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Chapter Twenty-Six
Oh God, Buffy thought. Oh God, oh God…
The carriage rolled on in the rough manner she was slowly growing accustomed to, bumps jostling her in a way she wasn't consciously ignoring. Kit was sitting across from her and she barely registered his presence; though, his acknowledgement of her was likely something very similar.
Her hands were clasped in her lap; her body hunched just so. Her gaze was focused on some inconsequential place shrouded in the darkness of the vehicle. The light from oil lamps flashed by, creating a blanket of bright for brief moments that did nothing to startle her visibly.
Spike's mother was dying.
Dying.
Hours earlier Buffy had been having dinner with her, talking about silly things and laughing. She'd seemed so healthy, so vibrant. She hadn't looked like a woman who was ill, who needed to see a doctor more than once a month for anything other than maybe a checkup. Buffy didn't know how often people saw a doctor in the Victorian period, but she was sure if you appeared healthy it couldn't be more than once a year at most—maybe longer. People probably only saw a doctor at all if they really were ill or just…. old. What's more, Buffy didn't quite understand something. This… sensation of something within her that ached and at the same time hoped… It hurt; it hurt not only because it was Spike losing his mother… it hurt because…
No, she knew.
She'd been through this before, after all. This sudden and awful dread that crept up like a hand snatching in the night as a thief; it held on like a vice, claws pricking and tearing under the surface of her skin until she had no choice but to feel. It festered into her bones and crept in like cold ice. Her chest contorted with it and twisted, tightening until it felt impossible to not to choke on the pain.
But she didn't. She held back the flood gates and merely exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding in. She sat up straighter and looked out the window, idly watching the passing homes and business fronts.
She remembered the moment. She could still see it in her mind's eyes. She'd walked in that room and all she'd been able to see for scarce seconds was the wide-eyed expression of nothingness—the empty gaze a woman who'd been there for her first steps, who'd taught Buffy how to tie her shoes for the first time, who'd been there on the first day of school, who'd held her as she cried during her first silly breakup, who'd bought her ice cream and watched romantic comedies with her just to help Buffy realize the world wasn't as bleak as it seemed when your heart was broken, and who'd always been there for every other moment Buffy had needed someone to let go with. Her mother had been a constant; she had been Dawn's constant when most other things rarely made any sense—like the divorce. And even her betrayal to Buffy when Buffy had first accepted her duty couldn't shake the bond they had always shared—a bond that was broken to pieces the moment Buffy had accepted her mother wasn't going to be ok, that she was never going to wake up with a smile and offer to make pancakes, or tear Buffy away from homework with a tub of ice cream and a good laugh.
Her beautiful life had been snuffed out like a candle too long burned before Buffy had ever gotten the chance to say goodbye.
When the carriage came to a stop Buffy didn't wait for someone to open the door for her. She opened it and stepped out, taking the stairs as if they were mere stepping stones in a child's game of Avoid the Lava. The open door was passed through without even a thank you to the man holding it. She took a breath to ask which way as Kit and Reggie came in behind her.
The man didn't hesitate and another maid offered directions at the same time. Buffy grabbed enough from the overlapping chatter to go up the stairs right in front of her and straight down the hall. Men and women in various states of dress—from nightgowns to day clothes lingered around her near the open door. Without waiting for an invitation, Buffy went right in and stilled several feet from the bed.
Lilith was the first person Buffy noticed simply because she was standing, hands clasped in front of her as she remained placed on the left side of the bed closest to one of the room's outside walls. Buffy could see tear tracks staining her face and a handkerchief worried in her grip as she briefly dabbed at her eyes.
Buffy barely noticed Kit in her peripheral as he came to the other woman, embracing Lilith in a hug that caused her to crumple a little with relief. Their conversation became muted as Buffy looked to the bed, to William.
He was a man torn, broken, and brittled. His face was hidden in the mattress next to his mother's hip. The older woman's hand was woven into his golden-brown strands, her eyes shut, and her breath coming in short wheezes mixed with a barely there cough every so often. Buffy could barely make out a humming sound, a soft tune that only stopped when she needed air.
Buffy moved towards them, towards the empty chair settled next to William's. Quietly, she took a seat as she felt Reggie enter the room behind her.
