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shadowkatDecided to just do it in three parts instead of four. Altogether it's approximately 41 pages and 20,531 words - or a novella. And it's not the best thing I've ever written. But I want to share it and preserve it. So if you do read it? Treat it like you'd have someone treat something you've written just for fun.
Buffy stared at the ceiling above her, a cross-thatch of pine and cedar with a few plants hanging near the windows. Her head resting against a lump of a pillow on the firm queen mattress. After talking for hours, he'd finally called it a night and led her to his guest room, a medium sized room that had clearly been decorated by Ann. Frilly curtains hung from the windows along with two ferns. A queen size bed with oak headboard sat in the center and against the far wall next to a small closet was chest of drawers. Pictures of flowers and birds hung from the walls. Not a cross or photograph in sight, outside of one on the nightstand of Will, Charles and a blond haired woman in her late thirties that Buffy guessed must be Anne. The woman looked faintly familiar but Buffy couldn't place her.
She didn't know where his bedroom lay nor did she ask. Their last bit of conversation had made them both a little uncomfortable in each other's company. Sort of similar to how she felt around Angel after a while. He wasn't Spike any more, hadn't been for some time that much had been made clear. Yet she saw vestiges of who he'd once been in him. The years hard as they'd been on him, had if anything brought out more of the poet than the fighter, which may be why he and Angel were closer now than they'd been in the past. Angel was at heart a bit of sap. Her great romance, one true love, Angel, odd how the years affected ones views of such things. She no longer saw him that way and found herself laughing at the concept. Love only worked that way in story books and movies, where the characters stopped moving the moment the last chapter was completed.
She no longer believed that a person had "one true love" or one soul mate in their life. Nor as she'd told Will, that love itself could be defined so neatly. Wrapped inside a poem in a valentine's card. Love was messy. And yes, it was possible for a girl to be raped by her lover or worse to kill him to save the world and herself from him. Just as it was possible for her to forgive him and for them both to move past whatever he or she had done. People weren't demons. They weren't irredeemable no matter how horrible their actions. Nor did their actions demonize them that was something she'd learned from Willow of all people. Poor dear Willow, who'd taught her more about love and forgiveness than possibly anyone else in her life except for Faith. One could not control the actions of others, but one could, in her opinion, choose how to react to them. In her forty years of life, the one thing she'd learned was how to forgive. Herself and those around her. It wasn't an easy lesson. But it had in some ways given her peace of mind, something that seemed missing in him. Will was many things, but he was not a man at peace with himself. Perhaps he never would be, could be, considering the memories he had of the things he'd done. Some of which still gave her nightmares.
Turning over onto her side, she struggled with sleep. Being somewhat of a control freak, she never slept well away from home. Foreign beds no matter how soft, felt foreign to her. And her slayer senses seemed to be on heightened alert whenever she left her safe comfy abodes. This one just smelled wrong. Far too frilly to her taste. Scent of pressed lavender and rose. Reminding herself that it was just for tonight, she turned over onto her tummy, scrunched her pillow under her head and let her mind relax, decompress, travel slowly into restless sleep.
Twisting and turning, she was jarred momentarily by a yell that sounded human but could also have been a coyote or wildcat or bird. Opening her eyes she looked about her in the shadows, the moon casting shadows of the plants and other objects against the walls, transforming them into something jaded and twisted in her half-dream state. Listened. Nothing. Just the soft twitter of insects and birds. Perhaps she'd imagined it? Shrugging, she let herself fall back into sleep. Other yells occurred. But they seeped into her dreams, to such an extent that she was uncertain, which was which. It was not until several hours later that she was jolted awake again, this time by the hum of a motorcycle engine that in her sleepy state felt almost surreal. Yet it did not go away, so much as drift bit by bit into the distance. Rising, in nothing but her t-shirt, she quickly pulled on her jeans and padded barefoot into the hall.
"Will?" she called. "Will? Are you here?" Stumbling out into the foyer, she fumbled for a light switch. It wasn't pitch black; the sky was pale with the first sprinklings of dawn. Yet, light was still limited. As she wandered, she vaguely remembered the motorcycle she'd seen leaning against the front door. Had he taken an early morning ride? Had the screams she'd heard in the night been his own? Charles Gunn had hinted at a problem, as had Angel when she'd last seen him. Will, Angel had told her, was still struggling with the demon he'd once been, with the shanshue, with becoming human and all that entailed. ‘Like you aren't?’ She had retorted. Angel had merely shrugged in response. He had Connor and his own family to give him support, Will...had lost everyone he'd loved. It had taken its toll on him. Something she actually understood. One never got over losing people. She wondered how it felt to outlive everyone? Something he'd experienced possibly even worried over at one time.
