Adieu, A Dew, I
Do
By: Lizerrrbeathan
Summary: AU/ Seven years post
Chosen Willem is sequestered hidden deep in
As is bound to happen--given the magnet of hot souls and mutual minds--he is found. Always B/S
Disclaimer: Author owns nothing of BTVS or ATS--story meant for private sharing only--no infringement intended on copyright held by official parties.
Rating: NC17
Dedicated to: Princess Di--hope I got it right.
Feedback: As my Spike would say: Watch me fall down in a girlish giggle with your bundle of flowers... ...uh...unless you can squish chocolate through cyberspace...
*
oh
no...
Blessed, blessed by a customers odd or not odd really more like even, an even steven trade and barter for the Bard. A young man and his quest for the first edition copy of the original script of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. When the young man had asked and Willem responded Monti Python ik den Holie Grailen (Bok) ???
The young man had kanip fitted and weak knee gellied himself against the counter and Willem eased him into an overstuffed easy chair clustered in a setting by the front window for readers. He chuckled and chided himself at the same time. Provoking the poor young lad into his first hard on brought on by the holy chalice--the quest, the end in sight.
Lad gasped and Willem leaned down to listen:
Youve seen it? You must have seen it--or you wouldnt know...
An American. Well, well, well, a journey round the world even and Willem could respect that.
His voice soothed, almost crooned.
Something always a tad better than seeing, mate--
What? What? The poor eyes almost rolling white and shit Willem would have to check that chair for residue of ecstasy...
He leaned in and murmured low.
What you want mate? You want to dream about it? Keep it safe and perfect and forever in your hoped for file? That way it will always be there--always be the ready excuse why youre unhappy, always the excuse things dont seem right...but your life would keep focus of kind wouldnt it then? Always there on the prize...always unobtainable. Or. Now listen careful lad: do you want the experiential? Do you want to touch it, own it, are you willing to buy--cuz looking wont be enough, never enough--I wont bring it out here, just to have you gaze upon it like the long lost and decide the price is too high. So, you willing to pay the price for what you want?
The young man stared at the lean hard looking man towering over him. He wore small glasses, John Lennon frames but that did not diminish the threat or strange vibe he projected. Yeah, he had heard about this guy--his contact on the internet had warned him...but...but still there was something about him that was compassionate too...that understood.
I...dont have money...I have this...Ratcatcher told me you would trade...that you know... His voice trailed down under the scrutiny of piercing brown eyes and instead he held out a briefcase, stopped and then with trembling fingers he rested it on his lap--worked the combo lock...heard the pop ping of release, lifted the lid to expose.
The Bard.
The First Folio.
Narcotic to these jolly Englanders.
Willems breath caught, and there was a sharp pain in his throat. Not the oldest but certainly early 19th century; a complete bound collection of the works of William Shakespeare lay before him in a large zip lock freezer baggie.
Heaven preserve plastic. (and it will, it will, dont doubt it!)
He blinked back a tear and regarded the young man with new respect. He asked this.
Whasyour name?
Paa, paateeter. Peter...
Hello Peter. And youre willing to give this up for Monti Python ik den Holie Grailen (Bok) ?
The poor lad gasped at the name, the holy words being spoken again out loud, in broad day light and with an English accent (no less).
Yes... He eeped. Yes...I...yes...
Willem stared at him and then smiled, and it was so unexpected and bright it made Peter smile back, glowing, warming a little under the furnace of his charisma.
Then we are well met...well met indeed. Help yourself to a cuppa--Ill be a few moments...
And then he leaned in.
It has all the scenes, all the dialogue....uncut... he purred the word, Peter eeped and Willem continued in his very best Sir Lawrence:
I have it safe...in a very safe place...
Peter nodded and...and he was crying a bit, just a little bit too. His quest, his long, long, well he was a young guy (long for him) his long eleven year quest and the grail was now, finally, within sight.
Willem patted his shoulder and tossed over his shoulder--Tend the store whilst Im looking eh?
And then he was in the stacks, he knew where to go, where it was, the stacks of his shop, buried in the stacks in a used bookshop buried in Newcastle upon the Tyne, in a country called the United Kingdom buried, but alive...oh yes he was alive...he reminded himself the way he had to do sometimes, most times ...alive...still...
Still alive...ha bloody ha dear god, missed again...still here...still alive...hee, hee, ho, ho, ha, ha...
