ONE NORMAL LIFE / TWO EXTRAORDINARY LIVES
folder
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
210
Views:
11,905
Reviews:
182
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
210
Views:
11,905
Reviews:
182
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
GATEPOSTS OF THE PAST
CHAPTER 182 - GATEPOSTS OF THE PAST
William didn't know when he'd formulated the idea. Perhaps it was when he'd overheard American students in the library talking about getting around London on the Tube, or when a few of the slayers talked about the closest station to get off at, for shopping in Knightsbridge. All he knew is that once he started thinking about it, he realized it had been on the periphery of his consciousness since coming back to England.
He'd known London quite well in his youth; had grown up here. Now though, in what only seemed like a blink of an eye, a bit more than a year in real time, he'd become a stranger in his homeland; one who remembered traveling by horse and buggy for the most part.
It wasn’t that there weren’t any trains in his day; there were. In nice weather he would sometimes walk the couple of miles to Chalk Farm Station to catch a train to the city. Mostly, his family’s driver would take him to, and pick him up from the station. For the most part though, he went everywhere by carriage. For one thing, there was the cost. The cost of riding first class coach cost twice that of the second and third class coaches riders paid. However, to take the second class coach meant risking being choked with dust and ashes from the engine close in front of you, and with the sides being open, one risked being thoroughly soaked before reaching one’s destination, as well. Third class was primarily occupied by the lower classes, where there was barely even a seat to be had. Coupled with the fact that William’s family already employed a driver full-time, he rarely had use of the crude trains of his day.
As he expected, and also because he'd seen flyers all over Greenwich, the Tube had it's own website, as apparently everything and everyone did in this day and age. The Docklands Light Rail, connecting to the Tube, had two stations in Greenwich; one only a few blocks from Giles' flat, the other near the Cutty Sark, close to the university. From there he could either transfer to the Circle Line, and from there either transfer to the Northern Line at either Euston or King’s Cross St. Pancras stations, or take a bus north from either of those locations.
DECEMBER 15, 2009
MONDAY
GREENWICH
11:30AM
"Do you think we really ought to do this now, or wait a few days?" Fatima asked, her fingers thoughtfully smoothing her dark, short hair. From Senegal, she’d been there almost as long as her Vi had.
"We don't know what plans Giles might be making so close to the holidays, so the sooner we give him these the better," Vi said, after a flurry of discussion.
"Does he ever have plans of his own? I mean of a personal nature? He doesn’t seem to have much of a life outside of this place," Gina said.
"That’s not really any of our business, not to mention, besides the point,” Vi said.
"Maybe we should've bought the poor guy a date," another said, causing an eruption of giggles from the rest of them.
"I know who I'd like to date," said Rose suggestively. She’d had her eye on William from the first time she saw him, and made her feelings no secret. The only person, who didn’t appear to be aware of it, was William himself.
"He's Buffy's!" Vi blurted out.
"I don't think so," Rose said slowly, tossing her long red hair over her shoulders defiantly. “If he were hers, would he be here without her? I say all’s fair in love and war."
“I’m not trying to be a bitch, Rose. Really, I’m not. You’re very pretty, and I’m sure you’ve had lots of guy liking you, but you simply don’t stand a chance...”
Vi had never forgotten that one night in the graveyard, when Spike had rushed Buffy as part of the demonstration for her, Rona, and Molly’s benefit. The Slayer had deftly sidestepped him at the last moment, and Spike had gone headfirst into a tombstone. As he lay there on the ground, Buffy suddenly noticed he was hurting. In that moment, Buffy had forgotten about their presence altogether. Lifting his shirt to examine his ribs, she’d displayed a loving gentleness toward the vampire Vi had never seen her display towards anyone before. Spike had taken Buffy’s hand, stopping her from further exploration; assuring her he would be okay. Their gazes had locked on one another until Rona had so succinctly said, “That’s hot!”
For her part, Vi honored Giles request not to question William about his private life. Even so, through slips of the tongue he’d made, she believed that William and Buffy had been living together until recently.
“Let’s go see Giles,” Vi said, ending any further discussion with Rose.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Very good, I'll either be there when you arrive, or send one of the girls to pick you up...Yes, I do hope you make it all the way this time, too. Until then," Giles said.
No sooner had he replaced the receiver than he heard a knock on the door.
"Come in."
