ONE NORMAL LIFE / TWO EXTRAORDINARY LIVES

CHAPTER 198 – A STORM BREWING

HIGHGATE VILLAGE

As they'd stood in the doorway of William’s family home, a polite smile pasted on
her face, Buffy noted that the sky had turned an ugly shade of gray since they'd
arrived. Robert, Amanda, and Alyson stood behind the matriarch, Beatrice, as
she exacted promises for them to visit again, before she'd allow them to leave.

"Are you alright?" Buffy asked as soon as the door had closed behind them.

"Yeah," he said with a curt nod, grabbing her hand and pulling her along in the
opposite direction from which they'd come.

"Where are we going?"

"This way," William said. He led her through side streets and back alleys, which
gradually became hilly, and then steep. Finally, after they'd walked for what Buffy
figured was nearly a mile, they came to an area of little shops and restaurants.
After getting his bearings, they walked another block before stopping in front of a
long, red brick, three-story, multi-use building that hugged an entire corner. But it
wasn't the apartments above that were of interest to him, rather the small pub on
the street level.

"The Flaming Goat's Foot, Est. 1849," Buffy read aloud, laughing. "Boy, and I
thought demon names were strange!"

"It's still here," William said, looking up in marvel at the familiar old sign above the
door.

"You know this place?"

William nodded. "My father used to go here occasionally. I remember my mum
having me go and fetch him home once - but only once. He rarely went out
drinking," he said, gently smiling at the memory.

"Oh," Buffy said, chagrined, then after a pause, "William, can I ask you
something?"

"What, luv?"

"Nevermind. It's nothing."

"What?"

"Okay," she said. " I just wanted to know what's with all the strange pub names
over here? I would've guessed that the English would have very proper names
for pubs; all stiff and upper crusty names like, 'The Queens Fine Ales,' or 'The
Knights of the Pub Table,' or something like that."

William rolled his eyes at her, and smiled indulgently, as one would at a child.
"To wit, I believe that it's rather a point of pride in who can have the most
outrageous name...and the best beer. The strange names, as you put it, are to
get the patron in, but a fine choice of hops will keep them coming back."