She felt a heavy weight become heavier the instant she'd passed the threshold. It was the same one she felt when she watched a movie or read a book and someone died in it. She'd never cried at those parts when she'd been a kid. She'd never felt them as fully; she supposed it was because she'd had nothing to compare it to; she had no real way to understand the depth of that pain; there was nothing to go off of so she could connect with that hurt and emptiness. But, after her mother died… she could feel that pain, the pain another person felt when another life was lost event if they weren't real, just by watching it or reading it play out. There was an unusual kinship in it, one she had never expected. To have known loss and to see it, to experience it even in fiction, it hit you in a way.
But… the moment she touched William's back softly, the moment he lifted and turned to look at her, cold blue eyes swollen with agony and fear… It all came back differently. Suddenly his pain was her own; his mother was her mother; and the loss she was feeling, the dam that broke and paved the way for tears and torment, ones that were his, she now took them on in her own two hands. She placed them in the cavity of her chest as she embraced him—as wetness pricked at the corners of her eyes and she wept with him.
His grip suffused into her, grounding her in a way she'd never been fully grounded before when Joyce had died. Her sister's arms had tethered her in a different way; no less needed or wanted than what she felt now. Though, there was something more comforting in having his affection and being able to express all that agony through touch. She regretted not having him then—really having him, she realized. How much easier it would have been to get through those moments of doubt, pain, and insecurity if she'd only had his arms to assure her the world hadn't become something she didn't recognize overnight. How different it would have been if she'd only let him in.
A lough coughing caused their embrace to end abruptly. Buffy watched as William turned toward Anne, his grip on her hand in an instant.
"Mother?" he whispered hoarsely, throat sounding chaffed beyond measure.
Just as quickly though, she settled. Her golden browns opened and looked to him—weary and wrought with exhaustion. Through it all, she smiled. Her free hand reached up and shakily touched his cheek. "My William…" she murmured.
"Mother—."
"I need you to do a few things for me," she told him. "I know what's coming and I am more than prepared for it… but there are a few things…"
"Whatever you need, Mother," William assured her.
Anne's hand dropped from his cheek and she nodded. "Call the pastor," she asked first.
Lilith jumped to action and went to the hall with Kit, likely to give orders for some of them to make the call.
"Next," Buffy heard as Anne went on, her attention diverted back to her. "I will need to speak to each of you alone. There are things I need to impart on you individually, but I would like you all to be in the room.
"You understand, don't you, William?"
"I do, Mother…"
The older woman nodded and shut her eyes again as she coughed lightly a few times, her hand coming up to cover her mouth with a handkerchief. Buffy barely caught the large blot of red as she pulled it away, as William wiped her mouth of red with it and offered Anne another with a few soothing words.
She stayed with him, silent and unspeaking, every so often taking his hand and squeezing it as they quietly sat together. Buffy idly wiped at her tears and tried to keep herself in check, tried to be strong for the man next to her who was experiencing one of the greatest losses she had ever known.
Eventually, she was ushered out of the room when the priest came, black book in tow and ready to give Anne her spiritual last words of ease. The blond lingered in the hall, Kit not far from her as she leaned back into a wall much like the other servants. Few of them were there than had been before, likely busying themselves with making something to eat and tea—doing the little things people often forgot about when someone everyone loved was dying the next room.
She'd heard murmurs from some of them, seen the sadness in some of their eyes. Lady Broderick was someone many of them had served under the household for their entire lives for, or most of their entire lives anyway. They had nothing but kind things to say; grief laced voices at the impending loss. Stiff footman had blotted their eyes in some vain attempt to hide their tears. Some of them even whispered how awful it was, so much like the loss of Lord Broderick—a fine man with an easy smile who loved his children.
Buffy choked on it internally. William's home was a beautiful place of light, love, and family. It was a tiny world within a larger one that held in something magical that she couldn't help but liken to her own. And she missed it rather suddenly just as she always did every now and then; she missed what it was now and what it had been. She missed Dawn, Xander, Willow, Giles, and even Anya.
She missed Spike.
And God, how she missed her mother.
"They're going in now," she heard Kit say softly as he came up next to her, as she watched the pastor walk by them down the hall and to the stairs leading below. Her viridian gaze lingered on the man's black covered back as she swallowed slowly. She adjusted the way her arms crossed over her chest before she turned her gaze back to wall across from her. Belatedly, she nodded and the motion was jerky.
"Are… are you alright?" he asked just above a whisper. The gentleness matched the tone of the goings on. Everything was quiet and silently noisy as once.
She took in a deep inhale, not sure if she needed the air because she had forgotten to breathe or because it was becoming a coping mechanism for all that resided within her—all that she was trying to keep at bay. "It just…" she trailed off. There was no reason to fake it with Kit. There was no reason not be honest really. He'd seen her break down; he'd seen a side of her that not even Xander or Willow had for a very long time.