And then he stopped, just stopped, right there; standing on the ladder and leaning up to the top shelf, the seventh shelf, shelf seven, in his seventh year sans Buffy--he stopped, just stopped and stared, suddenly taken with his hand--he brought his hand to his face, sniffed the flesh, sniffed, and he could smell everything he was, everything he had eaten for the last week through his flesh, and remembered again, this is what it meant to be alive, No secrets, everything out in the open to be espied and reviled and gasping to be noticed.
To be alive.
The horror and the honor.
And which was which he could scarcely say, even on his best day. And becoming human made getting his soul feel like...like watching a cartoon on the telly; all two dimensional and almost insubstantial in comparison.
Being human with soul and having a reformed demon along for the ride too, was...was this reward or just deserts? Is this the terrible thing that happens after you wish so hard for something and then god turns it all into mockery, into a joke by making it true, literally true. . He had wanted to please her, to save her from death to give her what she deserves and this is where the story brought him. Seven years after closing the hellmouth, seven years after burning the dark of the demon out of his being with that bloody amulet, seven years as a human and he still didnt know the punch line to this joke called: life.
And of course this phrase came back the way it did, just a reminder just a mad dash of salt to tasty up the wound.
She didnt
love me...
She hadnt loved him.
She hadnt loved him, that kiss to her first love on their last night had made that perfectly clear.
And that moment after for him had been the defining one--that had been the real choice, the real work. Seeing her drop all for him, that wank and rush to Angels arms whereas she had barely touched him (Spike) all year (not that he blamed her really, but still) Still, so still he had watched and there, right there, was when he had grown up and become a man. A true man.
No attack, no rage, just walk away and let her be.
Let her have what she needed. And hadnt he been there before? When Dru had needed
to torture Angel, the
And so he had walked away from his quest, his golden girl, his holy chalice, he had respected her choice.
He had thought about leaving town that night, he had to admit he did--just take off, even then, the night before the night before the battle, but didnt--he didnt, and to quote the poet.
Two paths
diverge in the wood...I took the one less traveled by...and it has made all the
difference...
So here he was understated, but...(whisper here) still alive...
And so all that was left to him after that point of discovery; was service. Like the knights carrying the kerchief on his lance of his fine Lady. His function in this world was to serve his love...ah...so be it...
He sighed. Maybe he would never get over the insanity. Maybe never.
His strange contemplation over the years over the nature of god, of a god that showed him Buffys soul, something so bright it eased the pain in his demon, a god that inspired him to love...but never to...be loved.
And Angel, wank that he was, got it all and without even asking--
--He could go mad thinking on it and suspected he had somewhere in year one plus two...plus there was...well...the other thing, that definitely had something to do with the lost weekend effect; that lasted two years. But that was another story. And perhaps this was how god made good little servants, when he ran short on heavenly help; he/she recruited loose cannons from hell.
By simply revealing to one demon the beauty of one woman.
But youd think the talent scout would have found somebody a little more...well, willing.
O.K. now this was better, bitter jokes amidst a struggling good humor he could do. And most times these days he was fine...really, he had his books, his stories...he had become an advocate of writers, encouraging them--giving them a place to come and write, to be quiet amidst the words, books made holy by story. He had set up an open mike night that was always filled to overflowing--he was all about encouraging a writer to find his/her voice, and was considering starting a publishing company. He hadnt found his own voice, not yet, but he was extremely skilled in recognizing it in others.
He had a life...of sorts, he did, and there were places he could go, places to disappear into in his mind when the world fell too hard against his heart and usually he was fine, he was a survivor...its just today, well...he had been feeling so...off. It happened sometimes--memories...sadness, images and such and of course there was that soft feeling in the air...
Just there in the air, like how she was--how it felt to be close by...to her.
Probably just the
rain. It looks like rain. (Then let it come
down...)
The phrase unbidden broke through to calm him: The Bard. Macbeth. His own grail come home to sup from. An omen? HA. He chuckled, he laughed at portents...
Then let
it come down...
He looked at his hand again, attention suddenly caught by the small golden hairs growing on the back of his hand and then let it go back to its task of looking, questing and almost there almost about to make some young lads dream come true...well, all right then.
Do some good.
His hand was on the book, the bok when he heard the bell jangle
announce a customer or two...he heard several footfall patterns...and something,
some instinct made him clutch the book tight and grip the bookcase but never
ever would he ever have intuited...her
laugh.
Her.
No...
More laughter and murmur of voices.
Her.
No...
oh no...
He couldnt hear the words, but his world became one vortex sucking spinning and daring him to fall down the ladder.
