ONE NORMAL LIFE / TWO EXTRAORDINARY LIVES
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BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
210
Views:
11,910
Reviews:
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Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
210
Views:
11,910
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.
DELIBERATE DECEPTION
CHAPTER 186 - DELIBERATE DECEPTION
DECEMBER 21, 2009
SUNDAY
GREENWICH
12:15AM
FUNNEL AND FIRKIN
Hugh Hawley looked down the bar at the man who, except to tell him, “Keep ‘em coming,” when he’d first sat down three hours ago, had not said another word.
"Last one," he said, setting down another shot of Jack Daniels in front of him.
William slowly focused on the man in front of him, scowling slightly as the words sank in.
"We're closing for the night,' the man offered, apologetically.
"Oh, right," William mumbled.
"Bars close around here too damn early, if you ask me," said a soft, American accented voice.
He turned with a start towards the woman. He stared, bleary-eyed. A petite blonde woman with green eyes shining of inebriation smiled at him. William blinked several times trying to clear his vision from wistful imaginings.
"I'm Jennifer,” she said, encouraged by his intense gaze. “I'm a history student at the university here. What about you? Are you from around here?"
"Originally,” William said after a moment. “Just passin' through now.”
"Yeah? Where you going?"
A bitter guffaw died in William’s throat. "Hell, no doubt."
"Oh come on. It cant’ be that bad," Jennifer said, with a small sympathetic laugh.
He didn't reply.
"Well, I don't think you're going to hell tonight in any case. So how about we get out of here? We can go somewhere you know; get to know each other better...” she said suggestively.
“I don’t think so,” William said, throwing back the last shot. “I’m a bad man; a very bad man.”
Jennifer, who had been inching closer to William as she spoke, was now pressed up against him. He felt her warm breath as she whispered in his ear; “What would you say if I told you I sort of have a thing for very bad men?”
“I’d say you’re a stupid bint without the bloody lick of sense you were born with!” William said, shaking her off. Abruptly, he rose and threw some bills on the bar.
Jennifer’s face flamed, as she hurriedly got off her own barstool, glaring angrily at William.
“I don’t know what your problem is. I just wanted to have some fun, but apparently that’s a crime around here. God, I miss American men! At least I could get a decent...Know what? Fuck you!”
As he stood there swaying, a painful sense of deja-vu washed over him of another blonde tossing her hair over her shoulder, and angrily stomping away from him many times; what seemed like a million times.
The other patrons turned to look curiously at William as he stumbled drunkenly towards the door, but he didn’t pay them any heed. Nothing mattered anymore, least of all a group of strangers he’d never see again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1:00AM
Giles paced from the kitchen to the foyer, glancing towards the clock in the study for the fiftieth time. As he paced, he replayed the whole day from morning, until William had left his seat during the game. The front door opened. Expectantly, Giles turned towards it.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said, sighing.
Vi looked contrite.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to come out quite like that, it’s just been...”
“I know,” she answered, taking off her jacket and throwing it on the bench next to the door.
“You found no trace of William then I take it?”
Vi shook her head.
Last Giles had heard, neither had the other girls. In groups of twos and threes he'd sent the slayers out to comb the city for William. A couple of them had been dispatched back to the neighborhood in and around the stadium. Another two groups had gone to the areas of Hyde Park and Kensington, where William had mentioned his brother once lived, and where Dru had sired him. The other groups were searching Greenwich, Hampstead, and central London.
“Damnit! Why did he...? I can’t figure it out. We were sitting there enjoying the match. William got up to go use the loo; at least that’s what I supposed, but he never returned. What am I missing?”
Vi walked over and put her hand on the watcher’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll turn up, Giles.”
Giles ran his hand through his hair. If something were to have befallen William, whether by demon or the human variety, he would never forgive himself. Buffy would never forgive him either. That William was a grown man with considerable fighting skills; having at one time been a master vampire, made no difference. He felt responsible for William’s well being, coming to him as he did without her knowledge.
The house phone rang, and he quickly grabbed it.
“Is this Rupert Giles?” asked a woman whose voice he didn’t recognize.
“Yes, this is Rupert Giles. Who’s calling?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour. This is Dorothy Faulkner.”
“Who?”
“Your neighbor across The Knoll from you. I got your number from Harold Watley.”
“Oh yes, right. What can I do for you Mrs. Faulkner?” Giles asked, wondering where on earth this was heading.
