ONE NORMAL LIFE / TWO EXTRAORDINARY LIVES

CHAPTER 167 – WHO ARE YOU?

Mike came rushing out the back door of the bar, followed by some other men, just as William, holding onto Buffy, were about to enter.

"What happened?" Mike asked.

"Demons."

"Figured, why didn't you come get me?"

"We got jumped, wasn't any time for coming to get you,” William said.

"You guys alright?"

Buffy's head turned toward the voice, her eyes narrowing. It was the dark haired woman who had stood next to William at the bar, with so much familiarity.

"More or less, got to get this gunk washed off of us though. Seems to be of a burning nature; quite a bit, actually."

Miranda bit back a smile, noticing that Spike had seemed to have lost the working-class accent she had gotten used to hearing him speak with, “Yeah, go ahead. We’re good,” she said, stepping aside, “you and...?”

“Elizabeth,” William said, “Elizabeth, Miranda. Miranda, Elizabeth.”

Buffy only nodded, appraising the competition. She felt William’s hand tighten around hers; assuring her without words that this woman wasn’t anyone to worry about.

“Nice to meet you,” Miranda said, then turned back to William, “Go on, take care of yourself and Elizabeth.”

“I will,” he said.


William let go of Buffy’s hand just long enough to fumble with the keys to the basement door. “Be careful, it’s dark. Light went out last week, and I keep forgetting to replace it,” he warned, reaching back for her hand. She took it, and they made their way down the stairs. Once there, he reached up, and pulled a chain for the overhead light.

She looked at him questioningly, not seeing anything but the furnace, washer and dryer, and a bunch of boxes.

“It’s this way,” he said. They walked to the other end of the basement, where he produced a second key, and let her into his room. He left the door open so she could see, before he turned on the light in the ceiling. Coming back to her, he closed the door, locking it.

“Going for that minimalist look I see,” she said, frowning at the Spartan conditions. “Not as nice as your... your home,” she said, just barely catching herself from saying apartment.

He stared at her, but didn’t respond, “Don’t need much, I guess. Come on, bathroom’s this way.”

Buffy followed him into the small bathroom. He turned on the faucets; “There’s a towel behind the door; best you get out of those things quick as you can. It’ll take a while for me to adjust this,” he said, as he knelt in front of the tub.

She hesitated for a moment; embarrassed suddenly to be undressing in front of him, even though his back was to her. But the offending, ooze soaked clothing was only making the burning worse. She tore them off, leaving them in a pile on the floor, quickly grabbing the towel from the door and pulling it around her.

“I think it’s ready,” William said, standing up. He looked at her, then looked away. “You want to be careful if you adjust it. The hot is on the opposite side than usual, and there’s more cold than hot, unfortunately. Oh, it’s not such a good spray, you might have to...”

“I’ll figure it out,” she interrupted.

“Right.”

“What about you?” she said, noticing that his forehead and scalp had turned from pink to bright red from his own burns.

“I’m okay, I can wait until you’re done,” he said, putting his hand up to his forehead and trying to not wince.

“No William, it’s your shower, you shouldn’t have to wait.”

“Elizabeth,” he said, looking up in exasperation. “Please just get in, um I mean, unless you’re suggesting...uh, nevermind.”

Her eyes widened for a moment, “I wasn’t,” she said quickly, “but that’ll work.”

He just stared at her, his mouth opening and closing.

“I’m just being practical, come on, lets get this burning crap off of us!” she said, getting into the shower. She pulled the shower curtain most the way closed, leaving enough room for him to enter, and dropped the towel back out onto the floor.

He stood there, frozen, as he heard the shower start, and then a piercing scream.

“What’s wrong?”

“Guess there was still some cold water in the pipes. Sorry, it’s okay now.”

He let out a relieved breath.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well what?”

“Are you coming in, or are you just planning on standing out there until I’m done?” she asked, peeking at him through the opening.

Looking back at her, he pulled off his shirt.

Smiling a little to herself, she ducked back behind the curtain to give him some privacy. She heard the sound of his belt hit the floor, and moments later felt him enter the shower, and saw the shower curtain move as he closed it the rest of the way.

Her back was to him, her hair in the water’s spray as he entered. She didn’t say anything, just lifted her arm up, and tilted the showerhead back, so that he could rinse off as well.

“It’s still on you,” he said, looking at her back, which was streaked with the brownish gray still, red showing around the edges.

“It’s sticky.”

“Hold on,” he said, half way stepping out of the tub to reach something on the sink.

“Got something that’ll help,” he said, taking the washcloth from her.

“What is it?”

“I believe that the name is Fels Naptha,” he said, as he rubbed the hard bar on the washcloth.

“Isn’t that...?” she asked, as she felt him start to rub her back.

“Laundry soap, yes. Works wonders on hard to clean spots of blood and guts I’ve found though.”