And all he could think was: God must hate me, God must really, really hate me, and Ill never be able to pay it back, ever what I did and so here I am as I am working on the side to entertain the angels....lets watch poor Spike...he cant really work in the world but lets watch him struggle to get up each day...bloody good telly, no not good enough, not NEARLY--lets throw her into the mix and match him up with sudden death. A sudden death match, a final round of kick the Spike--NO! No. Willem now. Ha ha. Gotcha. Spike cant play. Spike was...dead...
This calmed him down. Considerably. It would be alright...Spike was dead. He was Willem now.
He descended the ladder foggy and far away but using small phrases to coax himself down, to ease himself back to calm--it will be alright, shell never know me. Spike is dead. She doesnt know Willem from Adam. Oop. Wince.
Wrong monster of the week. She never knew Spike, not really, not who he was, and how he loved her, so she will never recognize him turned inside out to Willem. Me, he amended.
Itll be alright.
It will be fine.
He had had the foresight for such a terrible day as this and he was prepared, had been prepared, he absently touched his necklace tucked under his white button-down shirt. Felt the pendant at the end of the chain. And relaxed.
He could hear Peter babble now, babbling on, brook all open and falling down with the gush of almost acquisition.
He could hear Buffy make encouraging sounds--oh my god!
Oh God!
He could hear Buffy.
That was her, her voice, just there; over there at the other side of these stacks...in a few moments...moments...he would not just be hearing her...he would see her. He would see her.
He wanted to see her. He acknowledged it--just as he wanted to run--poor Spike begged, was begging to see her.
Just for a bit mate, it wont hurt, not much...and, and...twill be closure...of a kind...just to see her, just see her...maybe, maybe shell buy something.
Spike was arguing planning ahead...
And maybe when you give her the change back, maybe, maybe you could touch her...
Willem leaned against the stacks...ah god help me...please I know you hate me...but have a little pity...please help me bear it...
*
Buffy had made herself quite comfy in the easy chair opposite this young man, this strange twitchy young guy that looked like he might be incredibly shy with women but was overcoming it in order to share his good news. Only a little of which she actually understood. Something that sounded German or pig Latin but he was happy and happy people were good. She was here on vacation and needed lots and lots of happy people.
So wheres the King of the castle? Isnt he a little worried about leaving his shop wide open?
Peter waved her fears away--Oh no...just wait till you meet him--he scares everybody half to death, nobody would dare steal anything from him--sides he has cookies... Peter gestured to an abundance of treats for passerbys and anybody who puts out mass quantities of cookies for ready consumption...well...must be alright.
So... Peter continued...You a writer?
Buffy coughed up a bit of tea and laughed. No, no no one could say Im a writer, a scribbler maybe. Maybe...
Oh that means you are a writer and youre just scared--you should show your stuff to... and here Peter nodded his head back as if he dared not speak Its name.
Hell read anybody...and he has an open mike...on Fridays...right here...you should come back! Peter said it as if it was decided. He was so forceful and it sounded so odd and new coming from his way too thin weak body she smiled. But it was a smile of pleasure, she was happy he was happy. It was one of those kinds of happiness when one is feeling it--one feels compelled to share. So she smiled.
Maybe...maybe I will... she had absolutely no intention of coming back and was only here now because...
He came in the room.
Peter jumped up fairly dancing...
Buffy turned to watch the exchange with a half smile on her face. She didnt want to be noisy, but really...it was fun...joy was fun...
She looked at the man she could only assume was the owner of the shop, her half smile froze on her face as her heart did a little double beat; she shook her head and blinked.
No, no, he...how...funny...well not funny
because she wasnt laughing but odd...but no...he looked
nothing like him. Not really.
Huh. Must be the
bloody gene pool. Been in
She turned her attention back to her tea, but studied him out of the corner of her eye.
He, the shop owner had dark brown hair, thick and curly and pulled back tight into a pony tail at the nape of his neck. Medium height. Ha. Suddenly she knew he grew it long only sos he could pull it back in an attempt to flatten it out. It made her almost smile...it was almost...vain. So he was vain about his hair was he? About 510 Chiseled features, hooded eyes, he was looking down, showing something to Peter, so she couldnt see the color but they were probably brown. That other part of the English genetic pool. Brown hair, brown eyes and white, white skin...there were similarities but not...him...
She sighed. She looked up to find him handing change to the young man...who was resisting the money...but no, no, the shop owner insisted and pushed the bills into his palm.