Opening the front door, she discovered the motorcycle was in fact gone. Listening, she could hear its faint thrum in the distance, coming closer. Wherever he'd gone, he was coming back. Probably thinking she was still safely asleep in his guest room. This, she thought, felt more like Spike than Will. Something Spike would have done. But then, she supposed the two were intertwined, you never really lost who you once were, you just redefined it. Blended it. Just as she'd redefined herself so many times.
She wandered back inside, to dress and find coffee, thinking of putting on a pot for them both. She'd taken a shower before going to bed the night before, so passed on it and instead pulled on a new bra, panties, and soft pull-over sweater to go with the faded jeans. Brushed through her ratty hair, pulling the tangles smooth, and padded into his kitchen. Cleaner than she anticipated. She'd expected to find a mess. A pot was already on the stove. Next to it a French press coffee maker that reminded her of one she'd had in college ages ago. He'd clearly made some before he'd taken off. All she needed to do was reheat the water and pour it into the press.
Moments later she was sitting on the veranda, sipping a cup, watching the sun slowly rise from the horizon, as a motorcycle hummed slowly up the winding trail path towards her. Just beyond the crest of a flowering bush, she saw his head, un-helmeted, then his eyes, and finely the full profile as he pulled into view. Screeching to a stop a few yards in front of her, he paused long enough to breath in the sunset, let the light hit him full on, bathing in its glory, before he kicked the stand down on the cycle. Hopped off and turned to face her. His eyes lighting up in surprise to see her there, facing him, sipping coffee, as if she belonged there.
“ Hope the bike didn’t wake you.”
“Do you often take rides in the dark?”
“Not as dangerous as it looks. Bike has a light on it and the road is quiet. Also settles my nerves. Used to take walks, but didn’t quite do the job and horses don’t like me.”
She laughed. “They don’t like me either.”
His eyes drifted past her to where her bag sat against the door. She followed his gaze, and saw his face close itself off, much as Angel’s often did.
“I thought I’d head back after breakfast. It’s a long climb down and I’ve a bit of a drive ahead of me. Have some potentials that I promised Faith I’d pick up on the way back. Told them I’d meet them later today at the Broadmoor.”
“Right.” He nodded. “Then I’d better get busy putting some grub together. You like eggs and bacon or you still a pancakes girl?” He walked past her taking the steps two at the time.
“Cereal is fine if you have it. I don’t want to put you out.”
“Not putting me out, Slaye – Summers.” He caught himself at the door, his fingers clutched the rim and she saw him grimace, then laugh nervously. She wasn’t sure who the slip surprised more her or him. And in that moment watching him pull himself together, she had the oddest sense of déjà vu, standing in a church as he told her, eyes coated in shame that the costume he wore didn’t work, he couldn’t hide.
“Will. Before I head back, I was wondering if you could do me a favor.” The idea hit her as she watched him. It wasn’t planned and she wasn’t at all sure Faith would go along with it. Not to mention the current Watcher’s Council. Nor had she really had much time to think it through.
“Favor?” He looked at her over his shoulder then squinted past her at his bike. “You want a ride down the mountain, Buff? If so, can arrange it. Not a problem.”
She looked back at his bike, smaller than the one she vaguely remembered riding back in the day. And suppressed a shudder, riding a motorcycle on a highway was one thing, down this mountain? “Yeah that… would be helpful, but not exactly the favor I had in mind.”
“Oh?” She had his full attention; he’d turned to face her and was leaning against the side of the doorway, thumbs hooked in his waistband, shirt half in and half out of them. Still lean, still wiry, just a bit of a belly, and a rounder less defined face. Spike would have said, ‘Name it’, this version was more cautious. But Angel was the same way, she thought, whenever she asked him to do something for the Council. Sometimes, not often, she missed the old days, when they were all young and reckless.
“What you said last night about vampires? The guilt? How it…” she paused, watching his face, which remained closed to her, watchful. “Was thinking that’s what I need – someone who can explain what you did last night, what you did ages ago…that night when I asked you how you killed them. Someone who can get that across to my girls. Get across the danger, what it’s like to be a monster, what’s its like to give in to it and what...the consequences are.”
“Don’t you have Faith for that?”
Which is exactly what Faith would say, Buffy thought, with a wince. “Not the same. Faith never killed a slayer.”
He considered her for a moment. Said without any inflection, “And I have.” He looked away. “Sounds like one of Charley-boy’s ideas. Always getting at me to go down and rejoin the living. Be noble. Right nosey bastard, needs to learn to mind his own business.”
“Spi- Will, the idea was mine. Charles doesn’t know anything about it.”
”That so?” He studied her, squinting a bit as he did so.
”Yes, I just came up with it. And no, they don’t know anything – no, wait, you don’t understand, hear me out.”