William didn't tell her, but from what he recalled his father saying, this pub had
plenty of the latter; which, at present, he felt sorely in need of.

~~~~~~~~

GREENWICH
WATCHER'S COUNCIL

With most all the girls away for the holidays, The Council was unusually quiet,
even for a weekend. Giles let himself into the office, and as was his habit, turned
on the television monitors to the rest of the building. A once over showed that
there were still a couple of slayers in the media room watching the telly, but as
far as he could tell they were the only ones on the premises.

On the way over, the vicar had called him on his mobile, telling him he’d gotten
the number from Willow. Giles figured it was a courtesy call to thank him and the
girls for their help the day before. Instead, the reverend had asked when would
be a good time to come over and talk with him. He was about to tell the vicar that
he could come around on Monday, but something about the seriousness of his
tone made him take note. He told him that he was on his way to The Council, and
that he could meet him there in a bit. The vicar readily accepted; Giles thought he
heard relief in his voice, as he told him he'd see him within the hour. He then
called Willow to tell her that he might be delayed.

Since he had some time before the vicar was to meet him, he thought he’d catch
up on his email. It was a good thing; an email from a new watcher in the field,
had sent him an urgent plea, asking him how to proceed with rapid training of a
new slayer he'd just recently located in Columbia. The plan, as it was with all
newly discovered slayers, was to bring them to London for schooling before
having them return home or assigned to another area. The choice was theirs
once their training was complete. The watcher in Columbia was concerned
because the only way to get to their contact, was through a remote area which a
master vampire held sway over, much like drug lords did over some areas in this
part of the world. It was a little known fact, outside of those that knew of
vampires, that some drug lords hired them as part of their army. It was rumored
that this one had turned the tables, and became the head kingpin of drug
operations himself, a double risk for anybody crossing through his territory.

Giles made a few calls and called in a few favors, and then emailed the watcher
back, letting him know that their contact would be coming for them in a helicopter
that he’d hired from the local government militia.

That taken care of, he set to finding the translation texts he needed. Three of
them were on the bookshelves; the other two he found on William’s desk. He had
just put them into the satchel he’d brought with him when he heard the buzzer.
Checking the monitor trained on the outside of the building, he saw his guest.

“I’ll be right down," he said into the intercom.

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

“You’re not eating,” Buffy said, as she looked at William across the weathered,
wooden table -- likely as old as the pub itself.

William shrugged, but took few bites of the fish and chips they had ordered to
placate her. A few minutes later, he saw their waitress at the next table. Avoiding
what was sure to be Elizabeth’s disproving or concerned look, he none-the-less
motioned for her to bring him another draught.

"You want anything else, too, Miss?" the waitress asked, when she'd brought
William's beer to the table.

"No, I'm good," Buffy said. She wasn't sure the same could be said for William.

William drank down half the glass before reaching into her purse that sat
between them on the table. Gingerly, he pulled out the photographs they had
lifted when Robert and Amanda were on their ‘big footed mouse’ hunt on other
side of the attic; not that taking them had been their original intention. They had
found them in an old trunk containing what was left of his and his family’s
belongings. With only a few moments alone to look through it, taking them had
been a split-second decision. It just so happened that Buffy's purse had provided
the ways and means in which to procure the few things that William most wanted.

The first picture was of himself as a baby, probably no older than a year, sitting
upon his mother’s knee. If the little mop of curls he bore were anything to go by,
he’d yet had his first haircut. The next, was a picture of the whole family; the only
one he could remember with the four of them. It had been taken only a year or so
before his father died. The last picture was one of him and his brother Henry. He
studied their faces, noting that he looked self-conscious, while Henry looked as
handsome as ever, if not quite unhappy that their mother had insisted on this
joint picture.

After Henry's graduation from college, his mother had been quite adamant that
he go along to the photographer's studio so the brothers could have their picture
taken together, as well as some of Henry alone in his graduation cap and gown.

William remembered standing by the front door in his best suit, as his mother
fussed with his tie one last time.

“It’s fine, mother,” he said, keenly aware that his brother, resentful that he had to
take him along at all, was already impatiently waiting for him in the coach.

“None of that now, William. Your brother can wait a few minutes. You want to
look your best, don’t you?”

"Why do I even have to go and get my picture taken?" William whined.

"Because he's your brother, and I want a picture of you both to mark this
occasion."

"It would cost you less if you just have Henry's picture taken."

"William!"

"Sorry, mum," he'd said, looking down at the ground, ashamed.

"You know that you're not to worry about such matters," she'd said softly,
returning to his tie. "We're just fine, your father left us well provided for."

"I know...but he doesn't even want me there."

Anne took hold of his chin and brought his face up so she could look into his
eyes. "Of course he does. Henry is your brother and he loves you. Now go," she
said, kissing the top of his head, and pushing him out the door.


Their bill came as he was still looking at them. William paid the tab, and when he
looked back down, he saw that a small, cast iron horse had been placed next to
the pictures. Buffy was rewarded with the first real smile he’d given her since
they left the house.

“Where did that come from?” William said, picking it up and examining it.

“Same place as the other stuff.”

“I know that! I meant, when did you...?”

“Same time I took the pictures, when you were looking away.”

“Watch,” William said, as took the tail between his fingers and moved it up and
down, causing horse’s head and hooves to do the same.

“Cool. I didn’t know it had moving parts.”

“My father gave that to me when I was around eight or so,” he said softly. “He
brought it back for me from France when he was working there.”

“Your father worked in France?”

“Among other places. He designed bridges, so he was away from home a lot
when I was growing up. Usually, he’d bring Henry and me a rock or shell
specimen from the area, and explain to us its geology, but sometimes he’d bring
us a book, or a small toy, though that was quite rare.”

“So you didn’t see him much when you were growing up?”

“Well, not every day, but it didn’t seem unusual, it was just what I knew. Plus,
when he was home, it was always special. He was a good man...”

Buffy wanted to say that he was a good man, too, but she knew William would
only scoff at the notion. “Then you were lucky,” she said, instead.

“I was.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you all about your father and the rest of your family...last
year that is,” Buffy said.

“It’s alright, you really couldn’t, could you? Not anymore than I could talk about