“You see Mr. Giles,” she said, clearing her throat, “I’m usually asleep at this time, but nature called. As I was passing my upper hallway window I happened to glance out. As I did, I saw a man walking across The Knoll near Harold’s, then heading in your direction. Let me tell you, I almost had a heart attack seeing someone out there. I was going to call the police, when I saw him collapse in your back yard.”
By this time, Giles had walked to the back door and turned on the lights. Vi followed.
“Is he still there?” Giles asked, straining to see out into the darkened yard.
“Yes, he’s down near the shed.”
Giles put his hands above his eyes as he peered out into the yard. He’d have almost missed the figure completely, save for what remained of the telltale hair.
Shall I call the police or an ambulance for you?” Dorothy asked.
“No, I’ll take it from here. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Please, do be careful, Mr. Giles.”
“I shall. Thank you again,” he said, hanging up.
“What is it?” Vi asked.
“Come with me,” Giles said, hurrying out the door.
“It’s William!” Vi said, hurrying towards the still figure.
Giles nodded. Kneeling down, they immediately began to assess him for injuries or signs of trauma.
“I don’t think he’s hurt,” Vi said.
“William, can you hear me?” Giles asked, gently shaking him.
William moaned something unintelligible, then turned over and threw up.
“No, not hurt,” Giles said, wrinkling up his nose in disgust. “Drunk as a Lord, by the look and smell of things.”
Giles first inclination was that he ought to just leave him outside to burn up in the morning sun. That was followed by the rather disappointing realization that since William wasn’t a vampire, that wouldn’t be the case anyway. On the other hand, he could just let Mrs. Faulkner call the police on the inconsiderate berk. Still...
He silently cursed his conscience.
“Help me get him inside,” Giles said tersely,
Vi came around the other side. Together they hoisted William up, and between them, walked him back to the house, cleaned him up as best they could, and put him to bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
DECEMBER 21, 2009
SUNDAY
1:30PM
Sprawled sideways on the bed and still in his street clothes, William’s first thought upon waking, was that something had crawled into his mouth and died, given the bitter, rancid taste. He fared no better as he attempted to get up; the movement bringing on a cacophony of kettledrums, apparently which had taken up residence inside his skull sometime during the night. He fell back, trying to get his bearings. Slowly, the past twenty-four hours came back to him: the Chelsea vs. Manchester United game, Stamford Bridge Stadium, packed with over forty thousand people.
All those people...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After a quick shower, William steeled himself before going downstairs in search of tea. If it weren’t for the overwhelming feeling of dehydration, he would’ve stayed in his room. It was Sunday, so the chances of Giles not being at home were slim. He went over his explanation in his head one more time before heading down the stairs.
The study door was closed, as William made his way into the kitchen. As to not bring any attention to himself, William poured the water before the kettle could even whistle.
With teacup in one hand and aspirin bottle in the other, he quietly made his way down the hall, heading for the stairs.
“William, might I have a minute of your time, please?” Giles asked through the study door, just as he passed in front of it.
With a sigh, William back tracked the few steps, and pushed open the door with his arm. Giles stood up from behind his desk, and motioned for him to take a seat on the opposite side. Despite trying to be careful, William’s hands shook as he tried to set the teacup on the desk, causing some of the liquid to spill over the side and onto some papers. Swearing under his breath, he started to get back up to find something to sop it up with when Giles stopped him.
“That’s alright. I’ve got something for that,” Giles said. He produced a box of tissues from a drawer and handed them across the desk to William.
“I’m sorry,” William said, wiping off the liquid. He looked at Giles, as he picked up the sodden papers, shaking his head.
“We’ll put them on The Times,” Giles said, opening up the Sunday paper. Spreading it out on the floor near his desk, he then took the wet papers from William and sandwiched them between the newspaper sheets. That finished, he sat back down again.
The moments ticked by and finally Giles cleared his throat. It was with the greatest effort that he’d decided he would reign in his anger and disappointment, when confronting William with his thoughtless and self-destructive behavior yesterday.
“How are you feeling today?”
“A bit green.”
“I should say,” Giles said, nodding. “Do you recall how you got to your bed last night?”
William shook his head. He’d suspected as much, given the state they’d found him. Giles filled him in from the slayers who had been summoned to go looking for him, to when Mrs. Faulkner called, ending when he and Vi had managed to put him to bed.
“Care to tell me what happened to you yesterday, whist we were at the game?”