He rested his hand against the wood of his doorway and considered her or the view beyond her, she wasn’t sure which for the space of five minutes. “Right then, if you have a long drive ahead of you, we better get a move on. You like your eggs scrambled or over easy, I forget.”
”Will, the position I’m offering - it wouldn’t be anything major, just brief visits, if you like, at first. Get to know the girls. Get acquainted with the staff. Or, you could just drop in occasionally, help with instruction …we could really use your help.”
”Not a Watcher, Summers. Don’t have the schooling or the patience for it.”
”And you wouldn’t be. This would be different.”
”Right, different. Scrambled did you say?”
Buffy sighed. “No fried. Over hard. I hate it when they run.”
He laughed. “Hard it is. Just like Annie, she’s picky about her eggs as well.”
Breakfast was a quiet affair. She spent most of it rambling on about the girls, the Council, how they’d transitioned their operation from teaching people to become warriors to a global peace corps. Their hardest job was rehabilitating slayers who had gone astray, helping them find a way back into society, a way to exist without fisticuffs and violence. She spent most of her time with this group – the group they hadn’t discovered right off the bat, these were the girls she hoped he might be able to help her with.
He listened or appeared to listen, but said very little. The only time he looked up was when she mentioned Dana, the first of their troubled girls and the only one they had not been able to help. Dana was her one regret. She didn’t regret giving Dana the power, only wished she’d been able to do it earlier when it may have aided the girl against the all too human monster that destroyed her. Dana was one of the many she could not save and a continued sore spot between herself and Angel. He nodded at that, but said nothing. She’d seen Dana’s photo amongst the others on his wall and wondered, not for the first time, how much he blamed himself for what she’d attempted to do to him. She didn’t know all the gory details, just the bits and pieces that she was able to elicit from Angel during one of their arguments on the topic. But her past experience with Angel taught her not to pick at that wound.
After breakfast, she joined him on his veranda for coffee, placing her bag just a few feet from his bike on the grass. For a few moments, they sat, rocking and sipping coffee in companionable silence.
She looked down at her watch, set her empty coffee mug down, got up and stretched. ”Will, about my offer? We could really use your help, the girls could. I could. But I understand if you need some time to think on it – here, I’ll give you my business card so you can reach me,” she dug into her bag to hunt her business card.
“Already thought on it. Not going with you, Summers. Oh I’ll still give you a ride down the mountain, if you like.” He took a sip of coffee and gazed past her into the sunlight. “But I don’t have the stomach for the rest of it. Like my quiet.”
”More like hide.” Solitude stands, waiting at the cross-roads, wasn’t that how that old song went, the one her mother used to play over and over and over.
”What was that?”
”Now I think on it that makes sense, Will. You’ve always liked to hide haven’t you? Behind Spike, behind the walls of this house…filled with regrets, but doing nothing about them. Seems easier, doesn’t it, hiding up here, alone with the deer and the antelope, no people to pester you. Just you and your shrine of memories.” There she’d said it and she could not tell from his expression how he took it. She missed the old Spike, who would have been boiling with fury in front of her, tears of frustration in his eyes. This one just gazed at her calmly, and rested his chin on the tips of his fingers, a gesture that reminded her a bit too much of Giles.
”That how you see it, Summers? Been here what? Ten hours?” He got up from his chair, brushed past her to his bike, which he proceeded to move to a stand next to the house. “Took us a while to build this place, Charles and me. Annie and Angel pitched in later. Illyria, well, she did a bit, before the waves of time claimed her.” He paused at her look. “That’s right, you didn’t know Illyria – the old one who claimed Fred, girl in the portrait. Illyria made up for it though, weren’t for her, probably wouldn’t have survived that alley in LA or what came after. Wouldn’t have shanshued either. Illyria understood time, knew what it felt like to live for sodding forever, yet not really live, more trapped like. Understood Liam and me, in a way, I’m not sure…” He paused, pressed his bike into the locked position. “You ask the old man, Angel, about this favor of yours?”
“Not the same favor, no. But I did ask him to help out with the girls.”
”What he say?”
She worried her lip with her teeth and looked at her bag, remembering the conversation, which had been a painful one for them both. Much like this one was turning out to be. She really needed to learn to follow Faith’s advice and not try to save everyone. Although she knew Faith would be doing the same thing.
“Turned you down flat, did he? Thought as much.” He patted his bike much the same way someone might pat a horse he loved. “Did he tell you why?”
She shrugged. Angel hadn’t. He withdrew like he always did. She got angry. It ended badly. When they spoke again, which was quite a long time afterwards, by mutual agreement, they left it alone.