“No wonder my mom used to buy it,” Buffy mused.

“It’s coming off now,” he said, as he worked the washcloth in small, gentle circles around her back, careful to not cause more pain to her already irritated skin. He reached over and got a bar of milder soap, and used that to wash away any residue of the harsher one from her back.

His movements slowed, and he became mesmerized by just the feel of her back under his hands, as they slowly moved over her soft skin. So very much he wanted to kiss the little spot right between her shoulder blades, the one he knew always made her shiver in delight. Instead shook his head to clear his reverie, and moved the showerhead to rinse her off.

“Here,” he said, having soaped up the washcloth again, “you do your face and your front, while I take care of your hair for you. Make sure you don’t get any in your eyes. Stings like a bi...a lot,” he corrected. “I know.”

“What about you?” she asked softly. “You should be getting this stuff off of yourself, too.”

“I’m okay, I didn’t have as much on me. It’s almost gone on it’s own,” he said, starting to massage her scalp with the shampoo.

“I don’t remember bringing my shampoo,” she teased him, sniffing.

“Um...yeah, well, I like it too.”

“I know,” she said smiling to herself, although she knew he’d had his own favorites, none of which had ever been vanilla anything.

She closed her eyes and let herself relax as he massaged the shampoo into her scalp. He pushed her head back under the water, and after rinsing out the suds, added conditioner, running his fingers through the tangles, like he’d seen her do, until her hair was snarl free and squeaky clean. He smiled at his handy work.

“Good as new, luv,” he said, “wanna get dried off, or want to stay and soak up more of the barely warm ambience of my pathetic shower?”

She turned to look at him, and shook her head, “No, it’s your turn now, William,” she said, as she shimmied around him, her bare flesh on his, causing him to gasp softly.

Pushing on his chest, she backed him into the water, and reached over his head to direct the spray for his height. As she did, she slipped a bit, falling into him. He grabbed onto her to prevent them both from falling. He looked at her, his face betraying both his desire and emotional turmoil from having her so close to him again.

“Um...”

“Yeah,” she said, taking a step back, but not taking her eyes off of his, “you should maybe turn around now.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers, but all too aware of the rise and fall of her breasts, and the heat between their bodies. Buffy noticed it too, of course. Even without looking south, even before she’d fallen into him and felt his desire, even before he’d washed her back, and for a moment she’d thought she felt his warm breath on her skin. There were no surprises here; they’d always had heat between them.

She’d kept her eyes on his, but couldn’t help seeing the bruises on his torso. However, it was when he had turned, that she had to swallow down a gasp. There in vivid colors crisscrossing his back, were scars and bruises, proof of his new and dangerous life he’d been living. Lower down the back of his knee was angry purple, and swollen. It was no small wonder he’d been limping.

Buffy took the washcloth, and began to wash his back, as he had done for her. William winced when she went over a particularly nasty one starting on his right shoulder, although she tried to be as gentle as she could.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Putting aside the washcloth, her fingers feathered over the angry gash.

“It’s alright, rest of it feels...nice,” he said, hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

He gave a small nod.

“Okay, now for your head...hair!” she amended quickly, when she saw him freeze.

He reached out his hand behind him for the bottle. She was disappointed, but didn’t say anything. His blonde, Spike curls had been calling out to be touched, as she unabashedly stared at them now. Still, encouraged by his little admission, she returned her attentions to his back, alternately stroking and massaging.

“Ready for the conditioner?”

“Thanks,” he said, putting his hand out. Instead he felt it being squeezed onto his hair, and her hands rubbing it in. He gave himself over to her touch and the nearness of her body almost, but not quite touching his. Bitter tears of yearning fell at what he’d been denying himself, for what he told himself he didn’t deserve.

“That’s enough!” he said suddenly and a bit too loud.

Buffy froze.

“I mean, I got it,” he added, when she didn’t reply.

Quickly he finished rinsing his hair. “Best find some clothes for you, think yours are done for,” he said not looking at her, as he turned around.

“Are you finished, or do you want me to leave the water running?”

She shook her head.

William turned off the water and pulled open the shower curtain, grabbing a towel he handed it to her. After grabbing his own, he stepped out of the tub, pulling the shower curtain closed between them as he did, partly to preserve what remaining warmth was in the room, but more so because he couldn't bear being so close to her this way anymore.

Without another word, she heard the door to the bathroom open and close, and she was alone. Buffy stood there in shock for a few moments, wondering what had happened. Finally, she covered herself with the towel, listening for him to return with the clothes he’d mentioned. Seconds turned to minutes, and her shock began to turn to anger.

Outside of the bathroom, William paced around the room, muttering to himself. Going to the dresser, he rifled through a sock drawer, until he found what he was looking for.