William took a deep breath and repeated what he’d rehearsed earlier, along with an apology.
“Claustrophobic? You felt claustrophobic? That’s it?” Giles asked, suspiciously eyeing William.
“Pretty much. Yes.”
“Was there something about your past that being at the game set off?” Giles probed.
“No. It was just...I just had to get out.”
Giles wasn’t satisfied. If that had been the case, William could’ve just met him at the car after the game. Not to mention him going missing for hours, only to return home so drunk he didn’t even remember how he got to bed.
William shifted in his seat, feeling very much like a child brought up in front of the headmaster.
“I apologize for causing you any worry yesterday, and for last night,” William said. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me, to which I’m very grateful. It was thoughtless and unconscionable of me to put you through that.”
“Yes, it was, William. I’m disappointed in you.”
“Again, I’m really quite sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Very well,” Giles said. He was still dissatisfied, but he didn’t know what else he could do for William at this juncture.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go back to my room. I’m not feeling very well,” William said, rising.
“Of course,” Giles said, also standing.
With a nod, William collected his teacup and walked to the door.
“William?”
“Yes, Giles?” he asked, turning around once again.
“Um...just remember, I’m here if you want to further discuss anything that’s troubling you. Anytime.”
“Thank you,” William said. And with that, he was gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
DECEMBER 22, 2009
SUNDAY
LOS ANGELES
5:00PM
Still in shock from the events of the past twelve-hours, Wesley pulled up in front of his office. He sat there for a moment, blank-faced stared out the window. Finally, he reached across himself with his right hand to open the door, carefully turning his body, as to not jar his casted left arm on the steering column. With the help of a standard issue emergency room cane, he limped over to the trunk to retrieve the weapons bag.
Letting himself into the office, he accidentally bumped his arm against the doorframe. The pain, radiating from his elbow down to his fractured wrist, was sudden and blinding, but he welcomed it. Gritting his teeth, he waited a moment for the pain to subside. When it had, he hauled up the long bag he was carrying, and without bothering to turn on the lights, went over to the cabinet on the far wall. Maneuvering as well he could, he replaced the weapons he and the five slayers had taken with them to San Bernardino National Forest.
Things couldn’t have gone worse. The G’raklics had been a particularly nasty breed of highly intelligent demons. For days, he and the slayers had searched throughout the areas where the reports of slaughter had originated from, but were unable to find any trace of them. Then yesterday, as they were starting to hike back, the demons mounted a surprise attack, surrounding them in the only area they had to pass through that offered no possibility of retreat.
As strong and skilled as the slayers were, they were still no match for nearly a dozen G’raklics. Their short stature belied their fierce stalking skills, reminding Wesley of the velociraptors from Jurassic Park.
Furthermore, the bony plates that protected their midsections and much of their necks, made killing them by beheading all the harder. The blow needed to be precise. In the end, one of his best slayers, Jessica was dead. Ramona was mortally wounded, and not expected to make it through the night. Loreena had suffered a concussion and would need to stay hospitalized over the holidays, even with slayer healing. The other two, Neela and Alisha also sustained injuries that would keep them from any duties for a while. Not that he cared about that; his heart was heavy with loss and a deep sense of personal failure.
All he'd wanted was to go home, but he couldn't bear to call the families of the girls from his apartment; it was his only haven in this insane world. Wearily, he walked to his desk to look up the numbers he needed. The red light on the phone was blinking, and he stared at it a long while before finally pushing the button.
“Wesley, this is Buffy. Call me when you get this message; as soon as you get this message.”
He felt an irrational hatred towards her for a moment.
Buffy.
The Chosen One.
And, the only slayer in the history of the world who'd been able to share her power, turning thousands of potentials into just-as-real-as-she-was slayers. Thousands of slayers, and still not enough to stop all the evil, or to stop his slayers from dying.
The moment passed and lucid thought returned. After all, Buffy had been alone in the fight against evil for all those years, surviving longer than any slayer before her. She’d done what she had to in order to save the world from The First, that along with the sacrifice Spike had...
William. That must be the reason she called.
"Crap."
That phone call would have to wait until he’d first called the families of the girls who were dead, dying, or hurt.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
DECEMBER 22, 2009
MONDAY
GREENWICH
7:00AM
William stared at his reflection in the mirror, hardly recognizing it anymore. The chronic sleeplessness, stress, and drinking over the preceding months showed. After splashing some cold water on his face, he vigorously rubbed his cheeks with his palms hoping some renewed circulation would cover the pallor. It wasn't much, but it was slightly better.