The door opened, and over a dozen slayers filed in, filling every available space in the small office.
"What's this?" Giles asked, standing up.
"Giles, we wanted you to have this. It's an early Christmas present," Vi said, handing him an envelope, with a gold bow on it.
Giles eyes softened, as he accepted the envelope and carefully opened it. Wordlessly, he stared at the two tickets for a Premiership football match between Chelsea and Manchester United this coming Saturday. Looking up at their expectant faces, he felt an overwhelming feeling of pride, and something else that very closely resembled what he’d always felt towards Buffy.
"Girls...um, ladies," he said, clearing his throat. "I don't know what to say...this is most generous. I haven't....I haven't been to a match since I was young...a much younger man," he corrected, with a laugh.
They laughed along with him, good-naturedly.
"We thought you deserved a good, old-fashioned guys day out. Go, team, go, and all that," said Erica, who as their resident Londoner, had found out what Giles favorite team was, and procured the tickets.
“Um, yes, well...” Giles said, still overwhelmed. “I want to thank all of you, this is most...most unexpected, and wonderful!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
10:00AM
Just to garner his courage, William had boarded the train in Greenwich for the first time last week, made the connection to the Circle Line, then rode it straight back. The next day, to once more familiarize himself with a city that he hadn't seen in almost a century, he both rode the trains, and got off at different stations.
Although it comforted him to see the familiar street names and sights he'd known as a boy and young man-- St. James, Westminster, and Covent Gardens--there was still a striking difference in this London, and the one he remembered.
Each day he ventured into London a little more, getting off at a different station trying to find the familiar, accept the different.
Three days ago, he'd found the house in Kensington, now a two-flat, it still looked much the same. This was where his younger self had so innocently and hopefully gone to a party, never to return to his old life again. The old carriage house he'd ducked into after running out of the party, his dignity and hopes in tatters, was long gone. A flat now stood in its place.
Yesterday he'd gone to Hyde Park to look for the home of his brother. Although he knew he had the right address, the building looked so thoroughly different, he thought it probable that it had been replaced at some point.
Today, he'd gotten off the Tube at Euston, and boarded a bus north for Hampstead. The traffic heavy at first, it thinned out as he traveled north. He transferred to second bus where Kentish Town Road came to a fork; one turning into Fortress Road, the other into Highgate. The slow drizzle had turned into a steady downpour, as William nervously looked out the rain streaked windows hoping to see something familiar, as the bus made it's way up Highgate Road.
Three hundred and sixty-five times one hundred and twenty.
Three hundred and sixty-five times one hundred and twenty.
Bring the zero down.
Two times five equal ten.
Carry the one.
Two times six equal twelve
Carry the one...
To his left he saw the familiar look of the southern tip of Hampstead Heath, and soon the names of the streets became familiar, even if the signs were modern. His pulse quickened as they approached St. Albans Road, and he pulled the cord to let the bus driver know of his intention to get off. On the northwest corner was St. Albans School, the primary school of his youth. Though it looked much larger than William remembered, he still recognized the original smaller structure, which stood at its center. Across the street from the school, and part of the heath, was where he and his fellow classmates used to play cricket; now replaced by tennis courts and a bowling green.
William wished he had thought to bring an umbrella, as the rain fell harder. He pulled his coat around him, and started to walk the few blocks north, wondering what he would find. Along the eastern side of the heath were a series of ponds, the first which he'd always had a clear view of as he walked towards his home. Now, there were houses, and a street that hadn't been there before, partially obstructing his view. However, he caught a glimpse of it in a clearing, and he knew he was getting close. His family's home had been a few acres east of, and almost directly between, the first and second ponds. Further west, stood old Highgate Cemetery, with it’s famous angel statuary.
When last he’d been there, his home had been one of only ten or so, on the whole stretch of road from St. Albans for the next half mile. Now, although the homes still had a fair amount of land around them, there were dozens upon dozens; the newer ones obviously displacing the land that had lain between the older homes. The trees, once standing like sentinels to let him know he was nearing home, had long been removed to make way for development.
Suddenly, he stopped; there it was. William might have missed his old home altogether, yet for one thing: the brick gateposts and low lying brick wall surrounding the house had still remained. His heartbeat quickened, as he stood across the street squinting through the rain at the changes over one hundred years had wrought.
