted a hand to press along his temple.

"I'm alright," he replied. "Just… give me a moment." And in that moment he tried to sort out Dare's confession; he tried to sort out feelings he didn't fully grasp; and, he tried to still the racing action within his breast.

William knew exactly what he wanted. And yet, fear made him refrain; fear of himself; of what those feelings meant—perhaps. He just wasn't ready for it.

Not yet.

Slowly, he lowered deft digits from his temple. Blue eyes opened and William found them connecting with expansive green soaked in concern. Some part of him couldn't help but think the man across from him wasn't prone to offering him that look. Naturally, he wasn't. They were, after all, still getting to know one another.

Which, really, begged yet another question.

"Why?" he asked, watching as Dare's brows rose and then knit. "Why… why do you love me?" he clarified.

The Englishman watched as his mouth opened and then closed, as those same green eyes appeared lost, or, just at a loss for how to explain.

And thus, William clarified again, if for no other reason than to fill the void of silence that encompassed them both at the embarrassing query. "You must know it comes as a shock to me. I am, after all, a man; a man who has had no previous experience with other men in regard to intimate relationships. I would not imagine it's all that different in terms of feelings; though, I could be wrong.

"However, beyond that, we have not known each other very long. Which… seems rather hypocritical given how easily I have claimed to have loved…" he let the name trail off without saying it.

William found himself looking away; down, actually. And then, somehow he continued, summoning strength from a place he didn't realize existed. "I have very little real experience with love, Dare. You must know my query goes beyond my disbelief of your claim.

"Or, perhaps, I need some reassurance. If so, truthfully, I do not know why. I—."

"It's alright," Buffy told him softly, interrupting him with a clip of words that were not meant to sound harsh. She could clearly understand what he was saying, but the longer he went on the more muddled it got… not at all unlike her vampire.

"I…" she began, still trying to find the right way to say it. She wasn't sure anyone had ever asked her why she loved them; and that seemed kinda stupid. The bigger problem here was that she loved things about Spike that William wouldn't know, things he didn't know he'd done in her time. All the things he'd done for Dawn, for her, and for her friends even when they didn't appreciate it. It would be very difficult for her to regale him with a story of all the times they'd screwed up, all the times they'd laughed, and all the times they'd met each other's' eyes after a long night together… saying things silently they were too afraid to voice aloud.

But, she had to start somewhere.

Anywhere.

Buffy found her hands on the table, fingers half twinging together as the sides of her hands pressed into the delicate fabric laid on the table. She found her eyes focusing on them; on her those two appendages covered in gloves to hide callouses and scar tissue brought on by a life she was learning to accept because of the man across from her.

"I…" she started again, fingers coiling, green eyes drifting to places… voices… moments. "I love your gentle strength," she finally got out. "The passionate dedication you have for everything you care about… I love the way you listen, really listen, when all anyone else does wait for their turn to talk. I love how you try not to care about what other people think, even though I know if worries you. I love your resilience in the face of the judgments people cast on you, and, the deep sense of family you have." That I never really understood why you had to begin with. "And there's just this part of me that wants… I want to lift you from that, William. I want to make you understand that you are amazing… really amazing, and… I worry that you don't see all of the things I see." She squeezed her hands together, trying to find a centering point to balance on even as she continued to speak. "I'm not very good with words, you have to know that. I'm not even that good at writing… I—."

"I've thought a lot about it," he whispered.

Buffy's eyes snapped up and she found herself watching as he wouldn't meet her gaze.

"It's difficult for me. Not just because you're a man, although that has about as much to do with any objections I would have as anything else. It's difficult because of what we would be facing; ours is a society that frowns on the kind of relationship you would want to have with me."

"I'm not asking for one."

"You're denying you want one?"

"I just wanted you to know how I felt; it's doesn't matter what I want."

And then he did meet her gaze. "Doesn't it?"

Buffy wasn't sure how to respond. She knew what she wanted, but she also knew that in the process of being honest there were a great many things she had yet to be honest about; things that could not be revealed unless she wanted Spike stuck here forever.

"I just want you to be happy," she finally admitted softly.

William sighed. "I rather think I would like you to be happy as well; however, you must know if we were to pursue something… it would not be easy. I am a first son, a titled first son. I am expected to get married one day, to have my own son, and give the title to him on my deathbed.

"In an ideal world you and I could be open about any possible relationship we have, we would never have to marry for the sake of duty, and there would be no one to shun us for our choices. Any choices we made would not affect my family, especially my sisters."