Remembering his mother's advice of long ago he forced himself to smile, studying the effect. Satisfied, he nodded. It was the one small change he could consciously make which would be both persuasive, and most dramatically affect his looks.
He wasn't proud of the deliberate deception he was about to engage in. However, he only had a short time in which to convince everyone that he was doing alright now. If he could manage so, it would be much more readily accepted when after the holidays, he announced he was off to revisit some places he'd last seen as a child. Of course, Giles would likely ask if he wanted some company, which he would graciously decline.
He would only be half-lying, anyway. The Lake District had, in fact, been a place he had fond memories of as a child. The Internet had provided him with all the information he had needed. He’d even rented a car for next Saturday, and made reservations at a low cost lodge, close to many hiking trails; one of which would surely serve his purpose.
No matter what he felt between now and the time he left; be it sorrow, anger, or self-loathing, he would have to be careful to not let those emotions show. To those around him, it needed to appear that he was once more finding meaning, if not joy, in life again.
Still, that wouldn't be the real test; not by a long shot. He knew he couldn't very well act as if everything was fine without showing that he was somehow also dealing with his relationship with Elizabeth, especially over the holidays. Giles knew him too well for that. Not to mention, he wanted to contact her, needed to, if only to somehow let her know that she's never been very far from his thoughts. It was a double-edged sword; the part of him wanting to pour his heart out to her to reassure her that she was still loved, and always would be. The other part of him was loath to giver her renewed hope, only to have it taken away.
All he knew is that it had to look like an accident. There could be nothing that would lead Elizabeth to think that it was something she could have prevented. To leave her feeling as though she’d somehow failed him would be worse than the hell that surely awaited him. Hell wouldn’t be cheated of it’s due this time; of that he was certain.
Although the thought of her loving someone else seared him in its intensity, with all his heart, he hoped that Elizabeth would go on with her life and all that meant. What he wanted for her, was a life that would be filled with love; and, if she wanted marriage and children. Most importantly, William wanted her life to be filled with light and to be free of the darkness he believed his presence had brought back into her life.
Most of all, if his nightmares were any indication of the thing he had been, or of the savagery he must still harbor deep inside him, he wouldn’t be around to hurt her.
END CHAPTER 186
DECEMBER 21, 2009
SUNDAY
GREENWICH
12:15AM
FUNNEL AND FIRKIN
Hugh Hawley looked down the bar at the man who, except to tell him, “Keep ‘em coming,” when he’d first sat down three hours ago, had not said another word.
"Last one," he said, setting down another shot of Jack Daniels in front of him.
William slowly focused on the man in front of him, scowling slightly as the words sank in.
"We're closing for the night,' the man offered, apologetically.
"Oh, right," William mumbled.
"Bars close around here too damn early, if you ask me," said a soft, American accented voice.
He turned with a start towards the woman. He stared, bleary-eyed. A petite blonde woman with green eyes shining of inebriation smiled at him. William blinked several times trying to clear his vision from wistful imaginings.
"I'm Jennifer,” she said, encouraged by his intense gaze. “I'm a history student at the university here. What about you? Are you from around here?"
"Originally,” William said after a moment. “Just passin' through now.”
"Yeah? Where you going?"
A bitter guffaw died in William’s throat. "Hell, no doubt."
"Oh come on. It cant’ be that bad," Jennifer said, with a small sympathetic laugh.
He didn't reply.
"Well, I don't think you're going to hell tonight in any case. So how about we get out of here? We can go somewhere you know; get to know each other better...” she said suggestively.
“I don’t think so,” William said, throwing back the last shot. “I’m a bad man; a very bad man.”
Jennifer, who had been inching closer to William as she spoke, was now pressed up against him. He felt her warm breath as she whispered in his ear; “What would you say if I told you I sort of have a thing for very bad men?”
“I’d say you’re a stupid bint without the bloody lick of sense you were born with!” William said, shaking her off. Abruptly, he rose and threw some bills on the bar.
Jennifer’s face flamed, as she hurriedly got off her own barstool, glaring angrily at William.
“I don’t know what your problem is. I just wanted to have some fun, but apparently that’s a crime around here. God, I miss American men! At least I could get a decent...Know what? Fuck you!”