The original three-story house, which he’d always thought quite spacious to begin with, had been added to. The newest section had been added to the southern end of the house. Originally, this was the area, which had led to the back, and to their carriage house. Now a car was parked inside the gates, to the left of this new addition. William tentatively walked across the street, stopping when he got near the gateposts. His hand hesitantly came out of his pocket, and he found it tracing the rough brick, remembering its feel.
He followed the outside of the vine covered brick wall so that he was now in front of the central part of the house, and peered in at it through the foliage. Except for the windows looking new, except for those long French ones on the second floor, this part of the house looked exactly the same. He pinched his eyes together tight. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could wake up from all of this, be William again; who he’d been before Spike had happened to him. He could almost hear the voice of his mother through the downpour.
“William! What are you doing standing out there in the rain?”
“I’m waiting to see if I can spot father’s carriage.”
“He’ll be here soon enough, but you’ll catch your death way before that. Come in out of the rain, William!”
“Yes, mum...”
William opened his eyes. A tear ran down his cheek, mingling with the rain. With a last, longing look at the home that was no longer his, he took off running back towards St. Albans.
Unbeknownst to him, a young, small figure at the top window had just been joined by a taller, older one.
“Are you sure you saw someone?”
“I’m sure mummy. The man was standing over there at first,” she said pointing toward the gateposts, “and then over there. He looked sad.”
The mother reached down, and thoughtfully ran her fingers through her daughter’s light brown curls, as she looked up and down the street. At five, Alyson had already demonstrated quite the imagination; though usually it took on the form of imaginary friends in her room, not on the street. Her friends also tended to be closer to her own age, not adults.
“I believe you, but I don’t see anybody now. He must have left.”
The daughter looked up at her mother, and nodded slowly.
“He must have, but I think he’ll be back.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Giles drove home for dinner in a cheery mood, even going quite a bit over the speed limit, despite the rain, which had finally slowed to a drizzle. Every now and again he would look down at the envelope, sitting on the passenger seat next to him. Allowing himself a rare moment of frivolity, he turned the radio station on full blast to an oldies 70’s music station, and sang along to tunes that reminded him of his much more carefree youth, before duty had so strongly called.
Arriving home, he hurried inside, and went straight for his office.
“Mrs. Greeves, I’ll be taking dinner in here, today. Um...something’s come up,” he called, turning on the computer. He waited until she had brought it in and left the room, before going to the website he was looking for. The official site of the Chelsea football team.
Although he’d kept up with the sport a bit over the years, catching a game here and there on the telly, he hadn’t really been as avid a fan as he had been in his youth.
His solemn responsibilities as a Watcher, had seemed to contraindicate that type of enjoyment, as well as it being looked down upon by his peers at the former Council. Not only that, but once in the States, he realized that the Americans were far, far less into what they called soccer, than his countrymen were.
‘It’s just a silly game,’ he’d told himself.
Before he realized it, Giles had spent almost two hours on the Internet, finding out who was up in the games, who the best players were, and what the odds were if he wanted to place a bet on this Saturday’s game.
Giles was still in his study when the front door opened. He hadn't seen much of William for a couple of days, not since their latest session. This one featuring a discussion after William had read the Council files about Spike and Drusilla’s hundred plus year’s history. Although he'd tried to provide a counterbalance to the stark, documented horrors, he felt he’d fallen short, and the sense of despair had been palpable. As he’d expected, William had retreated for some days afterwards. What was surprising, was that he was now here.
“What are you doing here?” they both asked the other at once.
Giles cleared his throat. “Um...I’m afraid I got caught up in something,” Giles replied. Normally, he would’ve been at back at the Council offices at this time of day. Nonchalantly, he logged off of the Chelsea football team's website, then nodded toward William.
“Just back from my...wanderings,” William answered, rather evasively.
“Ah, yes. Well, I hope you had a productive morning; at least it stopped raining,” Giles said, leaving it at that.
Although quite curious as to where exactly William was spending his time, he resisted asking him directly. Despite his sometimes, fragile mental state; William was, after all, a grown man. If he didn’t care to divulge where it was he went when alone, then who was he to ask? At least, that’s what he told himself. The idea to follow William, or to have one of the girls do it, had crossed his mind more than once. Still, no matter how he tried to justify such a notion, he couldn’t. William was no longer Spike, and as such, entitled to whatever degree of autonomy he chose for himself.
