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Chapter Twenty-Three

Light dances, motion breathes,

The very Sun.

It burns—heals,

Half reckless in joyous abandon.

Blackness quells and grieves.

It is a candle aching in the abyss,

That Sun,

Against winking eyes it strives.

Bright enough to hope for ever-shine,

Though too burdened to last.

…

Cool blues narrowed at the lines, too focused on the way the words blended together in some mystery of a meaning he didn't fully understand. Was it normal for a poet to write things he didn't fully comprehend himself? Somehow, he didn't think so, but there it was… a collective assortment that did little more than confuse him. Beautiful, he thought, but confusing.

Dare's words echoed in his mind, the ones about not worrying about the rhyming of it all. And yet, rhyming had occurred. Perhaps the last few times he'd been too intent on it. Now… he couldn't explain it. He couldn't quite explain the way his heart had ebbed and flowed at the sentences—the emotion it all brought forth. He knew something about them; they had meaning. Didn't they?

With a sigh, William set down his pen and leaned back in his chair; he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. The Englishman was without his jacket and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows. Tumbles of blond-brown curls were coming loose from where they'd been slicked back with oil. Overall, he looked a bit too tired to be doing this, even after the long rest he's procured after he and his sisters had arrived home. But then, it likely had nothing to do with lack of sleep, but more the stacks of letters reminding him of payments that needed, well, paid.

Poetry had helped soothe the burden, but then he'd been tied in knots over the words that had presented themselves.

"Perhaps this is why good men drink," he murmured in a whisper as he dropped his hands and kept his eyes shut.

Still, ignoring the knots, there had been some catharsis in it. Dare's advice, it seemed, had been in some way influential—even if he didn't understand how such advice had transformed his subconscious to do something better than put rubbish to paper with ink.

His heart felt alight every time he thought of the name. The name brought about the face, the deep green eyes filled with brightness each time they met his, and the warmth of a touch that burned through him like…

…the sun.

William's next sigh was less worrisome, less burdened, and shortly followed by a smile.

It was easy to forget about the piling letters that requested payment, Reggie getting married, his mother's illness, and just what he was going to do to solve it all when he had such joys to consume him. For now, if even only a moment, he wouldn't consider the repercussions of any liaison they participated in together. Instead, he would focus on the possibilities were such repercussions not present.

The day he'd spend in Dare's arms had been just as cathartic as the poetry, if not more so. It was as though every ache, mental and physical, had washed away to be replaced with some all-pervading euphoria. And while he'd never known a moment where he'd felt as much, something in his gut shouted that it hadn't been the first time.

A sudden knock on the library door made him jump; it caused his daydream to evaporate. With a single blink, he turned in his chair as a maid bobbed a curtsy and addressed him.

"My lord, the doctor is seeing to your mother. You asked to be informed when he was nearly finished."

William nodded. "Thank you. I will see to her shortly."

With another curtsy, the maid was gone. And William went after her, closing his things and straightening his sleeves. His discarded jacket was left to lie where he'd placed it over the back of a sofa. He made a mental note to let someone know to fetch it before shutting the door behind him and making his way to the sitting room his mother preferred during the day.

It had been her favorite—his father's. He could recall many an evening as a young boy with the rest of the family enjoying the space roaring with a fire. His father would be catching up the paper he hadn't finished in the morning, his mother would be embroidering, Lilith would sometimes play the piano, and he… he would read while his youngest sister played with her blocks and dolls. There had been something altogether picturesque about it, even if it always wasn't as simple or as peaceful as the image in his mind just then.

Easier times, for sure. Ones where he didn't have to worry about taking his father's stead too soon. Happy times.

He brushed the memories away, the ones he couldn't go back to—experience—as he came to the sitting room door. It was open and he could hear his mother and the good doc chatting. Still, William reached up and tapped his knuckles on the door. Their conversation came to a stop and two sets of eyes met his gaze.

"Lord Broderick," his mother's regular physician, Dr. Carrington, addressed him. "How are you today?"

"Very well, thank you," He replied as he came in the room and pressed a kiss to his mother's temple, bending over just so to reach her where she sat. "How is my mother?" He smiled back at her as he straightened up and dug his hands into his pockets.

"Her condition isn't progressing from what I can gather. No coughing fits today, my lady?"

She shook her head. "I haven't been taxing myself too greatly, so no."

He nodded and looked back at William.

Dr. Carrington was a kind sort of man, insofar as William was concerned. And he looked the part of a fairly typical English doctor: short brown hair, dark tweed suit, moustache clipped and tame, and a smile that eased the fear that he might have to say goodbye to the last of his parents too soon.

He knew in his gut that one day she wouldn't be here anymore, but Carrington made William feel as if all that could be done was being done. Which, was a far cry from the few other doctors they'd had before him.