Hands shaking, he opened up the new pint of whiskey and drank straight from the bottle. His eyes stung along with his throat, but he felt calmer after a long pull. Closing the drawer, he found some clothes in a pile and got dressed, absentmindedly even putting the duster back on.

Buffy sat on the closed lid of the toilet seat and listened as the drawer was opened and closed, assuming that he had been looking for something for her to wear. Thinking she heard him approaching the bathroom, she stood up, but no knock came. She waited and waited, wondering what the hell he could be doing for so long. Her foot tapped impatiently on the cold tile floor, as she grew angrier and angrier, at both her untenable situation, and at him.

Forlornly, she looked down at her own ooze soaked clothes on the floor. The acidic blood of the demons had burned through them, leaving them in tatters. “Definitely not a good option,” she muttered.

Finally, she stood up, and went to the door, clutching the towel around her. She put her ear to the door. Hearing nothing, she opened it up, and was surprised to see William just standing against the wall near the door, staring off into space. A couple of large candles burning on the dresser, now replaced the harsh overhead light.

“What are you doing? I thought you were going to get something for me to wear, so I could leave.” She glanced down at his hand and saw the bottle, and her lips tightened into a hard expression.

Slowly he looked up at her. “Elizabeth,” he said softly, his eyes focusing as if he’d just become aware of her presence.

“Hello! Clothes! Unless you want me to leave wearing this towel, but I will if I have to; I’m sure as hell not sticking around here to watch you abuse yourself.”

He didn’t answer her.

“Fine, I’ll find some myself,” she said exasperated, turning away.

His hand shot out and grabbed her arm, “Don’t walk away from me!” William yelled.

Instinctively, she swung at him, but he grabbed hold of her wrist a split second before her fist made contact with his nose. The bottle broke as it hit the floor, filling the room with the smell of whiskey.

“Let me go!” she yelled back, twisting to get away, but he held tight.

“Who are you? I look at you and I don’t see William anymore, and I don’t see Spike! I don’t know what I see anymore. What do you want from me?” she repeated.

The towel had fallen to the floor, when she’d swung at him. Still holding onto her raised hand, and other arm, he looked down at her body, her chest heaving angrily. Unconsciously, his tongue licked his lips, as he stared at her.

Suddenly, he pulled her towards him.

“Bastard!” Buffy said through gritted teeth, as his mouth crashed down on hers, tasting of whiskey, and she moaned as his tongue slipped inside her mouth. One hand firmly taking hold of her breast, the other held her around the waist, tight against him.

Her arms went underneath his coat, as she helped him shrug it off. Heedless of his injuries, and furious that after all this time, her traitorous body still responded to the violence and the anger toward a certain peroxide blonde as foreplay.

Roughly, she pulled up on his shirt, until her hands made contact with his skin. She heard him gasp, whether in pain or pleasure, she didn’t care; wouldn’t care. He’d brought her to this point of insanity, let him deal with the results.

Mouths still joined, she felt his hands lifting her up, and her legs automatically wrapped around his waist, while her hands reached between them to undo his jeans. She only managed to get his jeans part way unzipped before it stuck, and he couldn’t do the rest of it, while holding her up. Her hand rubbed his straining cock through the offending material, and he growled out his frustration before stumbling over to the bed. He fell back onto it, and she toppled down with him, making herself ignore what surely was a grunt of discomfort as he landed with her on top of him. With a fury towards him she hadn’t felt in years, she roughly pulled his T-shirt over his head, enjoying with satisfaction the ripping sound it made, as she did so.

William looked at her in surprise, his eyes large with unbridled lust, as she sat up and yanked his pants down, throwing them on the floor. He put his knees up, causing her to slip forward right onto his cock, with only a bit of adjustment needed, then grabbed her, pulling her back down on him.

Buffy’s hands threaded through his curls, pulling hard on his hair as they kissed. He groaned, as his hands rocked her hips against him as he thrust up into her. His head was tingling and his lips sore, from the way she was going at him.

Feeling like his hair was about to come out in clumps, he grabbed onto hers just as hard, pulling her up from him for a moment, and looked into her face. He saw her eyes blazing at him in lust and fury.

“I hate you,” she hissed at him. William just stared at her for a moment, then slowly nodded, “That makes two of us,” he finally said, a look of resignation on his face.

Letting go of her hair, he grabbed hold of her shoulders and rolled them over, still inside her. Fueled by her words, and his own self-loathing, he let her body be a vehicle for his frustration and anger, as his thrusts became harder and faster.

Her moans gave way to tears as the truth of situation finally broke her.

William kept pummeling into her, until suddenly, somewhere along the edge of his consciousness, he realized she had stilled. He stopped, and looked down at her face, saw her eyes tightly closed, and lips trembling with silent sobs.

“Oh God!” William said, horrified. He pulled out of her, and rolled over.