“How would you like to go to a football game this Saturday?” Giles asked with a boyish grin.
END CHAPTER 182
William didn't know when he'd formulated the idea. Perhaps it was when he'd overheard American students in the library talking about getting around London on the Tube, or when a few of the slayers talked about the closest station to get off at, for shopping in Knightsbridge. All he knew is that once he started thinking about it, he realized it had been on the periphery of his consciousness since coming back to England.
He'd known London quite well in his youth; had grown up here. Now though, in what only seemed like a blink of an eye, a bit more than a year in real time, he'd become a stranger in his homeland; one who remembered traveling by horse and buggy for the most part.
It wasn’t that there weren’t any trains in his day; there were. In nice weather he would sometimes walk the couple of miles to Chalk Farm Station to catch a train to the city. Mostly, his family’s driver would take him to, and pick him up from the station. For the most part though, he went everywhere by carriage. For one thing, there was the cost. The cost of riding first class coach cost twice that of the second and third class coaches riders paid. However, to take the second class coach meant risking being choked with dust and ashes from the engine close in front of you, and with the sides being open, one risked being thoroughly soaked before reaching one’s destination, as well. Third class was primarily occupied by the lower classes, where there was barely even a seat to be had. Coupled with the fact that William’s family already employed a driver full-time, he rarely had use of the crude trains of his day.
As he expected, and also because he'd seen flyers all over Greenwich, the Tube had it's own website, as apparently everything and everyone did in this day and age. The Docklands Light Rail, connecting to the Tube, had two stations in Greenwich; one only a few blocks from Giles' flat, the other near the Cutty Sark, close to the university. From there he could either transfer to the Circle Line, and from there either transfer to the Northern Line at either Euston or King’s Cross St. Pancras stations, or take a bus north from either of those locations.
DECEMBER 15, 2009
MONDAY
GREENWICH
11:30AM
"Do you think we really ought to do this now, or wait a few days?" Fatima asked, her fingers thoughtfully smoothing her dark, short hair. From Senegal, she’d been there almost as long as her Vi had.
"We don't know what plans Giles might be making so close to the holidays, so the sooner we give him these the better," Vi said, after a flurry of discussion.
"Does he ever have plans of his own? I mean of a personal nature? He doesn’t seem to have much of a life outside of this place," Gina said.
"That’s not really any of our business, not to mention, besides the point,” Vi said.
"Maybe we should've bought the poor guy a date," another said, causing an eruption of giggles from the rest of them.
"I know who I'd like to date," said Rose suggestively. She’d had her eye on William from the first time she saw him, and made her feelings no secret. The only person, who didn’t appear to be aware of it, was William himself.
"He's Buffy's!" Vi blurted out.
"I don't think so," Rose said slowly, tossing her long red hair over her shoulders defiantly. “If he were hers, would he be here without her? I say all’s fair in love and war."
“I’m not trying to be a bitch, Rose. Really, I’m not. You’re very pretty, and I’m sure you’ve had lots of guy liking you, but you simply don’t stand a chance...”
Vi had never forgotten that one night in the graveyard, when Spike had rushed Buffy as part of the demonstration for her, Rona, and Molly’s benefit. The Slayer had deftly sidestepped him at the last moment, and Spike had gone headfirst into a tombstone. As he lay there on the ground, Buffy suddenly noticed he was hurting. In that moment, Buffy had forgotten about their presence altogether. Lifting his shirt to examine his ribs, she’d displayed a loving gentleness toward the vampire Vi had never seen her display towards anyone before. Spike had taken Buffy’s hand, stopping her from further exploration; assuring her he would be okay. Their gazes had locked on one another until Rona had so succinctly said, “That’s hot!”
For her part, Vi honored Giles request not to question William about his private life. Even so, through slips of the tongue he’d made, she believed that William and Buffy had been living together until recently.
“Let’s go see Giles,” Vi said, ending any further discussion with Rose.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Very good, I'll either be there when you arrive, or send one of the girls to pick you up...Yes, I do hope you make it all the way this time, too. Until then," Giles said.
No sooner had he replaced the receiver than he heard a knock on the door.
"Come in."
The door opened, and over a dozen slayers filed in, filling every available space in the small office.
"What's this?" Giles asked, standing up.