She looked over at him and he met her gaze with worry and empathy. "I remember losing my mother," she finally said. "I know… This isn't easy for him. For any of them. It won't be for a while."
He nodded in understanding and Buffy knew he'd been through it as well.
She said nothing more. His grief in this situation must be similar. She often forgot how young he was because he spent so much time being her mentor in this very strange world; very close to her own age. If his parents had not passed on then he wouldn't have his title. And she'd never heard him speak about them. The look in his eyes combined with their lack of presence solidified that knowledge.
More quiet. It went on like a dirge, but it didn't hurt. Buffy was empty with the knowledge that Anne would likely not last the night. She'd also heard some of the servants whisper that, whisper about the doctor's prediction and deafening diagnosis.
She stayed where she was with Kit until the door opened again. Buffy stepped away from the wall and looked up, her gaze meeting Lilith's.
"She wants to see you both privately." Lilith's voice carried a strain that wasn't likely to go away for days.
Buffy was surprised but nodded. She looked over at Kit. "You go on first. I'll be alright."
He didn't argue and left Buffy to herself almost. The Pratt siblings filed out of the room and waited once more in silence with her. Buffy found herself standing next to William, found herself rubbing a hand down his arm soothingly until he took her hand. And they stayed that way, leaning into one another until the door opened and Kit emerged, indicating it was her turn.
Buffy was certain what to expect when the mother of the man you loved called you in to sit next to her deathbed. She was too full of everything and nothing all at once to be nervous or worried. Everyone who'd ever been a part of her life that had died had always gone quickly—too quick to say goodbye really. Even saying goodbye to Angel had been to swift, not enough time for all the things she'd wanted to say when she'd thought he'd never come back. Her mother, Tara… and a handful of friends who'd gone out because of her duty or because she hadn't gotten there soon enough.
Still, she took William's seat; the chair barely squeaked under her. But the sound was enough for Anne to open her eyes.
"Dare…" she heard her whisper a she summoned a smile.
Buffy returned it, but she knew it wasn't her best attempt. "Hello, my lady."
"I'm on my deathbed, child. Anne… please."
"Yes… uh, Anne." She licked her lips. "You wanted to speak with me?"
"About my William."
For a moment Buffy was worried. Did she know? Was his mother's dying wish to her going to be to stay away from him? If so, Buffy wasn't certain she could honor that request. "What about him?" she asked softly anyway.
"You have been a good friend," Anne told her and Buffy found herself leaning forward to hear her. "The best friend he's ever had, I imagine." Another weak smile. "I thank you for that."
"…You… don't have to, really."
"He needed a good friend," she insisted as best she could, meeting Buffy's gaze. "We are not a wealthy family anymore; though, we hide it well enough. And my William has never quite fit in, as well you can see. I don't know why… perhaps Americans are just different." A short-lived grin. "Or maybe it's just you, dear."
When she reached for her hand Buffy took it in her two, holding on gently. Listening.
"Please keep close to my son. He will need a good friend when I am gone, when he doesn't have me to prattle on in his ear anymore."
"I will," Buffy promised, surprised by the conviction in her voice.
"Remind him that money isn't everything. Be there to remind him that family, friends, and love are more valuable than any gem in the world could ever be." She paused to take in a deep breath, coughing a few times into the cloth in her hand.
Buffy waited patiently for her to finish so that she could go on.
Eventually, she settled, smiled again, and then took both of Buffy's hands in her own two. Anne's grip was weak, but no less imbued with the strength of what she was trying to impart. "Remind him that he is worth it. Makes sure he knows, even in his darkest moments, that if the one he claims to loves can't see him—really see him for the beautiful man he is—that they are not worth having in his life.
"Promise me this, Dare."
"I promise… but…"
"What, dear?"
"Why me?"
Anne squeezed again and this time Buffy felt as if she could see right through her, through all the layers and right to the core of the person Buffy was. Not the Slayer, not the sister, not the daughter or the one that kept failing to keep everything afloat at home. No… Buffy couldn't name what Anne saw. It had been a long time since she'd looked that deep within herself to recognize it. She didn't, but it made her want to cry that someone else could.
"Because," she told her gently, "I believe you will be there for him even until the end of the world, my dear boy.
"The very end."