”He turned you down?” He studied her face then turned to look at the view off his mountain. “The sky is so clear up here. Not smog clogged like in LA. The air is also clear, can actually breath. And at night, only sound is the birds, wildcats, and crickets. So loud, sometimes I miss the traffic and hum of motor-cars.” He turned to look at her, then up at his house. “See that glass window up there,” he pointed, nudging her shoulder slightly, “no, towards your left. Yes, that one. That was made in the 1800’s, taken from the same church that Angelus killed Drusilla. He kept it for the same reason I kept that coat forever – taken off a slayer,” he glanced at her, and smiled at her gasp of surprise. “Didn’t know that did you? Wasn’t a trophy, was a way to hold onto time. Keep yourself from losing your sanity. Bit of nostalgia. Molding things from times past into here and now, makes you think you can do the same to your own self. Change of clothes, change of habit - take something from the past twist it a bit so it is usable in the present not just dust. Doesn’t quite work, but we tried.”
He stepped back from the house. “For a while, a good while, Liam lived up here with me, until Connor convinced him to come to Seattle. Wasn’t upset to see him leave either, hell, Connor did it at my urging. Right broody beast is old Liam and we’re a bit like oil and water if together too long. Start pricking at each other over stupid things. One argument we had went on for five weeks – it was about cavemen and astronauts.” At her look of confusion, he added, “You don’t want to know. But you probably get it anyhow, living off and on with Faith. How’s that going by the way?”
Buffy laughed, “We manage to stay out of each other’s way most of the time. But yeah, it can get chaotic at times.”
” Appreciate the offer, Summers. See where it comes from and can’t say not tempted. But I can’t. For much the same reasons Angel turned you down I expect. And, it’s not about hiding, although can well see why’d you think that. But it’s not.” He paused seeing her roll her eyes, and touched her shoulder lightly, so that she looked up at him.
“ And it’s not that I don’t miss you, I do. Don’t deny it. Or that I don’t have fantasies on occasion of …” His hand drifted upwards to touch but not quite come into contact with her cheek, he let it drop before making contact, his eyes wistful. “Well you know. But …the thing of it is, I’m not Spike anymore than you’re the Slayer. What I told you last night – don’t see myself sharing on a daily basis with a roomful of strange teen girls, good as it might sound to you.”
“And you wouldn’t have to, it would not be like that.”
”No, listen. That…what I said, I’ve only told once. I don’t want you to be thinking I talk about it with everyone. I don’t. And I won’t be repeating it to you again. It’s not something one talks about in polite…” He closed his eyes for a moment, winced, and looked at her again, scanning her face, she felt, for some sense of understanding. “ Angel and I…we can’t, besides it’s not really necessary is it? We talk around it, about other things, like hockey, and football, and astronauts and cavemen. Chuck? He tries, but he suffered at the hands of monsters like me, just as his wife did. No remedying that. So, what I told you, it’s what I have live with, best I know how, and that’s by riding this bike down my mountain, writing songs, and spending time with those who know where I’ve been and what I’ve become and don’t need too much explanation.” He turned away from her, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
”If you still want a ride down that mountain, I’ll take you. But that’s the end of it. Sorry, wish I could say otherwise.” He shuffled his feet then, reminding her oddly of a little boy.
”Don’t be.” She paused, thinking. “I’d rather walk down the mountain if you don’t mind.” At his wince, she added, “No, not because of that. I just prefer walking to riding that thing.”
”The mighty slayer is afraid of a little old motorcycle?”
“Something like that. Almost got killed on one a while back, old body doesn’t heal as quickly as it used to.” She picked up her bag.
”Here let me help you with that.” He adjusted it across her shoulders, barely touching her in the process. Still careful. “Guess this is goodbye then,” he said, stepping back from her.
”Looks like.” She paused. Looked at him, and stretched out her hand. “But only for now, I’d like to visit you again sometime if that would be alright? Maybe bring Faith or Dawn? I’d like to stay in touch.”
”I’d like that. But on the bringing up friends thing? Be sure to give me plenty of notice, so I can get back up. And, I draw the line Xander.” He took her hand then, and gripped it warmly. They didn’t so much shake as just hold. After a moment or two, they did the silly arm shake, the one she used to do with Dawn, swinging the arms, and lazily broke apart, with a chuckle.
”Buffy,” Will called out to her, just as she approached the start of the path. She turned and looked up at him. “Thank you.”
She nodded, and mouthed the words, no, thank you, my friend. Friends, that was what they had become and it was in a way more than she’d hoped for. She hadn’t really expected him to take her up on her offer any more than Angel had. But unlike Angel, he had at least explained why. In a way, this was better, especially since she had not worked out a way to explain her idea regarding Will to Faith or the others for that matter.
Only once or twice on her way down the path, did she look behind her, to see if he was still watching. If he was, she couldn’t see him. The trees and the shadows that they cast backwards blocked her view. But, she thought, hadn’t that always been the case?