them without sounding like I was crazier than I already thought I was.”

Buffy shook her head. “I’m so sorry...”

“Don’t,” William said, reaching under the table to take her hand. “We’ve already
been down this road too many times, yeah?”

“Yeah. I just wanted you to know that I really wanted to...I wanted to know
everything about you from your past. I still do.”

Absently, he stroked the small horse with his other hand. “This was on my desk
from the time my dad gave it to me, until I...until I left. I’m glad you took it.”

“I’m glad I did, too,” Buffy said. “Maybe someday you’ll...”

“I’ll what?”

“Nothing,” Buffy said, with a small enigmatic smile, and went back to eating her
fries.

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

GREENWICH

“I’m really quite sorry to bother you on the weekend,” the vicar said for the
second time in as many minutes, as he sat across the desk from Giles.

“Really, Reverend, you needn’t keep apologizing. I was going to be here
anyway.”

“Yes, I feel that I do. Miss Rosenberg told me that you were only coming for a
short while, so I feel as though I’ve imposed on you. And please, call me
George,” the vicar said.

“If you’ll call me Rupert.”

“Agreed.”

“Then, George, before I ask you why you’ve come, might I offer you a drink?”

“That would be greatly appreciated.”

Giles took out a bottle of Glenlivet from the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet
along with two glasses he had stashed there, and poured a generous measure
into each.

“I hope straight is alright with you.”

“Quite,” the vicar said, taking the glass that was offered.

“To your health and the continued safety of your girls,” the vicar said, toasting.

“And to yours as well.”

They clanked glasses and drank. Giles refilled them, and the vicar cleared his
throat.

“I know this is going to sound...well, quite insane, really, but it’s that I heard some
things...overheard, really.”

“What sort of things?” Giles asked, his voice mild, but on mind on full alert.

The vicar shook his head, and swallowed back the rest of his drink. He laughed
nervously. “I’m sure that I must’ve heard wrong, as it’s quite impossible.”

“Unfortunately, vic...George, you’ve joined the small ranks of those who know
about things in this world, that until a few years ago you would’ve also deemed
as impossible. Why don’t you just tell me what it is that you overheard so we can
determine if it was insane or not, as you put it.”

The vicar’s eyes met Giles’ and he took a deep breath; “I’m afraid it’s about your
houseguest, William Worthington.”

“I see,” Giles said, taking a deep breath. “What exactly did you hear?”

“That he...” the vicar swallowed, looking to the now empty shot glass longingly.

Giles poured him another shot, and waited.

“What I heard was that your William was once a vampire named Spike,” the vicar
said in a rush, quickly downing the burning alcohol in one gulp before continuing.
“Not only that, but that after killing two other slayers, he then fell in love with the
one whom you call Buffy, but that he calls Elizabeth, which somehow led to his
getting his soul returned and becoming human once more. Like I said, pretty
insane, isn’t it?”

“That it is, George,” Giles said, with a small smile.

“Oh, thank the good lord,” he said, visibly relieved.

“However,” Giles said gently, “that doesn’t make it untrue. The fact of the matter
is that it is true. All of it, in fact, just not quite as simply put as that.”

A minute, then two, ticked by in silence.

“I was rather hoping that you thinking I was insane would win out. At the very
least, that you’d laugh in my face,” the vicar said, offering a weak smile.

“I’d never do the latter, but if you would prefer me to call the men in white coats, I
can accommodate you there,” Giles deadpanned.

The vicar laughed, and some of the tension in the room seemed to ease.

“Or, if that preference is off the table, I could tell you the truth, if you’d like.”

The vicar nodded. “Truth is always the best option, isn’t it?”

“Agreed. Not always the easiest, but usually the best. Now, let’s start at the
beginning, shall we?”

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

HIGHGATE VILLAGE
2:00PM

As they walked out of the pub, sleet hit them in the face like so many tiny stinging
insects. Within moments their hair and clothes were covered with the icy
crystals.

“Damn, who ordered this crap?” Buffy asked, as she hurried to button up her
coat.

"Probably the Queen. Welcome to winter in London," William said, dryly.

"Where to?" Buffy asked, squinting through the pelting sleet.

"First things first," he said, pulling her underneath a nearby shop's awning. He
stood in front of her, shielding her from the elements, and motioned for her to
finish buttoning her coat.

“Thanks. I’m good now,” Buffy said.

“Not quite.”

From her pocket William handed her the gloves that were in there. Next, he
pulled her matching scarf out from the loops of her coat’s collar, and attempted to
wrap it around her face. It barely fit, and he swore in frustration. Buffy couldn’t
help but giggle. Not at him, but at the absurdity of standing there like a little kid
being dressed for the snow; at least that’s the way she imagined it would be, not
being from a snowy place in her childhood, after all. Finally, he wound up tying
the too short, and mostly ineffective, scarf behind her head.

“You should have better than this rubbish,” William mumbled, quickly glancing up
into her eyes, before once again lowering them to survey his handiwork.

Years ago she would’ve been incensed when Spike would say things like this to
her, daring to presume, let alone comment on her wardrobe, her anything, for
that matter. Back then, she would’ve hurled an insult-in-kind about his fashion
sense or lack thereof, and likely would’ve followed it with a punch to his nose in
payment for his so-called caring. Only, as she’d finally come to realize, it had
never been so-called. It had always been real.

Buffy pulled the scarf down off of her mouth.

“Elizabeth!”

“I love you,” she said, pulling his head forward until her lips found his, her bare
hands gently brushing the ice from his hair. “I love how you always care for me,
how you always have.”

William’s expression went from irritation to awe-filled.

“I try to. I do try to,” he said, as he stared into her eyes, amazed as always to find
the level of depth of her love, of her forgiveness; despite all his absences from
her life, and for his many shortcomings.

“You do,” she assured him, adding, “we take care of each other.”

William nodded and pulled her into his arms. Grateful to forget the past and his
turmoil for the moment, he let himself get lost in her welcoming embrace, her soft
lovely mouth, and clever, tantalizing kisses.

William nodded and pulled her into his arms, grateful for the momentary escape
into the warmth and welcome of her embrace, and to lose himself in the
tantalizing heat of her kisses. Elizabeth's love for him was his strength - his only
reprieve from the stark and ugly reality of his past sins. The most grievous of
them, albeit unknowingly, once more brought to bear by his distant and elderly
relative. Ironically, Beatrice herself was neither a descendent of the Worthington
or Spencer bloodlines; having married into the latter side, yet, uncannily, she had
physically resembled his own mother to such a degree, it had nearly brought him
to his knees every time he had looked at her.

He closed his eyes and held onto Elizabeth for as long as public propriety would
allow, knowing that the next place he needed her to see would be even harder.
For him, there would be no respite...momentary or otherwise.

END OF CHAPTER 198