She turned away and heard him say something about not wanting to take advantage of Peter and his love for fine literature...and then as a whispered warning, she heard something like:
Love--you love...and thats good and you go after what you want and thats better...but know when to quit eh? Know when someone takes advantage and dont do it....just dont let it happen...
She couldnt say why she felt those words were spoken a little louder and a little directed toward her--just that odd feeling you get sometimes. Huh.
Peter fairly danced out of the shop, said goodbye to her and she was afraid for a moment that he was going to hug her goodbye but instead said: Maybe Ill see you Friday!
Buffy nodded and smiled Who can say? Maybe...
Peter left with a bell jangle to tell the tale.
You shouldnt get his hopes up...
It was soft but sounded almost like an accusation.
Huh? Buffy stared at the genetic pool wannabe him.
Hes a just a young bloke, no experience in the world--doesnt know when a girl is just being nice--dont lead him on--believe or not, men have hearts too.
This is where I say: double huh?
The man had the grace to look down and then away, and then mumbled, Sorry, none of my business...speaking of which...how can I help you the day?
You mean besides the unwanted free advice to a strumpy tart such as myself obviously bent on ripping the hearts out of young men and eating them raw or no...maybe something a little more feminine--say dipped in chocolate...beside helping me not to do something like that?
He smiled. He couldnt help it. Willem, put his hands to his mouth to hide it but it was already there and begging to be born...it was Buffy, it was Buffy...he loved her, her mind, her saucy way and god she was a stunner--just look her; took no shite, no prisoners no nada...his smile broke through and he turned away to hide it, but she saw it and stopped her ranting.
Once composed he turned to stand sideways to her, to look sideways at her, as if by staying half concealed he was safe, somehow safer. She was staring at him.
She had stood up somewhere, somehow during the adrenalin rush of comeback Sassy.
She was staring at him, blinking...and leaned up against the chair to support herself.
Willem did not blink. What? What? No...his mind running over the impossible, certainly improbable.
Oh god, she saw me, she knows me, she sees something wrong--Willem checked for the amulet under his shirt--just a small gesture, like he was rubbing his chest--still there, he looked in the mirror with the huge gold gilt frame that hung adjacent to the counter... (and oddly she checked him in the mirror too)--no it was Willem, Willem not Spike...its just...for a second there, he thought she had recognized him, that he had been seen. But no.
He smiled a small smile of sorry.
Ah...sorry...dont usually mock the customers for at least the first 90 seconds...uh...have a biscuit?
Oh I get it--rip em to shreds and then feed em...
No, no, .... (he couldnt help it--had to play) ...that would make for a very unpleasant display of the workings of the intestinal track and besides be a waste of fine Oreo and what with all the care thats gone into the stuffing? Almost immoral.
Buffy tried, really tried not to smile, to warm to the banter, but it would be like holding oneself away from a cozy fire on a chilly cool day--and god knows England, well...enough said about the real life experience of that.
As if in answer to her thought he moved to check on the small stone walled fire chugging away softly in the fireplace, just next to the cozy chairs. He had to walk by her to get to the fireplace and when he did she said.
Double stuffing, I see youve opted for double stuffing...
Always, always...double up the stuffing
Was that a double entrandre? Was this guy now flirting with her?
She stared at him and he went pink. He blushed...well, that was just...sweet...
What an odd man. Odd contradictions. Suddenly.
Who are you?
Shop owner, own the place... he dodged. And then dodged back to the safety of the counter where he dodged again. You didnt say how I could help you...
Well its not me...its my...friend Giles. Hey Giles! Maybe this guy can help you--claims he owns the place.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck
Facing down a sorcerer.
Willem absently touched his chest again,
seemingly to check a button (yes, amulet
still there...)
And turned to face.
Giles.
The name slipped out, the shock and seeing him, him, the old man, (oh he looked so much older, why so aged? Is he unwell?) and the name just slipped out as part surprise.
Giles looked puzzled Have we met?
I called you... Buffy supplied.
Ah yes...well...informal are we? Well why not? Rupert Giles and you are?
Willem, Willems fine.
Not William? Buffys query sounded a bit sharp.
Ah no, Willem, touch of the Germanic heritage, on my Mothers side--had to bring the old world with her...you know how some people just cant let go.
Buffy nodded but said nothing.
So? How can I help you?