The end.
Apologies for typos and errors. At some point, when have time, will try to proof.
Buffy stared at the ceiling above her, a cross-thatch of pine and cedar with a few plants hanging near the windows. Her head resting against a lump of a pillow on the firm queen mattress. After talking for hours, he'd finally called it a night and led her to his guest room, a medium sized room that had clearly been decorated by Ann. Frilly curtains hung from the windows along with two ferns. A queen size bed with oak headboard sat in the center and against the far wall next to a small closet was chest of drawers. Pictures of flowers and birds hung from the walls. Not a cross or photograph in sight, outside of one on the nightstand of Will, Charles and a blond haired woman in her late thirties that Buffy guessed must be Anne. The woman looked faintly familiar but Buffy couldn't place her.
She didn't know where his bedroom lay nor did she ask. Their last bit of conversation had made them both a little uncomfortable in each other's company. Sort of similar to how she felt around Angel after a while. He wasn't Spike any more, hadn't been for some time that much had been made clear. Yet she saw vestiges of who he'd once been in him. The years hard as they'd been on him, had if anything brought out more of the poet than the fighter, which may be why he and Angel were closer now than they'd been in the past. Angel was at heart a bit of sap. Her great romance, one true love, Angel, odd how the years affected ones views of such things. She no longer saw him that way and found herself laughing at the concept. Love only worked that way in story books and movies, where the characters stopped moving the moment the last chapter was completed.
She no longer believed that a person had "one true love" or one soul mate in their life. Nor as she'd told Will, that love itself could be defined so neatly. Wrapped inside a poem in a valentine's card. Love was messy. And yes, it was possible for a girl to be raped by her lover or worse to kill him to save the world and herself from him. Just as it was possible for her to forgive him and for them both to move past whatever he or she had done. People weren't demons. They weren't irredeemable no matter how horrible their actions. Nor did their actions demonize them that was something she'd learned from Willow of all people. Poor dear Willow, who'd taught her more about love and forgiveness than possibly anyone else in her life except for Faith. One could not control the actions of others, but one could, in her opinion, choose how to react to them. In her forty years of life, the one thing she'd learned was how to forgive. Herself and those around her. It wasn't an easy lesson. But it had in some ways given her peace of mind, something that seemed missing in him. Will was many things, but he was not a man at peace with himself. Perhaps he never would be, could be, considering the memories he had of the things he'd done. Some of which still gave her nightmares.
Turning over onto her side, she struggled with sleep. Being somewhat of a control freak, she never slept well away from home. Foreign beds no matter how soft, felt foreign to her. And her slayer senses seemed to be on heightened alert whenever she left her safe comfy abodes. This one just smelled wrong. Far too frilly to her taste. Scent of pressed lavender and rose. Reminding herself that it was just for tonight, she turned over onto her tummy, scrunched her pillow under her head and let her mind relax, decompress, travel slowly into restless sleep.
Twisting and turning, she was jarred momentarily by a yell that sounded human but could also have been a coyote or wildcat or bird. Opening her eyes she looked about her in the shadows, the moon casting shadows of the plants and other objects against the walls, transforming them into something jaded and twisted in her half-dream state. Listened. Nothing. Just the soft twitter of insects and birds. Perhaps she'd imagined it? Shrugging, she let herself fall back into sleep. Other yells occurred. But they seeped into her dreams, to such an extent that she was uncertain, which was which. It was not until several hours later that she was jolted awake again, this time by the hum of a motorcycle engine that in her sleepy state felt almost surreal. Yet it did not go away, so much as drift bit by bit into the distance. Rising, in nothing but her t-shirt, she quickly pulled on her jeans and padded barefoot into the hall.
"Will?" she called. "Will? Are you here?" Stumbling out into the foyer, she fumbled for a light switch. It wasn't pitch black; the sky was pale with the first sprinklings of dawn. Yet, light was still limited. As she wandered, she vaguely remembered the motorcycle she'd seen leaning against the front door. Had he taken an early morning ride? Had the screams she'd heard in the night been his own? Charles Gunn had hinted at a problem, as had Angel when she'd last seen him. Will, Angel had told her, was still struggling with the demon he'd once been, with the shanshue, with becoming human and all that entailed. ‘Like you aren't?’ She had retorted. Angel had merely shrugged in response. He had Connor and his own family to give him support, Will...had lost everyone he'd loved. It had taken its toll on him. Something she actually understood. One never got over losing people. She wondered how it felt to outlive everyone? Something he'd experienced possibly even worried over at one time.