Buffy nodded. She hadn't come thinking he would accept her words as anything but perhaps feelings. But, maybe some part of her had imagined that… maybe… That maybe somewhere in there Spike would have had something to say about it. Some part of her liked to think that they were the same person, even if that was an opinion she would not have had a few years ago.

"I cannot risk hurting my family because of poor choices."

"I understand," she whispered. "You don't need to explain to me why you can't. I only came here to be honest with you."

"No, you're correct," he went on. "But, I do need to explain why I can."

Buffy stilled.

William reached for the pot of tea still warm from earlier when he'd had it brought up. He poured himself a cup, set it back down, and then added milk and sugar to it. As he stirred, as his heart hammered in his ribcage, he said more, "I always assumed I'd dealt with the worst outcome of love when I was rebuffed by Cecily. But, the last few days have been…." He frowned. "The constant introspection has brought more questions than answers. I find," He met Dare's gaze before going on, "I find it incredibly difficult to forget what it is you make me feel. It has boiled over to the extent that I don't understand why it is that I feel what I feel, or, if the name it should be given is sensible.

"I realize that love isn't sensible. I know that it was never meant to be sensible. I have tried making it so despite this, falling short. Regardless of what it is, however, I do know that I cannot go on ignoring it.

"At the very least, I would like to try… to see where it all ends.

"I cannot promise you anything I am not comfortable enough to give, but, I can promise to make an effort."

Buffy was silent for a long moment, feeling very keenly that she was on the edge of that precipice she'd thought about earlier. Her lips were parted just so, her eyes fully locked on William—locked on his eyes.

Some part of her knew that in order for her to free him of this time, to separate William from Spike, to put the timeline back to rights required her to actually try to have some kind of intimate relationship with him. She knew that logically. But, perhaps emotionally she wasn't prepared for him to agree to the idea. Maybe she assumed it would drag out; maybe she assumed that she would walk out of this room quietly, leave him to himself to mull it over long after the country trip was done with; maybe she'd thought she'd back off completely and he'd just show up at Kit's house one day, telling her that he might have changed his mind.

This sudden steadfast and assured response that he was willing to try meant…

…Spike really was in there, screaming to get out and love her.

The image of him came to her mind, black duster, hands on his hips, and a curl of a snarl on his mouth. She could hear the mutter of a curse he unleashed echoing off her subconscious and it took everything in her not laugh at the sharp contrast that image brought up against the man she now looked at.

But she smiled softly anyway, holding in the desire to laugh and cry all at the same time. Instead, she whispered, "That's more than I ever wanted, William."

He finally broke eyes contact with her then, pulling the spoon from his cup. "I ah…. Would you like some tea?" he asked.

"Please," she said for no other reason than to give his hands something to do. He looked like he needed something to preoccupy him after all of that. He didn't reply, but as she watched him pour her glass, as she murmured how she liked it made, she began to realize that if this was how nervous she was… how nervous was he?

When he handed off her saucer and cup together, as she took it gently, she blurted, "We… We can go as slow as you want…

"You should know that," she hastened the end of it, not really looking at him over her drink.

"Thank you," he murmured.

She was staring down the brown liquid, watching it ripple. Had it ever felt this awkward before with him? Spike had always appeared to know what to do; at least he did until she'd change the rules up on him. And then he'd somehow quickly recover and hide the slip she'd forced on him. Now…

She didn't know.

"Did you want to go downstairs today?" she asked next before bringing the cup to her lips and taking a sip.

"Perhaps for dinner… I'm not certain." He paused, drink in hand midway to his mouth. "I certainly don't want my sisters to worry about me anymore than they already have."

"Do you want me to leave?"

And then he looked at her again. His eyes narrowed, but Buffy didn't think it was the kind of eye-narrowing that was done out of some negative emotion. More… that he was surprised by her question?

"I could leave," she went on, feeling less nervous. "It's new. This. Us. I don't want you to feel—."

He chuckled, surprising her. The sound was deep, rich, and reminded her so much of the man who'd been her vampire.

Cocky.

"I didn't sleep well last night," he admitted with a wry smirk. "I think a bit of kip would cure me of my ills more than your departure."

And then Buffy frowned. Her brows rose. "But shouldn't I go if you're going to sleep?"

And then he blushed, surprising her further. Well, until he spoke. "I was hoping you'd stay."

And then she understood. Thinking he probably wasn't going to ask it out loud, that the extent of his bravery had gotten him far enough to insinuate what he was trying to say, Buffy asked, "Would you like me to take a nap with you?" A pause. "In your bed with you?"