"Giles, we wanted you to have this. It's an early Christmas present," Vi said, handing him an envelope, with a gold bow on it.
Giles eyes softened, as he accepted the envelope and carefully opened it. Wordlessly, he stared at the two tickets for a Premiership football match between Chelsea and Manchester United this coming Saturday. Looking up at their expectant faces, he felt an overwhelming feeling of pride, and something else that very closely resembled what he’d always felt towards Buffy.
"Girls...um, ladies," he said, clearing his throat. "I don't know what to say...this is most generous. I haven't....I haven't been to a match since I was young...a much younger man," he corrected, with a laugh.
They laughed along with him, good-naturedly.
"We thought you deserved a good, old-fashioned guys day out. Go, team, go, and all that," said Erica, who as their resident Londoner, had found out what Giles favorite team was, and procured the tickets.
“Um, yes, well...” Giles said, still overwhelmed. “I want to thank all of you, this is most...most unexpected, and wonderful!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
10:00AM
Just to garner his courage, William had boarded the train in Greenwich for the first time last week, made the connection to the Circle Line, then rode it straight back. The next day, to once more familiarize himself with a city that he hadn't seen in almost a century, he both rode the trains, and got off at different stations.
Although it comforted him to see the familiar street names and sights he'd known as a boy and young man-- St. James, Westminster, and Covent Gardens--there was still a striking difference in this London, and the one he remembered.
Each day he ventured into London a little more, getting off at a different station trying to find the familiar, accept the different.
Three days ago, he'd found the house in Kensington, now a two-flat, it still looked much the same. This was where his younger self had so innocently and hopefully gone to a party, never to return to his old life again. The old carriage house he'd ducked into after running out of the party, his dignity and hopes in tatters, was long gone. A flat now stood in its place.
Yesterday he'd gone to Hyde Park to look for the home of his brother. Although he knew he had the right address, the building looked so thoroughly different, he thought it probable that it had been replaced at some point.
Today, he'd gotten off the Tube at Euston, and boarded a bus north for Hampstead. The traffic heavy at first, it thinned out as he traveled north. He transferred to second bus where Kentish Town Road came to a fork; one turning into Fortress Road, the other into Highgate. The slow drizzle had turned into a steady downpour, as William nervously looked out the rain streaked windows hoping to see something familiar, as the bus made it's way up Highgate Road.
Three hundred and sixty-five times one hundred and twenty.
Three hundred and sixty-five times one hundred and twenty.
Bring the zero down.
Two times five equal ten.
Carry the one.
Two times six equal twelve
Carry the one...
To his left he saw the familiar look of the southern tip of Hampstead Heath, and soon the names of the streets became familiar, even if the signs were modern. His pulse quickened as they approached St. Albans Road, and he pulled the cord to let the bus driver know of his intention to get off. On the northwest corner was St. Albans School, the primary school of his youth. Though it looked much larger than William remembered, he still recognized the original smaller structure, which stood at its center. Across the street from the school, and part of the heath, was where he and his fellow classmates used to play cricket; now replaced by tennis courts and a bowling green.
William wished he had thought to bring an umbrella, as the rain fell harder. He pulled his coat around him, and started to walk the few blocks north, wondering what he would find. Along the eastern side of the heath were a series of ponds, the first which he'd always had a clear view of as he walked towards his home. Now, there were houses, and a street that hadn't been there before, partially obstructing his view. However, he caught a glimpse of it in a clearing, and he knew he was getting close. His family's home had been a few acres east of, and almost directly between, the first and second ponds. Further west, stood old Highgate Cemetery, with it’s famous angel statuary.
When last he’d been there, his home had been one of only ten or so, on the whole stretch of road from St. Albans for the next half mile. Now, although the homes still had a fair amount of land around them, there were dozens upon dozens; the newer ones obviously displacing the land that had lain between the older homes. The trees, once standing like sentinels to let him know he was nearing home, had long been removed to make way for development.
Suddenly, he stopped; there it was. William might have missed his old home altogether, yet for one thing: the brick gateposts and low lying brick wall surrounding the house had still remained. His heartbeat quickened, as he stood across the street squinting through the rain at the changes over one hundred years had wrought.