Opening the front door, she discovered the motorcycle was in fact gone. Listening, she could hear its faint thrum in the distance, coming closer. Wherever he'd gone, he was coming back. Probably thinking she was still safely asleep in his guest room. This, she thought, felt more like Spike than Will. Something Spike would have done. But then, she supposed the two were intertwined, you never really lost who you once were, you just redefined it. Blended it. Just as she'd redefined herself so many times.
She wandered back inside, to dress and find coffee, thinking of putting on a pot for them both. She'd taken a shower before going to bed the night before, so passed on it and instead pulled on a new bra, panties, and soft pull-over sweater to go with the faded jeans. Brushed through her ratty hair, pulling the tangles smooth, and padded into his kitchen. Cleaner than she anticipated. She'd expected to find a mess. A pot was already on the stove. Next to it a French press coffee maker that reminded her of one she'd had in college ages ago. He'd clearly made some before he'd taken off. All she needed to do was reheat the water and pour it into the press.
Moments later she was sitting on the veranda, sipping a cup, watching the sun slowly rise from the horizon, as a motorcycle hummed slowly up the winding trail path towards her. Just beyond the crest of a flowering bush, she saw his head, un-helmeted, then his eyes, and finely the full profile as he pulled into view. Screeching to a stop a few yards in front of her, he paused long enough to breath in the sunset, let the light hit him full on, bathing in its glory, before he kicked the stand down on the cycle. Hopped off and turned to face her. His eyes lighting up in surprise to see her there, facing him, sipping coffee, as if she belonged there.
“ Hope the bike didn’t wake you.”
“Do you often take rides in the dark?”
“Not as dangerous as it looks. Bike has a light on it and the road is quiet. Also settles my nerves. Used to take walks, but didn’t quite do the job and horses don’t like me.”
She laughed. “They don’t like me either.”
His eyes drifted past her to where her bag sat against the door. She followed his gaze, and saw his face close itself off, much as Angel’s often did.
“I thought I’d head back after breakfast. It’s a long climb down and I’ve a bit of a drive ahead of me. Have some potentials that I promised Faith I’d pick up on the way back. Told them I’d meet them later today at the Broadmoor.”
“Right.” He nodded. “Then I’d better get busy putting some grub together. You like eggs and bacon or you still a pancakes girl?” He walked past her taking the steps two at the time.
“Cereal is fine if you have it. I don’t want to put you out.”
“Not putting me out, Slaye – Summers.” He caught himself at the door, his fingers clutched the rim and she saw him grimace, then laugh nervously. She wasn’t sure who the slip surprised more her or him. And in that moment watching him pull himself together, she had the oddest sense of déjà vu, standing in a church as he told her, eyes coated in shame that the costume he wore didn’t work, he couldn’t hide.
“Will. Before I head back, I was wondering if you could do me a favor.” The idea hit her as she watched him. It wasn’t planned and she wasn’t at all sure Faith would go along with it. Not to mention the current Watcher’s Council. Nor had she really had much time to think it through.
“Favor?” He looked at her over his shoulder then squinted past her at his bike. “You want a ride down the mountain, Buff? If so, can arrange it. Not a problem.”
She looked back at his bike, smaller than the one she vaguely remembered riding back in the day. And suppressed a shudder, riding a motorcycle on a highway was one thing, down this mountain? “Yeah that… would be helpful, but not exactly the favor I had in mind.”
“Oh?” She had his full attention; he’d turned to face her and was leaning against the side of the doorway, thumbs hooked in his waistband, shirt half in and half out of them. Still lean, still wiry, just a bit of a belly, and a rounder less defined face. Spike would have said, ‘Name it’, this version was more cautious. But Angel was the same way, she thought, whenever she asked him to do something for the Council. Sometimes, not often, she missed the old days, when they were all young and reckless.
“What you said last night about vampires? The guilt? How it…” she paused, watching his face, which remained closed to her, watchful. “Was thinking that’s what I need – someone who can explain what you did last night, what you did ages ago…that night when I asked you how you killed them. Someone who can get that across to my girls. Get across the danger, what it’s like to be a monster, what’s its like to give in to it and what...the consequences are.”
“Don’t you have Faith for that?”
Which is exactly what Faith would say, Buffy thought, with a wince. “Not the same. Faith never killed a slayer.”
He considered her for a moment. Said without any inflection, “And I have.” He looked away. “Sounds like one of Charley-boy’s ideas. Always getting at me to go down and rejoin the living. Be noble. Right nosey bastard, needs to learn to mind his own business.”
“Spi- Will, the idea was mine. Charles doesn’t know anything about it.”
”That so?” He studied her, squinting a bit as he did so.
”Yes, I just came up with it. And no, they don’t know anything – no, wait, you don’t understand, hear me out.”
He rested his hand against the wood of his doorway and considered her or the view beyond her, she wasn’t sure which for the space of five minutes. “Right then, if you have a long drive ahead of you, we better get a move on. You like your eggs scrambled or over easy, I forget.”