"If that's all then, I'll be going. Just make sure you take your medication, my lady."

"I will," she replied with a nod. "Thank you."

"I'll walk you out," William offered.

Dr. Carrington nodded and William followed after him after a nod to his mother. They were both quiet until the front door was reached. As it was held open by a footman the doctor turned to him.

"Your mother is doing much better, my lord. As well as one can do with consumption. At least, so long as she's correct about the coughing fits."

William's brows rose at that. "Do you think she's lying about the number?"

"Not at all," he said with a shake of his head. "But, I would keep a more careful eye on her. She's not a young woman, your mother. And… I've seen this sickness take people's lives unexpectedly."

William was quiet for the pass of a heartbeat. "How long do you think she has?"

Dr. Carrington paused at that, obviously considering not just what to say, but, how to word it. "I cannot make any promises, especially given her age….With that being said, however, if she continues to not overexert herself and take her medication… perhaps months or even years. But…"

"It could happen at any time." He nodded somberly. "I've been told as much before."

"Do not over worry, my lord. She is well as she can be for now. Much better than I would expect. She will be with you, in my personal opinion, for a while to come."

"Thank you."

"Have a good day," he said at last before taking his bag and going out into the day.

William watched as the door shut and then mentally shook off the black cloud. He turned back and returned the way he came, intent on spending some time with the very woman he'd just been speaking about. When he came in and sat down adjacent to her he met her smile head on, intent on not letting her see the remnants of the conversation prior.

"My sweet boy," she told him, bright brown-gold eyes focusing. "You shouldn't be home right now taking care of your poor mother. There are better things to do with one's time, certainly for a man of your age."

He gave her a charming smile as he leaned back in his char. "And what would I be doing, if not here? Reggie and Lily are out for the day shopping. I should, by all accounts, be working on through the stacks of letters on my desk; though, I believe I've afforded myself a moment with my mother.

"Shall I ring for tea?"

"I already called for some," she told him first as she pushed aside the long golden braid of hair that hung over her shoulder. "But, there is something we need to discuss, so I am glad you are here."

The waves of her hair that he and Lily had gotten from her were bound tightly, but some fell loose around her face. He could, most days, see just where his eldest sister had gotten her beauty from. His mother was lovely still, but she had been a brilliant light in any room she came into during his youth and long before in her own when his parents had courted.

Curious at her statement, his eyes narrowed. "What of?"

"Something your sisters do not need to privy to just yet, my William." She pulled the green wrap that hung over her shoulders tighter, folding one end over the other over her chest. He noticed then it had been some time since he'd seen his mother in anything aside from her night clothes or a dress of the most comfort.

The last time… had been a year ago when they'd gone to the theater and had risked her condition getting worse. On his parent's weeding anniversary, yes… to see an opera.

He was about to speak again when the tea came in. The maid set the tray down on the small centre table before them and made their drinks up. As quietly as she'd entered, she departed. And, as if sensing the mood of the atmosphere, silently shut the door behind her.

"Mother?" he asked.

"In my room, tucked away in my jewelry safe, are the family gems—the necklace, earrings, tiara, bracelet and ring your father gave me upon our marriage."

"I'm well aware mother."

"Let me speak, William," she told him softly. "It is of the utmost importance."

To this he only nodded.

She sighed as she picked up her tea. The saucer was held in her lap as she took a sip of the warm brew. "I know we have fallen on hard times. It is not a secret in this house. You are, my sweet boy, managing it well enough… but it will not last forever. You're father had a strong head for business, but he made several bad investments before his death.

"He would not want to see you suffering this way. I do not." She placed her cup back in its saucer and held up a single hand when he opened his mouth to argue.

His jaw flexed. He had an idea where this conversation was going, but had enough respect for his mother to not interrupt. Again, he nodded.

"The properties are doing well enough, but they will not bring in the money you need to recover from the loss your father incurred. And I… I will not be around forever…" she whispered.

"I don't understand." And he didn't. What did that have to do with money?

"I do not want to see my children marry for money. I did not—your father and I did not—raise you that way, William. Ours was a love match. My father was gracious enough to give me that. I have seen what a lack of love does to two married people.

"I want your home, this home, to be filled with all the love and compassion it was filled with while you were growing up. And want your children, Lilith's, and Regina's to never have to worry about being unhappy.

"Money, it does not make one happy. But, it is easier to be happy when one does not have to worry about money." She took another sip from her tea.

"You want me to sell the family gems," he said unhappily.

"I want you to do what you have to, William. Things do not make you happy. Love does."

"Selling them will not make me happy."

"But they will not make you unhappy either. Not for long."

"I will regret it. They have been in our family for…"

"Generations, yes." She nodded. "Sell them when you must, my boy. And when you do, allow Reggie manage the investments, properties, and payments. She has the head for it, like your father did."