*
Giles considered the man before him for a moment in silence. He looked him in the eye and assessed. It was what he did, who he was. He knew people, how to look into them and decide, sometimes very quickly if they could be trusted or worked with or...used. Whatever the situation required. It was always important, almost always a matter of life and death if not now, then somewhere soon down the line. He knew all too well how one situation led to another.
He had heard things about this bloke, this man, this Willem--and what did he know about him really? Willem hadnt been in on the under scene for long; perhaps five years? At least not known as Willem, and here was himself standing in front of Giles, right here, but so well protected by charms, who could say who or what he really was.
It was subtle charm, but so smart because subtle was often the hardest to detect, subtle, but it was there: a powerful strong wall. So strong and solid; he could be anybody behind that.
Giles, old sorcerer that he was could feel the energetic subterfuge...but that by itself wasnt a cause for unease. He himself, never walked through the city unprotected...it was just foolish to not protect yourself. So if he wasnt able to see who Willem was, that is, in total, it didnt bother him. No, that wasnt it.
It was the feeling of power that came from
him. Not the crackling snap that
No, it was more like a steady hum. Low, but strong, very strong--the soul before him was forged from fire and suffering and that was a volatile situation producing potentially unstable people.
Now that could mean, Willem was a fine noble man with wisdom forged from pain...or a man in the midst of the dark descent into bitterness. It meant someone who could walk the way that Ethan Rayne had chosen.
Given what might happen to a powerful man, hurting from terrible sufferings from childhood and the inability to find love in the world, or the inability to reconcile his suffering with the worlds incongruities and one might have someone: like Ethan.
Gandhi or Gacey? Which one of these?
Willem reminded Giles of someone--a vague sense of loss and disappointment and he guessed it must be this energetic similarity to Ethan.
Giles felt into his gut for the answer and much to his surprise, internal viscera said: yes.
All this in a ten count. In ten seconds Giles had made up his mind about Willem.
Buffy took longer.
She stood sentry over her Watcher, her old friend; she stood easy on the balls of her feet, easy, seeming at ease, but ready too, to pounce. Willem remembered the stance the look, arms crossed and slightly petulant and somewhere Spike was in heaven, in heaven as she watched him carefully.
Spike might have loved it, ready for battle (sex) but as Willem; he had to admit to being, well...just a bit hurt. Well, it wasnt rational. He had provoked her from almost the first moment of being alone together...but still, he was hurt somewhere, somewhere there was a ping that rang round his heart at her distrust of him.
Ah well.
Willem was leaning in listening to Giles explain what he needed.
Giles had a reference book flat in front of him on the counter and Willem nodded at the picture in the book. And then as if for emphasis, Giles brought his attention to it with a finger tap.
Willem decided to play to it cool, dumb and beautiful. (And maybe have some fun.)
Willem took a breath and gave Giles an assessing look totally ignoring Buffy as if the girl was of no consequence. (that oughta get her) It did. She re-crossed her arms and almost growled so he would acknowledge her presence. He ignored her, and addressed Giles. He chose a fun carefree tone, (boys club only).
Oh aye, mate you dont want that--youll be wanting a come hither like prayer Something from the old shamans of North America. A general come on over good luck, thas' whats wanted--soften the energy round the situation with good intention, thats whats needed; much healthier at any rate--
--This is what I want, what I need... Giles voice steely and soft cut him off.
Willem froze and Spike stepped up on automatic and said in a deadly even voice.
I dont sell whatall to whoever just cuz they say so, do I then?
Buffy stiffened at the call to battle in his voice, and something else...that other feeling of familiar.
She did know this; there was much more to this guy than met the eye. Scholar with cute little glasses and all HE warrior underneath, she could fairly smell it--what was up with that? And...and he was dangerous...possibly could be deadly...
Inside Slayer said so. She heard the call to battle, knew that, felt that so many times before but she also felt the pulse point reach down to pound deep in her womb...something...something she had only felt once before...
Spike took in Buffys accelerated state; he didnt have to be a vampire to pick up energetic patterns. Just eyes wide open all the time.
Huh. How ugly could this get?
Giles was not oblivious and made a quick decision. He addressed Buffy, Its all right, he said to her to turn down her heat and then sighed and looked at Willem and apologized.
Im terribly sorry, Ive been very rude...of course you must be careful to whom you sell items, books, anything that would have this kind of impact on the world...you must take care, of course you must...if anything, that speaks very highly of you...
Well, watch me fall down in a girlish giggle with your bundle of flowers... Willem snorted in reply and Buffy laughed.
She did. She laughed. He was funny.