”Will, the position I’m offering - it wouldn’t be anything major, just brief visits, if you like, at first. Get to know the girls. Get acquainted with the staff. Or, you could just drop in occasionally, help with instruction …we could really use your help.”
”Not a Watcher, Summers. Don’t have the schooling or the patience for it.”
”And you wouldn’t be. This would be different.”
”Right, different. Scrambled did you say?”
Buffy sighed. “No fried. Over hard. I hate it when they run.”
He laughed. “Hard it is. Just like Annie, she’s picky about her eggs as well.”
Breakfast was a quiet affair. She spent most of it rambling on about the girls, the Council, how they’d transitioned their operation from teaching people to become warriors to a global peace corps. Their hardest job was rehabilitating slayers who had gone astray, helping them find a way back into society, a way to exist without fisticuffs and violence. She spent most of her time with this group – the group they hadn’t discovered right off the bat, these were the girls she hoped he might be able to help her with.
He listened or appeared to listen, but said very little. The only time he looked up was when she mentioned Dana, the first of their troubled girls and the only one they had not been able to help. Dana was her one regret. She didn’t regret giving Dana the power, only wished she’d been able to do it earlier when it may have aided the girl against the all too human monster that destroyed her. Dana was one of the many she could not save and a continued sore spot between herself and Angel. He nodded at that, but said nothing. She’d seen Dana’s photo amongst the others on his wall and wondered, not for the first time, how much he blamed himself for what she’d attempted to do to him. She didn’t know all the gory details, just the bits and pieces that she was able to elicit from Angel during one of their arguments on the topic. But her past experience with Angel taught her not to pick at that wound.
After breakfast, she joined him on his veranda for coffee, placing her bag just a few feet from his bike on the grass. For a few moments, they sat, rocking and sipping coffee in companionable silence.
She looked down at her watch, set her empty coffee mug down, got up and stretched. ”Will, about my offer? We could really use your help, the girls could. I could. But I understand if you need some time to think on it – here, I’ll give you my business card so you can reach me,” she dug into her bag to hunt her business card.
“Already thought on it. Not going with you, Summers. Oh I’ll still give you a ride down the mountain, if you like.” He took a sip of coffee and gazed past her into the sunlight. “But I don’t have the stomach for the rest of it. Like my quiet.”
”More like hide.” Solitude stands, waiting at the cross-roads, wasn’t that how that old song went, the one her mother used to play over and over and over.
”What was that?”
”Now I think on it that makes sense, Will. You’ve always liked to hide haven’t you? Behind Spike, behind the walls of this house…filled with regrets, but doing nothing about them. Seems easier, doesn’t it, hiding up here, alone with the deer and the antelope, no people to pester you. Just you and your shrine of memories.” There she’d said it and she could not tell from his expression how he took it. She missed the old Spike, who would have been boiling with fury in front of her, tears of frustration in his eyes. This one just gazed at her calmly, and rested his chin on the tips of his fingers, a gesture that reminded her a bit too much of Giles.
”That how you see it, Summers? Been here what? Ten hours?” He got up from his chair, brushed past her to his bike, which he proceeded to move to a stand next to the house. “Took us a while to build this place, Charles and me. Annie and Angel pitched in later. Illyria, well, she did a bit, before the waves of time claimed her.” He paused at her look. “That’s right, you didn’t know Illyria – the old one who claimed Fred, girl in the portrait. Illyria made up for it though, weren’t for her, probably wouldn’t have survived that alley in LA or what came after. Wouldn’t have shanshued either. Illyria understood time, knew what it felt like to live for sodding forever, yet not really live, more trapped like. Understood Liam and me, in a way, I’m not sure…” He paused, pressed his bike into the locked position. “You ask the old man, Angel, about this favor of yours?”
“Not the same favor, no. But I did ask him to help out with the girls.”
”What he say?”
She worried her lip with her teeth and looked at her bag, remembering the conversation, which had been a painful one for them both. Much like this one was turning out to be. She really needed to learn to follow Faith’s advice and not try to save everyone. Although she knew Faith would be doing the same thing.
“Turned you down flat, did he? Thought as much.” He patted his bike much the same way someone might pat a horse he loved. “Did he tell you why?”
She shrugged. Angel hadn’t. He withdrew like he always did. She got angry. It ended badly. When they spoke again, which was quite a long time afterwards, by mutual agreement, they left it alone.