The original three-story house, which he’d always thought quite spacious to begin with, had been added to. The newest section had been added to the southern end of the house. Originally, this was the area, which had led to the back, and to their carriage house. Now a car was parked inside the gates, to the left of this new addition. William tentatively walked across the street, stopping when he got near the gateposts. His hand hesitantly came out of his pocket, and he found it tracing the rough brick, remembering its feel.
He followed the outside of the vine covered brick wall so that he was now in front of the central part of the house, and peered in at it through the foliage. Except for the windows looking new, except for those long French ones on the second floor, this part of the house looked exactly the same. He pinched his eyes together tight. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could wake up from all of this, be William again; who he’d been before Spike had happened to him. He could almost hear the voice of his mother through the downpour.
“William! What are you doing standing out there in the rain?”
“I’m waiting to see if I can spot father’s carriage.”
“He’ll be here soon enough, but you’ll catch your death way before that. Come in out of the rain, William!”
“Yes, mum...”
William opened his eyes. A tear ran down his cheek, mingling with the rain. With a last, longing look at the home that was no longer his, he took off running back towards St. Albans.
Unbeknownst to him, a young, small figure at the top window had just been joined by a taller, older one.
“Are you sure you saw someone?”
“I’m sure mummy. The man was standing over there at first,” she said pointing toward the gateposts, “and then over there. He looked sad.”
The mother reached down, and thoughtfully ran her fingers through her daughter’s light brown curls, as she looked up and down the street. At five, Alyson had already demonstrated quite the imagination; though usually it took on the form of imaginary friends in her room, not on the street. Her friends also tended to be closer to her own age, not adults.
“I believe you, but I don’t see anybody now. He must have left.”
The daughter looked up at her mother, and nodded slowly.
“He must have, but I think he’ll be back.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Giles drove home for dinner in a cheery mood, even going quite a bit over the speed limit, despite the rain, which had finally slowed to a drizzle. Every now and again he would look down at the envelope, sitting on the passenger seat next to him. Allowing himself a rare moment of frivolity, he turned the radio station on full blast to an oldies 70’s music station, and sang along to tunes that reminded him of his much more carefree youth, before duty had so strongly called.
Arriving home, he hurried inside, and went straight for his office.
“Mrs. Greeves, I’ll be taking dinner in here, today. Um...something’s come up,” he called, turning on the computer. He waited until she had brought it in and left the room, before going to the website he was looking for. The official site of the Chelsea football team.
Although he’d kept up with the sport a bit over the years, catching a game here and there on the telly, he hadn’t really been as avid a fan as he had been in his youth.
His solemn responsibilities as a Watcher, had seemed to contraindicate that type of enjoyment, as well as it being looked down upon by his peers at the former Council. Not only that, but once in the States, he realized that the Americans were far, far less into what they called soccer, than his countrymen were.
‘It’s just a silly game,’ he’d told himself.
Before he realized it, Giles had spent almost two hours on the Internet, finding out who was up in the games, who the best players were, and what the odds were if he wanted to place a bet on this Saturday’s game.
Giles was still in his study when the front door opened. He hadn't seen much of William for a couple of days, not since their latest session. This one featuring a discussion after William had read the Council files about Spike and Drusilla’s hundred plus year’s history. Although he'd tried to provide a counterbalance to the stark, documented horrors, he felt he’d fallen short, and the sense of despair had been palpable. As he’d expected, William had retreated for some days afterwards. What was surprising, was that he was now here.
“What are you doing here?” they both asked the other at once.
Giles cleared his throat. “Um...I’m afraid I got caught up in something,” Giles replied. Normally, he would’ve been at back at the Council offices at this time of day. Nonchalantly, he logged off of the Chelsea football team's website, then nodded toward William.
“Just back from my...wanderings,” William answered, rather evasively.
“Ah, yes. Well, I hope you had a productive morning; at least it stopped raining,” Giles said, leaving it at that.
Although quite curious as to where exactly William was spending his time, he resisted asking him directly. Despite his sometimes, fragile mental state; William was, after all, a grown man. If he didn’t care to divulge where it was he went when alone, then who was he to ask? At least, that’s what he told himself. The idea to follow William, or to have one of the girls do it, had crossed his mind more than once. Still, no matter how he tried to justify such a notion, he couldn’t. William was no longer Spike, and as such, entitled to whatever degree of autonomy he chose for himself.
“How would you like to go to a football game this Saturday?” Giles asked with a boyish grin.
END CHAPTER 182