"She will want to marry. I cannot keep her forever, mother." He didn't like this plan, but he could see the practicality in it.

"Your sister may well marry, but… there is a chance she will not. And the man she marries will not keep her from helping you—helping family. You well know this. You and both know she will refuse to settle for less. And you and I both know you will not force her into marriage she does not want." She set her tea down then and reached for his hand, clasping and squeezing. "These are my last wishes, William. Promise me you will do as I have asked if I should pass before you must."

She he said nothing she squeezed harder.

"Promise me, William."

"…I do not like it… but, I promise, mother." He met her gaze, his own shifting with emotion.

"Love is more important than money, my sweet boy. That is why. Remember that. Remember that when you find it, you choose love—happiness."

He nodded, unable to keep the bright green eyes and a brilliant smile from forming an image in his mind. "I will try, mother…. I will try."

#

Green eyes narrowed as the glint of a thin blade came forward, twisting around hers and pushing it to the side. Buffy backed up, not entirely trying to recover as she allowed the point to hit and push into her protected chest. There was a short laugh from her opponent, but then Buffy moved quickly around the parries and hit once, twice, tree times before disarming. She stepped back as the foil clattered to the floor.

"Break!" she called out as she undid her face mask and took it off. A breath left her as she pushed hair out of her eyes and watched Reggie pick up the weapon. She too, then, took off her mask.

"You're fast," she commented.

Buffy grinned. "Comes with practice." Not entirely, but William's sister didn't need to know that. "You're doing pretty well for a first day."

"You're letting me hit you." She pouted involuntarily.

"Yeah, but I have to go easy on you so you can get the hang of it."

Reggie's brow furrowed a bit before washing away into smile. "The slang you use takes me a minute to understand."

"Sorry. Let's get some water." Buffy turned then and walked across the semi-large expanse of a ballroom; it was the same one Kit had instructed her on dancing in with Bella. There was a table set up with two pitchers and glasses. Once reaching it, she set down her stuff to one side and poured herself a glass. At least, she started to, but William stepped in and poured one for her. She'd almost forgotten he'd been watching on the sidelines next to the table; though, it was almost entirely impossible to do that, she knew. Being unaware of William, Spike, was like trying not to breathe.

As he handed it over she blinked. "I ah…. thank you."

"You're most welcome." Blue eyes looked over at his sister and she moved to pour her own from the other pitcher. "You are coming along well."

"I think so, but it's a lot to take in."

"Took me weeks to get my bearings," she told Reggie after a long swallow. Many weapons came like second nature to her, but fencing—along with firing a long bow—were just one of those sports that took more…. finesse. Giles had had a time of it teaching her, but some part of her imaged he'd enjoyed that there were still one or two things that did not come to her easily insofar as weapons went. "And I still needed more practice after that," she added.

"I think I'm going to try going through the motions you taught me for a bit while you take a few more minutes."

"You sure?" Buffy asked.

She nodded and then stepped away, looking eager.

When she crossed half the distance to the center of the room and well enough out of earshot, William said, "She was like that with pistols. So intent on learning and quickly as possible."

Buffy looked over at him, still sipping her drink. "Was she?"

"Very much so, but it wasn't only that. Books, lessons with her governess, board games, cards… when she wants to learn something Reggie tends to put her all into it. It's not always for the best, if you can imagine." He smiled ruefully at that. "I worry about her when she truly does fall in love, I think. She'll take to it as passionately as anything else."

And for a moment, Buffy wondered if that was some kind of family trait they shared; that passion—the drive to do something fully once committing to it. She didn't know his older sister well enough, but she wouldn't have been surprised.

As she watched Reggie move though a few patterns and stances, obviously cursing herself silently at times, she could see it. She could see William—no, Spike—in Reggie. It was the same way that Joyce had always seen Buffy in Dawn.

There was so much family in his life, in this life. It suddenly made sense to her, however late that realization was, why he'd always been so good with her sister—with her. Why he'd always been so good with her mother… It was amazing how long you knew someone without ever truly understanding them.

"How are you?" he asked, breaking her train of thought.

She met his gaze briefly before looking back at Reggie. "Alright, I suppose. Dreading going to another party or event with a hundred or more people I don't care about. You?"

"Well enough."

But, there was something in the way he said it. "You sure?" Her mind instantly turned to that place, the one where she wondered if he was regretting the idea of giving them a shot. They hadn't had a moment alone since he'd arrived with his sister, but she'd been ok with that. There would be other times. Still, they could have a private conversation just like this, and, if something was wrong with them she wanted to know. "If it's about what we talked about a few days ago you can still back out. Uh, take more time to think, you know?" Slang, she reminded herself.

"It's not that. That I'm fine with, as it is…" He frowned.