As he stood there swaying, a painful sense of deja-vu washed over him of another blonde tossing her hair over her shoulder, and angrily stomping away from him many times; what seemed like a million times.
The other patrons turned to look curiously at William as he stumbled drunkenly towards the door, but he didn’t pay them any heed. Nothing mattered anymore, least of all a group of strangers he’d never see again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1:00AM
Giles paced from the kitchen to the foyer, glancing towards the clock in the study for the fiftieth time. As he paced, he replayed the whole day from morning, until William had left his seat during the game. The front door opened. Expectantly, Giles turned towards it.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said, sighing.
Vi looked contrite.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to come out quite like that, it’s just been...”
“I know,” she answered, taking off her jacket and throwing it on the bench next to the door.
“You found no trace of William then I take it?”
Vi shook her head.
Last Giles had heard, neither had the other girls. In groups of twos and threes he'd sent the slayers out to comb the city for William. A couple of them had been dispatched back to the neighborhood in and around the stadium. Another two groups had gone to the areas of Hyde Park and Kensington, where William had mentioned his brother once lived, and where Dru had sired him. The other groups were searching Greenwich, Hampstead, and central London.
“Damnit! Why did he...? I can’t figure it out. We were sitting there enjoying the match. William got up to go use the loo; at least that’s what I supposed, but he never returned. What am I missing?”
Vi walked over and put her hand on the watcher’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll turn up, Giles.”
Giles ran his hand through his hair. If something were to have befallen William, whether by demon or the human variety, he would never forgive himself. Buffy would never forgive him either. That William was a grown man with considerable fighting skills; having at one time been a master vampire, made no difference. He felt responsible for William’s well being, coming to him as he did without her knowledge.
The house phone rang, and he quickly grabbed it.
“Is this Rupert Giles?” asked a woman whose voice he didn’t recognize.
“Yes, this is Rupert Giles. Who’s calling?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour. This is Dorothy Faulkner.”
“Who?”
“Your neighbor across The Knoll from you. I got your number from Harold Watley.”
“Oh yes, right. What can I do for you Mrs. Faulkner?” Giles asked, wondering where on earth this was heading.
“You see Mr. Giles,” she said, clearing her throat, “I’m usually asleep at this time, but nature called. As I was passing my upper hallway window I happened to glance out. As I did, I saw a man walking across The Knoll near Harold’s, then heading in your direction. Let me tell you, I almost had a heart attack seeing someone out there. I was going to call the police, when I saw him collapse in your back yard.”
By this time, Giles had walked to the back door and turned on the lights. Vi followed.
“Is he still there?” Giles asked, straining to see out into the darkened yard.
“Yes, he’s down near the shed.”
Giles put his hands above his eyes as he peered out into the yard. He’d have almost missed the figure completely, save for what remained of the telltale hair.
Shall I call the police or an ambulance for you?” Dorothy asked.
“No, I’ll take it from here. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Please, do be careful, Mr. Giles.”
“I shall. Thank you again,” he said, hanging up.
“What is it?” Vi asked.
“Come with me,” Giles said, hurrying out the door.
“It’s William!” Vi said, hurrying towards the still figure.
Giles nodded. Kneeling down, they immediately began to assess him for injuries or signs of trauma.
“I don’t think he’s hurt,” Vi said.
“William, can you hear me?” Giles asked, gently shaking him.
William moaned something unintelligible, then turned over and threw up.
“No, not hurt,” Giles said, wrinkling up his nose in disgust. “Drunk as a Lord, by the look and smell of things.”
Giles first inclination was that he ought to just leave him outside to burn up in the morning sun. That was followed by the rather disappointing realization that since William wasn’t a vampire, that wouldn’t be the case anyway. On the other hand, he could just let Mrs. Faulkner call the police on the inconsiderate berk. Still...
He silently cursed his conscience.
“Help me get him inside,” Giles said tersely,
Vi came around the other side. Together they hoisted William up, and between them, walked him back to the house, cleaned him up as best they could, and put him to bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
DECEMBER 21, 2009
SUNDAY
1:30PM
Sprawled sideways on the bed and still in his street clothes, William’s first thought upon waking, was that something had crawled into his mouth and died, given the bitter, rancid taste. He fared no better as he attempted to get up; the movement bringing on a cacophony of kettledrums, apparently which had taken up residence inside his skull sometime during the night. He fell back, trying to get his bearings. Slowly, the past twenty-four hours came back to him: the Chelsea vs. Manchester United game, Stamford Bridge Stadium, packed with over forty thousand people.