“I’m sorry. Elizabeth. I'm sorry, oh God..." he kept repeating.

His apologies only served to make her cry harder, until her stomach hurt and throat tightened from the effort of making them silent. She felt the bed shaking, and looked at him. He had scooted up, and was now holding his head in both hands and rocking against the wall, as he mumbled his apology to her again and again. She wasn't sure whom her heart was breaking for more, him or herself. After all, they'd both let this...all of it, go too far, until they had totally screwed up everything that had been so wonderful about them.

Seeing him like this sobered her up. Afraid he was going to hyperventilate, she put her hand out to still him. He looked down at her hand, then at her with tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"Shhh," she said, "it's not your fault; it's both of ours."

He shook his head, and reached down next to the bed. A bottle of Jack Daniels appeared in his trembling hand.

"Yes, it is,” she said firmly, putting her hand on top of the bottle, before he could get the cap off, “and that’s not going to help.”

“Won’t hurt,” he said, laughing maniacally at some inner joke.

“William!”

He stopped laughing and looked at her. “What?”

“Lay down and close your eyes,” she said, as she gently took the bottle from him. “You need to get some rest now.”

“I can’t. Can’t sleep, can’t rest. That’s why I need that, I can’t do it without it,” he said, his eyes glancing up at her in shame.

“Yes you can,” she said softly, “I’ll help you.”

His breath shuddered, as she pulled on his arm, coaxing him into lying back down.

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” she said. Once he was lying down, with his eyes shut, she curled up next to him, and began to trace circles on his chest, going a bit lower every couple of minutes.

William made a few mumbles of resistance, but he soon gave into the feeling. As she went lower and lower on his abdomen, she could feel the increased rise and fall of his chest, as his cock strained toward her hand. As she finally made contact with it, she heard him moan softly.

He started to turn towards her, his hand reaching out to stroke her breast, but she gently pushed it away. Instead, she lifted up, so that his arm could go around her. Her hand teased him a while longer, alternating between his cock and his balls, until his breathing became labored. As it did, his movement of his hand on her back, and in her hair also increased, matching her stroke for stroke as he grew harder and harder, until she herself was also breathing in rhythm to his excitement. A little moan escaped her lips, to his much louder one, as she felt him begin to come.

Afterwards, he took hold of her hand as she released him, and kissed her fingers, then brought it to his chest, as his other arm held onto her tightly. “Thank you,” he mumbled sleepily, kissing the top of her head.

She didn’t reply, just lay there wondering how she was going to go about leaving. Her thoughts soon drifted to the fact that by now, he should’ve been...um, wiping up. She tried to crane her neck to see if there was something within range, and spotted his towel and a woefully, thin blanket at the end of the bed.

William made a little hurt sound when she tried to rise, and tried to pull her back, but she managed to sit up and grab the two items.

“Here,” she said, handing him the towel, as she lay back down.

“Huh?” he looked up sleepily from heavy lids.

“Never mind,” she said, and began to wipe off his stomach.

“Oh,” he said, taking it from her and finishing for himself. He tossed it away from the bed when he was finished.

Buffy looked at him, and listened, as she heard him start to snore.

“I’m sorry, guess you were right...” he mumbled, fading off.

“It’s alright William, just go to sleep,” she said, pulling the thin blanket over him as best she could.

He nodded once, and she heard him snore again.

Lying there, she tried to make sense of it all, but there was no sense to be made; each thought eventually leading back to her own sense of inadequacy and failure.

Now, she just wanted to leave, go home and lick her wounds, anything other than being pathetic enough to stay the night, and have him not want her there when he woke. Still, each time she tried to get up, he pulled her back, even though he was still asleep.

Figuring that at some point he would be deeply enough asleep so that he wouldn’t notice, she decided to just close her eyes; it would just be for a few minutes, she told herself. But weariness from the long, grueling day overtook her and soon she was sound asleep, in William’s possessive embrace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later, Buffy startled awake, disoriented. As the memories came back to her, so did the tears. Not wanting to awaken him, she carefully moved out of his arms, and this time he was too deeply asleep to notice. Getting up, she took one of the candles and looked around, until she found a T-shirt and pair of his jeans she could wear, and put them on. Miraculously, she managed to locate her purse, and took out a small notebook and pen. Quietly, she tore the note off of the pad, and walked back over to the bed.

Unabashedly, she stared down at William’s now peacefully sleeping form, looking so much like Spike, it made her heart hurt, and she wasn’t even sure why. In the glow of the candles, she couldn’t help being reminded of his old crypt, and how in his sleep, he would look so innocent, that for a while, she could forget that he was a vampire. Now she could almost forget he was human.

Leaning down, she placed a soft kiss on his head, “Goodbye, William” she whispered. Taking another look at the note, she crumpled it and stuffed it into her pocket; there just wasn’t anything left to say.

END CHAPTER 167