Buffy reached out then and placed her hand on his arm. She gently squeezed. "What is it? You can tell me." She smiled when he looked at her. "I've been told I'm a pretty good listener when I apply myself."

The smile he offered wasn't wide, but more rueful and worried. "It's not entirely a secret, but… financially, I'm facing problems."

"Money problems?"

"Indeed. My father always had a head for business. But, everyone makes unwise decisions. Investing isn't at all unlike gambling, and, while my father invested well most of his life, he made a few poor choices before he died. I have, ever since, been trying to find a way to—as you might say—'catch up' on where we have fallen short. But, if I don't do something soon, we shall run out of money in but a mere few months." He sighed, blue eyes on Reggie. "The properties, some of them, aren't making enough because I haven't been able to provide them with the means to keep producing and farming. My solicitor suggests that I sell a few, but that's only a temporary solution. I need a large influx of money to fix these problems." He chuckled and rubbed a hand down his face. "I also need a head for numbers."

Buffy frowned. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No, likely not. The problem is," he went on, "that my mother wants me to sell jewelry that has been in our family for several generations in order to get us out of this mess."

"There's no other way?"

"The only other way is either I, or Reggie, marry well—well enough that we don't have to worry. But, I simply cannot bear to put that burden on her. She's as aware as much as I am, but I won't voice it. I want her to be happy."

Buffy nodded, not entirely sure what to say about it. She understood that pain; the pain of the bills piling up and not being able to fix anything with a good whack. People tended to frown on others pummeling bankers and businessmen just because they turned off your power and water. You know, all because you couldn't pay them and your one job didn't pay anything.

"You'll figure something out," she told him instead.

"I will have to."

Buffy's hand slid down from his arm and into his, she gripped it briefly and squeezed. When he squeezed back she smiled and let go.

She couldn't help but wonder what was going to happen when this was fixed finally. What would become of Spike's family once he went back to their time? Reggie? His mother? Who took care of them when he'd become a vampire? She hated to think that Angelus, Darla, and Dru and killed them. She just... couldn't image it. She knew Whistler was going to probably even things out somehow after… but if that had happened before this huge mess up… she really hoped they made out ok.

"Dare?" she heard Reggie call out. "You ready to get back to it?" she asked once Buffy looked up.

"Yeah, sorry." She offered William a tight smile before slipping her mask on and rejoining his sister.

She needed to talk to Tara again.

Stat.

AN :: Do you how quickly days just blur by when you're so busy your head spins to an ache? Yup, that's been me. My second book is published, but it took a lot out of me. Before that, my step-father passed away and I had to go down to FL from GA to give my mom some emotional support. THEN, I had to come back two weeks later to help her move. And in a few days I have to go back down AGAIN to pick my step-son up for the summer. Plus, I've been helping my roomie get to work until he can get his car fixed. -cries- I need ME time, damnit. -sniffs-

Well, enough whining. Insert the short essay:

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I want to address one little thing about this fic and me. I'm not sure if I have yet. Anyway, the trope I'm using for this story is called a Sweet Polly Oliver. But, my twist on it goes a beyond humor. The basic premise of said trope is that girl parades around as boy, another boy falls in love with girl not understanding and wondering if he's gay, then said girl is revealed and the boy realizes he's not gay and all is well. I like the trope because I like the idea that gender and sex are fluid things. I like the idea that you can love someone for who they are and not the parts between their thighs. Now, this might have to do with the fact that I'm bisexual, genderqueer, AND pansexual. Though, I'm not going to sit here and say that if you're straight you can love and be sexually attracted to someone who's the same gender as you, or vice versa. That's kinda rude and insensitive to the cisgender and lgbtq community as a whole. But, I will say that I think that it's possible for people to make exceptions outside of their sexuality because the thing they feel for another person is so deep it breaks barriers. Not always, but possible.

And for me, quite frankly, that beautiful.

Also, I've read about it happening and have had others tell me stories about people who have had this happen to friends they know. Hell, I've read articles where some people are far more gender fluid than me are 'male' for ten years and suddenly 'female' for next few. Ain't gender grand?

Now, I'm not writing this because someone has offended me or I feel like I need to defend myself. I'm posting it because I just wanted to explain what the core of this story is for me so you guys understand better.

If it bothers you that this story is a bit, well, gay. And you know, you don't like the idea of William/Spike falling in love with someone he thinks is a man, then you can always consider this other variable: Spike is in there somewhere—the memories than make him Spike and the vampire we love and know so well. Wouldn't it make sense that the Spike part of William would influence him into being with Buffy? So, yeah, if it makes you feel better, you can look at it that way. It won't hurt my feelings, certainly.

If you read all that—bless you in whatever god or nongod's names you worship/don't. and if not, I totally get the TL;DR. -smoochies-

—Blade