”He turned you down?” He studied her face then turned to look at the view off his mountain. “The sky is so clear up here. Not smog clogged like in LA. The air is also clear, can actually breath. And at night, only sound is the birds, wildcats, and crickets. So loud, sometimes I miss the traffic and hum of motor-cars.” He turned to look at her, then up at his house. “See that glass window up there,” he pointed, nudging her shoulder slightly, “no, towards your left. Yes, that one. That was made in the 1800’s, taken from the same church that Angelus killed Drusilla. He kept it for the same reason I kept that coat forever – taken off a slayer,” he glanced at her, and smiled at her gasp of surprise. “Didn’t know that did you? Wasn’t a trophy, was a way to hold onto time. Keep yourself from losing your sanity. Bit of nostalgia. Molding things from times past into here and now, makes you think you can do the same to your own self. Change of clothes, change of habit - take something from the past twist it a bit so it is usable in the present not just dust. Doesn’t quite work, but we tried.”
He stepped back from the house. “For a while, a good while, Liam lived up here with me, until Connor convinced him to come to Seattle. Wasn’t upset to see him leave either, hell, Connor did it at my urging. Right broody beast is old Liam and we’re a bit like oil and water if together too long. Start pricking at each other over stupid things. One argument we had went on for five weeks – it was about cavemen and astronauts.” At her look of confusion, he added, “You don’t want to know. But you probably get it anyhow, living off and on with Faith. How’s that going by the way?”
Buffy laughed, “We manage to stay out of each other’s way most of the time. But yeah, it can get chaotic at times.”
” Appreciate the offer, Summers. See where it comes from and can’t say not tempted. But I can’t. For much the same reasons Angel turned you down I expect. And, it’s not about hiding, although can well see why’d you think that. But it’s not.” He paused seeing her roll her eyes, and touched her shoulder lightly, so that she looked up at him.
“ And it’s not that I don’t miss you, I do. Don’t deny it. Or that I don’t have fantasies on occasion of …” His hand drifted upwards to touch but not quite come into contact with her cheek, he let it drop before making contact, his eyes wistful. “Well you know. But …the thing of it is, I’m not Spike anymore than you’re the Slayer. What I told you last night – don’t see myself sharing on a daily basis with a roomful of strange teen girls, good as it might sound to you.”
“And you wouldn’t have to, it would not be like that.”
”No, listen. That…what I said, I’ve only told once. I don’t want you to be thinking I talk about it with everyone. I don’t. And I won’t be repeating it to you again. It’s not something one talks about in polite…” He closed his eyes for a moment, winced, and looked at her again, scanning her face, she felt, for some sense of understanding. “ Angel and I…we can’t, besides it’s not really necessary is it? We talk around it, about other things, like hockey, and football, and astronauts and cavemen. Chuck? He tries, but he suffered at the hands of monsters like me, just as his wife did. No remedying that. So, what I told you, it’s what I have live with, best I know how, and that’s by riding this bike down my mountain, writing songs, and spending time with those who know where I’ve been and what I’ve become and don’t need too much explanation.” He turned away from her, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
”If you still want a ride down that mountain, I’ll take you. But that’s the end of it. Sorry, wish I could say otherwise.” He shuffled his feet then, reminding her oddly of a little boy.
”Don’t be.” She paused, thinking. “I’d rather walk down the mountain if you don’t mind.” At his wince, she added, “No, not because of that. I just prefer walking to riding that thing.”
”The mighty slayer is afraid of a little old motorcycle?”
“Something like that. Almost got killed on one a while back, old body doesn’t heal as quickly as it used to.” She picked up her bag.
”Here let me help you with that.” He adjusted it across her shoulders, barely touching her in the process. Still careful. “Guess this is goodbye then,” he said, stepping back from her.
”Looks like.” She paused. Looked at him, and stretched out her hand. “But only for now, I’d like to visit you again sometime if that would be alright? Maybe bring Faith or Dawn? I’d like to stay in touch.”
”I’d like that. But on the bringing up friends thing? Be sure to give me plenty of notice, so I can get back up. And, I draw the line Xander.” He took her hand then, and gripped it warmly. They didn’t so much shake as just hold. After a moment or two, they did the silly arm shake, the one she used to do with Dawn, swinging the arms, and lazily broke apart, with a chuckle.
”Buffy,” Will called out to her, just as she approached the start of the path. She turned and looked up at him. “Thank you.”
She nodded, and mouthed the words, no, thank you, my friend. Friends, that was what they had become and it was in a way more than she’d hoped for. She hadn’t really expected him to take her up on her offer any more than Angel had. But unlike Angel, he had at least explained why. In a way, this was better, especially since she had not worked out a way to explain her idea regarding Will to Faith or the others for that matter.
Only once or twice on her way down the path, did she look behind her, to see if he was still watching. If he was, she couldn’t see him. The trees and the shadows that they cast backwards blocked her view. But, she thought, hadn’t that always been the case?
The end.
Apologies for typos and errors. At some point, when have time, will try to proof.