All those people...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After a quick shower, William steeled himself before going downstairs in search of tea. If it weren’t for the overwhelming feeling of dehydration, he would’ve stayed in his room. It was Sunday, so the chances of Giles not being at home were slim. He went over his explanation in his head one more time before heading down the stairs.
The study door was closed, as William made his way into the kitchen. As to not bring any attention to himself, William poured the water before the kettle could even whistle.
With teacup in one hand and aspirin bottle in the other, he quietly made his way down the hall, heading for the stairs.
“William, might I have a minute of your time, please?” Giles asked through the study door, just as he passed in front of it.
With a sigh, William back tracked the few steps, and pushed open the door with his arm. Giles stood up from behind his desk, and motioned for him to take a seat on the opposite side. Despite trying to be careful, William’s hands shook as he tried to set the teacup on the desk, causing some of the liquid to spill over the side and onto some papers. Swearing under his breath, he started to get back up to find something to sop it up with when Giles stopped him.
“That’s alright. I’ve got something for that,” Giles said. He produced a box of tissues from a drawer and handed them across the desk to William.
“I’m sorry,” William said, wiping off the liquid. He looked at Giles, as he picked up the sodden papers, shaking his head.
“We’ll put them on The Times,” Giles said, opening up the Sunday paper. Spreading it out on the floor near his desk, he then took the wet papers from William and sandwiched them between the newspaper sheets. That finished, he sat back down again.
The moments ticked by and finally Giles cleared his throat. It was with the greatest effort that he’d decided he would reign in his anger and disappointment, when confronting William with his thoughtless and self-destructive behavior yesterday.
“How are you feeling today?”
“A bit green.”
“I should say,” Giles said, nodding. “Do you recall how you got to your bed last night?”
William shook his head. He’d suspected as much, given the state they’d found him. Giles filled him in from the slayers who had been summoned to go looking for him, to when Mrs. Faulkner called, ending when he and Vi had managed to put him to bed.
“Care to tell me what happened to you yesterday, whist we were at the game?”
William took a deep breath and repeated what he’d rehearsed earlier, along with an apology.
“Claustrophobic? You felt claustrophobic? That’s it?” Giles asked, suspiciously eyeing William.
“Pretty much. Yes.”
“Was there something about your past that being at the game set off?” Giles probed.
“No. It was just...I just had to get out.”
Giles wasn’t satisfied. If that had been the case, William could’ve just met him at the car after the game. Not to mention him going missing for hours, only to return home so drunk he didn’t even remember how he got to bed.
William shifted in his seat, feeling very much like a child brought up in front of the headmaster.
“I apologize for causing you any worry yesterday, and for last night,” William said. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me, to which I’m very grateful. It was thoughtless and unconscionable of me to put you through that.”
“Yes, it was, William. I’m disappointed in you.”
“Again, I’m really quite sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Very well,” Giles said. He was still dissatisfied, but he didn’t know what else he could do for William at this juncture.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go back to my room. I’m not feeling very well,” William said, rising.
“Of course,” Giles said, also standing.
With a nod, William collected his teacup and walked to the door.
“William?”
“Yes, Giles?” he asked, turning around once again.
“Um...just remember, I’m here if you want to further discuss anything that’s troubling you. Anytime.”
“Thank you,” William said. And with that, he was gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
DECEMBER 22, 2009
SUNDAY
LOS ANGELES
5:00PM
Still in shock from the events of the past twelve-hours, Wesley pulled up in front of his office. He sat there for a moment, blank-faced stared out the window. Finally, he reached across himself with his right hand to open the door, carefully turning his body, as to not jar his casted left arm on the steering column. With the help of a standard issue emergency room cane, he limped over to the trunk to retrieve the weapons bag.
Letting himself into the office, he accidentally bumped his arm against the doorframe. The pain, radiating from his elbow down to his fractured wrist, was sudden and blinding, but he welcomed it. Gritting his teeth, he waited a moment for the pain to subside. When it had, he hauled up the long bag he was carrying, and without bothering to turn on the lights, went over to the cabinet on the far wall. Maneuvering as well he could, he replaced the weapons he and the five slayers had taken with them to San Bernardino National Forest.
Things couldn’t have gone worse. The G’raklics had been a particularly nasty breed of highly intelligent demons. For days, he and the slayers had searched throughout the areas where the reports of slaughter had originated from, but were unable to find any trace of them. Then yesterday, as they were starting to hike back, the demons mounted a surprise attack, surrounding them in the only area they had to pass through that offered no possibility of retreat.