"Very much."

And then she felt a tinge of heat in her own cheeks; which was just stupid. She'd done a lot more than share a bed with the man across from her. Then again, she couldn't ever remember just sharing a bed with him longer than it took to grunt and get off. This tentative, sincere, naiveté …something… that ebbed and flowed between them…

Somehow it made her feel like that girl again; the one that didn't ache and hurt.

It was… nice.

She smiled, embracing the way all her insides brightened and bloomed—embracing the very real possibility that some part of her was slowly healing and learning to be happy again.

Would it last when he found out?

Would it last when Spike returned to her?

"Sure," she replied, smiling.

She could only hope.

#

Origami folding was a silly hobby. Absolutely silly. What was Aniston thinking? Had the woman run out of ideas? Maybe it was just her. All the ladies in the house seemed to be enjoying themselves. At least three of them had managed to fold a few cranes; some boasted they would make the required thousand so they could make a wish. Reggie firmly believed that at least one of those three ladies had the fortitude to do just that.

She herself couldn't imagine a bigger, sillier, more irritating way to spend one's time.

So, it had been her good fortune—not her brother's—that William wasn't feeling well. It gave her needed excuse to extradite herself from the room of colored paper and cooing girls—old and young alike—all folding and driving her insane with the monotony. She would have rather just stayed in her room and read a book. But, according to Lilith that was too unsociable of her.

It seemed like such a waste of time for her to still be here, to still be in England. Wouldn't it be better to just go home, pack her bags, and head off to Scotland? Was she not wasting her time on the available men here that she simply wasn't interested in?

Being a woman was damned annoying.

"My Lady?" she heard the maid say next to her. "Is this not your brother's room?"

Blue eyes blinked several times as Reggie stopped and turned to look at the girl who was, perhaps, no older than she was. Those same eyes shifted from her and to the door right in front of her. "Oh, yes, I apologize." She smiled.

In truth, she had wanted to see Will. Even if she hadn't been stuck folding paper until her fingers bled she still would have ordered some soup made and brought to his room.

Something had been bothering him. And she'd been patient. She hadn't pestered him yesterday, not even after that talk they'd had over a few glasses of whisky the night prior to that. She asked quietly if he'd needed anything and then left when he'd decided to stay in his room. All morning, all afternoon she'd left him alone today. She'd decided to let it go on for another day—check on him that night—and then really talk to him tomorrow. Enough would have been enough then.

But, she had to make sure he was doing well. The paper cranes had been enough to nudge her into doing just that. Certainly, he could ring up his own soup, but it gave her the excuse she needed in the eyes of her peers and, well, in the face of her brother. She would see with her own eyes he was ok.

But, if he didn't come out tomorrow, Friday, she was going to have a few choice words with him—ones she'd only ever heard stable boys and their cook repeat aloud.

So, she stepped up to the door and knocked a few times. It was a gentle lady-like rapping, but loud enough that he would hear her. And then she waited.

…And waited.

Frowning, she knocked again. When no response came she frowned, biting her lower lip. Should she go in? Had he gone for a walk? It was certainly possible. At the very least she should leave the soup in his room and pen a note for him—perhaps go for a walk herself and locate him.

Making up her mind, Reggie reached for the doorknob.

"My Lady," the maid to her right said, "should we enter his lordship's room…?"

Reggie wanted to roll eyes, but she refrained. What the maid was really saying was, should they, as two women be going into a man's room.

"It's perfectly fine," she told her as she opened the door. "Just leave the tray there." She pointed to the small table next to her brother's door. "I'll take it in on my own. You may leave." The poor maid looked ready to argue, but she bobbed a curtsy and left all the same.

Silly thing. He was her brother, not some man. While going into his room alone wouldn't exactly be smiled upon, it wasn't anything that would get her into a scandal. At best, a few brows might waggle.

And then she stopped, stilled, door hung open as she partially leaned into the knob. Reggie's eyes widened a fraction, her lips parted, and one hand lifted to cover her mouth. For a moment her brain couldn't process what her eyes were taking in.

Will. Dare. In bed. Arms and legs coiled around one another.

For the brief pass of a few seconds all she could manage was the natural heat rising in her cheeks—the blush that swept from her chest to her hairline, that burned well enough to perhaps stain her ears.

The soup was long forgotten.

She didn't know how long she stood there, looking on at their sleeping forms, Dare spooning her brother… But, at some point she had enough control over her motor functions to step back quietly and shut the door behind her without even a hint of a click.