It was sudden and unexpected and she couldnt help it.
She laughed and Giles gave her a sharp look and she shrugged and then looked at Willem...and it was done.
They were friends. Just like that.
It was done just like that and no time in between. They liked each other.
Willems face twitched and then he smiled at her.
Poor
Spike sighed inside and oh god he would love this woman forever and ever
and...and better still...he liked her too...even now,
even after... and ever after....
Whatever reprimand Giles might have offered stilled on his tongue with the sudden shift in the mood. How very mercurial of these two people. One moment ready to go for each others throat the next he would be pouring her a cup of tea.
He was not disappointed.
Willem took in a deep breath, All right, all right...have a seat then by the fire, lets talk...cuppa?
He asked over his shoulder as he stepped to the front door, he flipped the sign over to closed and locked the door and shrugged at their looks.
Almost
Yes, thank you.
Oh that would be fine... Giles said.
Do you have decaffeinated? Buffy asked
Oi aye, twouldnt do to have you pumped up on caffeine would it? Though Id pay to see it.
Thousands wouldnt Giles quipped and Willem laughed.
It was the first time he had and Buffy like the sound, and whatever irritation toward Giles was stifled by the strange flood of pleasure at having been somehow the source to make Willem laugh. It didnt look like he laughed nearly enough.
Yeah, well...and, and...sos your old man... was her weak reply, which just made Willem laugh again.
Huh. Wasnt that funny.
They settled into the overstuffed chairs warm cups in hand. And waited for someone to begin. It was Willem
All right. I wont insult you by pretending you dont know what youre asking on about, just one look at you, tells me you know what youre about. But what youre talking about...is messing with the matrix, the hologram of the third dimension, really, you might be thinking youre just changing the color of...of a flower for gods sake, but there is the potential for real substantial energy redirecting the world as we know it.
He took a beat and stared into the fire as he said.
Youre talking about playing God...
And here he looked down for a moment and into himself and a flash of deep pain scored his face and then was gone and it was back to stony mask, his voice was even and sincere.
There are always consequences with magic...and what is possible with this, this manipulation of matter...well...I...I would never do that for myself on my worst day, not for myself, my love...or even my own Mother...so, so tell me, convince me, why I should help you...
Giles liked him. He did. He was honest and direct and sincere in a way that was rare, he deserved the same in an answer. Giles took in a deep breath and asked first.
Have you anything to spike this with...
Willem jumped a little and Giles held up his mug of tea in a question mark (?)
Willem smiled and stood went to the book shelf pulled away a book to reveal a bottle of Brandy, placed the book back and Giles saw it was an old copy of: Alice in Wonderland...he smiled.
As Willem poured Giles asked First edition? And nodded toward the book shelf.
Willem quoted in reply.
One two! One Two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.--
Giles interrupted with the poems reply:
And, hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day!--
And then together they rejoiced with: Calloh! Callay!
And then bonding interruptus by yonder blonde with an ahem and cup extended.
Oh not to mention the lovely blonde alas, or
rather
Thank god for the suffragette movement--women can vote in this bloody country cant they? Buffy sparked.
Barely. Willem said straight-faced as he sat.
They sipped their brew in quiet, in peace, the unmet friend found. This was good.
Bittersweet as it was for Spike/Willem, this would be the moment to remember.
The fire crackling, golden glow looking out coming into the room found the best the brightest thing to highlight; it was Buffy, always Buffy...
Willem and Buffys eyes met and her heart was greeted by a tremble as it tumbled...he was beautiful really, the most beautiful eyes...they were almost liquid and flowed across the room to spill into her somehow.
She looked down. Shit. Not now. But it was always never now. Timing. Timing, why was it always about timing?
Willem felt a ping as she looked away, like a plug pulled from him and something vital that had flowed from him to her and now maybe lost forever maybe gone from him, but maybe, maybe safe in her. Maybe she would hold his glance in her and when she left, and he knew she would, his glance could go with her. Would that be good? Or would this be his end; finally, finally all gone but better in her.
Ah, god must, must be crazy...to make feelings like this possible but have them go nowhere. To have no home, no welcome for his willing heart. God must be a raving loonie and Willem couldnt wait to have a word with barmy blighter and would have cursed g forever and soundly too and wished himself back to the living hell of being a demon if g hadnt also created...her. And anybody who made her and people like Giles couldnt be all wrong all the time.
Spike sighed; maybe he was the one who was crazy. Well, if he wasnt he should be.
Giles began the story.
*