As strong and skilled as the slayers were, they were still no match for nearly a dozen G’raklics. Their short stature belied their fierce stalking skills, reminding Wesley of the velociraptors from Jurassic Park.
Furthermore, the bony plates that protected their midsections and much of their necks, made killing them by beheading all the harder. The blow needed to be precise. In the end, one of his best slayers, Jessica was dead. Ramona was mortally wounded, and not expected to make it through the night. Loreena had suffered a concussion and would need to stay hospitalized over the holidays, even with slayer healing. The other two, Neela and Alisha also sustained injuries that would keep them from any duties for a while. Not that he cared about that; his heart was heavy with loss and a deep sense of personal failure.
All he'd wanted was to go home, but he couldn't bear to call the families of the girls from his apartment; it was his only haven in this insane world. Wearily, he walked to his desk to look up the numbers he needed. The red light on the phone was blinking, and he stared at it a long while before finally pushing the button.
“Wesley, this is Buffy. Call me when you get this message; as soon as you get this message.”
He felt an irrational hatred towards her for a moment.
Buffy.
The Chosen One.
And, the only slayer in the history of the world who'd been able to share her power, turning thousands of potentials into just-as-real-as-she-was slayers. Thousands of slayers, and still not enough to stop all the evil, or to stop his slayers from dying.
The moment passed and lucid thought returned. After all, Buffy had been alone in the fight against evil for all those years, surviving longer than any slayer before her. She’d done what she had to in order to save the world from The First, that along with the sacrifice Spike had...
William. That must be the reason she called.
"Crap."
That phone call would have to wait until he’d first called the families of the girls who were dead, dying, or hurt.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
DECEMBER 22, 2009
MONDAY
GREENWICH
7:00AM
William stared at his reflection in the mirror, hardly recognizing it anymore. The chronic sleeplessness, stress, and drinking over the preceding months showed. After splashing some cold water on his face, he vigorously rubbed his cheeks with his palms hoping some renewed circulation would cover the pallor. It wasn't much, but it was slightly better.
Remembering his mother's advice of long ago he forced himself to smile, studying the effect. Satisfied, he nodded. It was the one small change he could consciously make which would be both persuasive, and most dramatically affect his looks.
He wasn't proud of the deliberate deception he was about to engage in. However, he only had a short time in which to convince everyone that he was doing alright now. If he could manage so, it would be much more readily accepted when after the holidays, he announced he was off to revisit some places he'd last seen as a child. Of course, Giles would likely ask if he wanted some company, which he would graciously decline.
He would only be half-lying, anyway. The Lake District had, in fact, been a place he had fond memories of as a child. The Internet had provided him with all the information he had needed. He’d even rented a car for next Saturday, and made reservations at a low cost lodge, close to many hiking trails; one of which would surely serve his purpose.
No matter what he felt between now and the time he left; be it sorrow, anger, or self-loathing, he would have to be careful to not let those emotions show. To those around him, it needed to appear that he was once more finding meaning, if not joy, in life again.
Still, that wouldn't be the real test; not by a long shot. He knew he couldn't very well act as if everything was fine without showing that he was somehow also dealing with his relationship with Elizabeth, especially over the holidays. Giles knew him too well for that. Not to mention, he wanted to contact her, needed to, if only to somehow let her know that she's never been very far from his thoughts. It was a double-edged sword; the part of him wanting to pour his heart out to her to reassure her that she was still loved, and always would be. The other part of him was loath to giver her renewed hope, only to have it taken away.
All he knew is that it had to look like an accident. There could be nothing that would lead Elizabeth to think that it was something she could have prevented. To leave her feeling as though she’d somehow failed him would be worse than the hell that surely awaited him. Hell wouldn’t be cheated of it’s due this time; of that he was certain.
Although the thought of her loving someone else seared him in its intensity, with all his heart, he hoped that Elizabeth would go on with her life and all that meant. What he wanted for her, was a life that would be filled with love; and, if she wanted marriage and children. Most importantly, William wanted her life to be filled with light and to be free of the darkness he believed his presence had brought back into her life.
Most of all, if his nightmares were any indication of the thing he had been, or of the savagery he must still harbor deep inside him, he wouldn’t be around to hurt her.
END CHAPTER 186