And then she stood there, in front of that very door, longer than she'd stared. Hours later she would be grateful that no one had come along that hall, wondering what was wrong with her, wondering why her face seemed poised in shock and confusion with a little embarrassment thrown in.

Never in all her life had she ever walked in on anyone in a compromising position. Goodness, growing up she'd never even been allowed in her parents' room unless she'd been invited. The very idea of seeing two people in bed together, especially two men—nevermind fully clothed—had her heart pounding and her head swimming with a hundred and one questions.

None of which she could verbalize without turning into a puddle of goo on the floor.

"Breathe," she whispered as she forced her mind to settle. She gently slapped her cheeks, pinched them, and then blinked a few times.

But… why?

And then she came down the high entirely. The conversation she'd had with Will days and days ago came back to her. Dare didn't like women; he wasn't interested in her. Oh my God, she thought to herself.

Did Will not like women either?

And then more questions, more answers: their chat the night before in the library. Had that friend not been a friend at all? Bloody hell, no… it hadn't been. And she should have known better. Her brother had been acting like an idiot for days—days. And he didn't have friends; he just didn't. The mention of a friend with a love life conundrum should have been her first clue.

How could she have been so stupid? How?

Reggie closed her eyes and put her hands over them. Her fingers slid into her hair inadvertently.

She didn't know what to think, but she needed to get out of the hallway. She looked like a halfwit standing here. She needed to go to her room, to a quiet space to think. She didn't even consider the soup. Someone else would tend to it; some passing maid who noticed how cold it would be much later would take it back down to the kitchens to dumped and cleaned. But, Reggie wasn't thinking about that then.

No, she was shutting the door to her room and taking a seat on her bed… trying to muddle out what she was going to do, if anything.

Did… did her brother love Dare…?

At the end of the day her opinion mattered very little, but Reggie knew she didn't care. If her brother loved him, if he cared about Dare at all, if this was what he wanted for himself, she would accept him regardless… Society, on the other hand, was another matter entirely.

But, why oh why did he have to take the hard road? He was first son; Dare was not, but if anything happened to his uncle he would be expected to marry—surely he knew that. But, this was different, wasn't it? Dare wasn't her brother. He was a friend, and, as such she didn't concern herself with his issues as deeply.

Will, for all he was worth, knew he needed to marry an heiress for their family to survive financially. It was never stated, never really talked about aside from the few times that the two of them had together by themselves; however, they all knew it. And her brother, bless him, had tried with Cecily. She'd not only come from money, but, he'd genuinely cared for her—loved her, if that was to be truly believed. Reggie didn't understand enough about love to really know.

The more this whole ordeal rolled around in her head the less of a solution she came to; it was her natural instinct to come to some kind of a solution, even if the problem wasn't hers to manage. But this time… she didn't have one. And, somehow the very idea of her brother running away to America didn't seem as much of a solution as it had been that night when the topic of their discussion was been nothing more than a friend.

One thing was certain; she couldn't say anything. She just couldn't. As Reggie stared up at the ceiling in her room it occurred to her that this might be something Will had to sort out on his own. At the very least, it was not something she could approach him about—not yet. Maybe… maybe it had been nothing. Maybe they'd both just fallen asleep and moved into those positions? Maybe she was overreacting? Who knew how men acted all by themselves without women around….

But, she knew that was wrong.

Reggie closed her eyes and let herself fall back on the bed with a flounce.

All she could do was be silent. Watch quietly… and perhaps be there for Will if he needed her…

"Oh Will…" she whispered softly, "…what have you gotten yourself into?"

AN :: I'm late! I'm late! I'm late! Blah, blah, blah—insert viable excuses here. Whatever. You don't need to hear it? Well, in case you do want to hear it, I've been working on my own original novel projects. Finished editing a book earlier this month, but, school—yet again—sapped me of all my desire to really write aside from what RPing I do on online forums. Did I mention I'll be happy when summer is here? So happy.

Anyway, not sure how happy you are with this chapter, but I'm sure you'll let me know either way. You guys always do—fairly at that. ^_^ I can't make any promises about when the next update will come it, but I'll do my very best. Finals wrap up the first week of May. We'll see. If nothing else I'll get an update out in May sometime.

I will say that the story should start moving a bit more quickly after this point. I'm hoping not to drag it out too too much longer. Expect at least nine more chapters. (Oh, god, really?!) I've got a lot to wrap up for Buffy, Spike, Reggie, Kit, and Lilith. I do want you to know that there will be one more major emotional bump along this journey. So, be prepared! Yar!

—Blade