#
When Buffy was done and gone from the room all three of Anne's children went right back in. This time, the door was left open. Buffy wondered if she should have stayed, if she should have sat next to him again. She wondered if it would be better for her hold onto him as the last breaths left Anne's body… But… something told her it might better if she left them to it. Unless William or his sisters called to her she'd continue to linger in the hallway and wait.
A maid had brought up a few chairs and she found herself sitting in one next to Kit. The hall immediately felt like a hospital and she found herself travel back to those endless nights where she waited for someone to tell her what was going on. But she knew there would be none of that; no doctor coming to deliver news—good or bad.
"It might be a while," she heard someone say as Buffy blinked through the sleep. Had she fallen out?
"Dare?"
"I'm here, sorry," she apologized as her gaze met Lilith's.
"It's alright," she told her as she placed a hand on her shoulder. "We've only one guest room and I've already put Kit in it. But you're welcome to sleep in my brother's room."
Buffy thought about that for a moment and shook her head. "I'd rather be here for when he needs me."
Lilith smiled and squeezed her shoulder. "You've done more than enough. Sleeping in a chair isn't very comfortable, I assure you. I promise I will direct William to you when something happens. If nothing else, I will have someone come wake you if anything changes."
"But—."
"How much use will you be to my brother if you cannot keep your eyes open?" she asked, one brow quirking.
Buffy sighed, knowing she'd been defeated. "You win. I'll sleep."
"Thank you." Lilith straightened and waved a servant over. "Will you please see him to my brother's room with a fresh pair of clothes for bed? And bring up hot water for him to clean himself."
"Yes, my lady." He nodded.
Lilith turned to Buffy as she stood. "This is Fredrick, my brother's valet. He will see you to bed."
Buffy could do no more than nod at the introduction before she followed the man down the hall and through a door. She didn't bother undressing when Fredrick left, merely kicked her shoes off and removed her jacket, and waistcoat. The binding around her breasts wasn't so tight that she imagined one night of sleep in them would hurt anything. Either way, she had enough foresight to see how it wouldn't be a good idea to fall asleep in William's bed with her breasts unbound. And then she did nothing more than flop down, allowing the exhaustion to take her as she curled into the blankets and pillows.
#
Slips of barely morning light had flittered in when the grip from her hand had finally slackened in his. It had snuck in through the curtains, danced along her thick bedspread, and swayed in a gentle promenade when the flicker in her eyes ebbed away. He watched as her chest fell for a final time, as a careful smile became that much weaker along her mouth. He listened as Reggie cried softly, her face to the mattress; memorized the way Lilith choked on a sob silently as she reached over and did what William could not find the willpower to—shut his mother's eyes.
She had met death with eyes wide open; he wondered if she was happy now, happier than she'd been with them here. He had to believe that she was. Thinking anything less made it hurt more.
"William…?" he heard his elder sister say as she pressed a hand to his shoulder. When had she moved to his side of the bed?
He looked up at her, swallowing.
"Go to bed, Will," she told him as she wiped her nose. "I'll arrange a few things. Don't worry. Then we all need to go to bed. It's been a long night.
"Sleep… sleep would do us all some good."
"I should do it," he argued, feeling like he needed to act like the man he was supposed to be for once—thinking he had to stop depending on Lilith for everything simply because she was here and it was easy to fall back on old habits.
"I've been through this before. With Wulf. I know what to do. I know what needs to be done right now. I'll handle this bit and we'll do the rest together later on. After sleep, alright?"
William wiped a hand down his face, along his aching eyes, heaved a long sigh and nodded. At this point if he said anything against her suggestion he'd just sound stubborn. "…Alright."
"Dare is asleep in your room. I gave Kit the guest room. Do you need someone to walk you to bed? Help you undress?"
At the sound of Dare's name William felt a sudden drawn for warmth—for arms like before to soothe all that he felt right then. He was calmed with the knowledge that he was still there, that the American was in his room. "I'll be alright," he said as he waved Lily away. "I just need rest… time." If she had a response he didn't hear it, already down the hall and making his way to his room. Mere seconds passed before he was there, opening the door and shutting it behind him.
Some part of him felt awful for leaving Reggie and Lily behind, but he imagined his elder sister was likely talking to their younger now—likely forcing her to bed as well just after she wiped her tears, perhaps had another good cry with her.
William loosened clothing from his body, removed his shoes, and didn't bother putting on anything proper. He remained in his drawers , socks, and shirt. The chill of the room hit him well enough that he made himself pull the chord along his wall for someone to come up. He wanted to sleep desperately, but he didn't want anyone coming by later while he slept curled up to Dare making a fire for him out of duty. When one of the men came to the door he opened it and blearily instructed to get the fire going. As he did so, William busied himself with wiping his face down with chilled water that had been brought earlier. When he was done with that he simply sat on the bed and waited until the other man excused himself and shut the door. Briefly, he felt a sense of awkwardness for not even looking to really see his face. If someone asked him who had made a fire for him after some much needed rest he knew he wouldn't be able to recall at all.
Defeat wracked him and he pulled back the sheets and blanket, as he slipped under it all and pulled it over him. Dare was facing him, eyes shut and hair rumpled into a tangled curling mess over his pillows. For a long moment William merely watched as he slept.
He took an odd sense of comfort in the way Dare's lips barely parted to exhale breath, in the way his long lashes rested against his upper cheeks, and in the way one of his hands curled towards his chin. William couldn't quite stop the way he reached out and pushed bit of gold from his nose where it had fallen, nor could he stop the way he caressed the other man's skin. William watched as Dare's eyes fluttered open, as green met with his own chilled blue.
Dare blinked a few times and he could tell the American was coming back to himself, allowing the world to right itself from the unreality of his dreams.
"Will…?" he asked softly, throat groggy.
William's hand stilled and inadvertently was made to rest on Dare's collarbone and neck as he held his gaze.
"Is…"
William's felt his whole body flex, felt his jaw tighten, and watched as the world darkened when he shut his eyes. He did not try to stop the tears that pricked at the corners of them yet again. He supposed if he were going to fall apart anywhere it should here. He choked out a familiar sob as arms wound around him, as his cheek was pressed somewhere between a chest and under a chin. His body shook as a soothing hand moved over and over down his back.
"It's alright, Will…" he heard him whisper. "It'll…. it'll be alright… someday. I promise."
How he wanted to believe that; how he wanted to believe that someday when he looked back on this moment, this morning, that nothing would hurt quite the way it did—that the gaping hole in his chest wouldn't feel ripped raw with sandpaper and wetted with saltwater.
"It's not fair," William heard him go on, voice cracking. "You know…? It's… never really fair…"
"It isn't."
"I'm sorry. I know it's not enough… but…"
William's grip tightened. Somehow he imagined that if he held on tight enough he could simply slips under the other man's skin and exist there for a while, bathed in a warmth and comfort that just wouldn't ever go away. Maybe if he stayed there long enough this pain, this agony, the unending feeling of talons ripping his insides to slips of red and flesh would stop.
"It's enough," he argued as he breathed in Dare's familiar scent and took a measure of comfort in it.
"I'm really… I'm really sorry, Will," he heard him cry, broken breaths laden with the same. "I love you."
William cried with him, unable to stop the downpour that escaped him. It didn't make it hurt less, hearing those words. It didn't. But… somehow… He didn't understand the feeling, but it bloomed. Some part of that empty place within him, some part of that place that was left ripped and worn because of his beautiful mother's absence felt just a little less empty.
AN :: I'm really sorry this update took all month, but I made it. I'm behind on a few more fics, but I'll get to those as soon as I can. This one came more easily than the others.
School is in full swing for me; which makes getting writing done a little more difficult with essays, short papers, reading, and online discussion forum posts to get done. This is especially true when I have four fanfics I'm working on at any given moment plus original writing. You'd think I'd have learned by now. BUT! I haven't started anything new that's not my own original idea. So that's something.
I kind of wanted to have more in this chapter, but I didn't want to wash over William's mother's death as if it was just there and gone. I'm hoping to have another chapter out very soon, but I'm loath to give you a date simply because it almost never works out. Soon will be good enough. Also, I'll get to reviews ASAP.
Speaking of reviews, someone was complaining to me that I take too long to update this story and they wind up forgetting about it and then have reread a bunch. See above, folks. I'm not taking this as a personal insult, but I do have a busy life. Pets, a mother-in-law, cooking for my family, shopping for food to cook for said family, school, writing, costume making for cons (when I can MAKE time), and spending time with my family. I'm not some sixteen year old sitting at my computer 24/7 churning out words. I do this as a hobby because it's good for me to flex my writing muscles and because I love producing for readers. It's fun. So, I earnestly apologize that my update schedule sucks, that it represents something flimsy and barely acknowledged. I mean that. xD I'm not upset. But, my life takes up a lot of my time most days.
Either way, thanks so much for reading and all else. You guys are awesome. And sorry for the TL;DR. Have a great weekend.
—Blade