Buffy paced impatiently in the dining room, mulling over her dissatisfaction with her current predicament. She glanced periodically at her watch, finding it to be almost midnight, and her fury boiled higher, and higher. In the aftermath of her kiss with William, she’d run the gamut of emotions from embarrassed, hurt, confused, excited, to angry. Right now, she was sticking with angry. Much safer that way.
With memories of this alternate universe returning to her, somewhat, her feelings were so conflicted and jumbled that it was all she could do to focus on one problem at a time. And right now, her situation---or, lack of a situation---with Angel wasn’t concerning her. Angelus, Angel, whoever he truly was, was thousands of miles and light years or whatever away, and right here, right now, all she could think about was William. What was bothering her more than not knowing how to get home or how she even got here was these strong, almost all encompassing feelings she had for this dimension’s Watcher. Feelings she didn’t understand and wanted to talk about. Feelings that had resulted in the best kiss of her life, which was disturbing on some level. She was supposed to love Angel, he was supposed to be the one to give her the kisses she could feel in her bones, in her gut, in every inch of her. But instead, she was fixated on a man who wore the face of a vampire who she hated, who hated her, who she’d fought and tried to kill more than once.
It was just all too confusing.
Finally, she heard a key scraping the front lock. She stomped towards the door, ready to do a kind of battle, and pulled it open quickly, to see a disheveled William on the front stoop, keys dangling from his hand, eyes slightly unfocused.
“I was unlocking it,” he snapped indignantly, and entered the house. The scent of alcohol hit her instantly.
“Oh my God, are you drunk?” Buffy squealed, wrinkling her nose. “Way to be mature, Spike.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Fine, William, is that better? This is how you solve your problems? Staying out for hours and drinking yourself…well, really drunk.” She watched him walk on unsteady legs to the couch, where he collapsed and grabbed the remote to flip to an infomercial, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
“None of your business,” he pouted, refusing to look at her, concentrating on the flickering screen. Buffy grabbed the clicker out of his hands and turned off the TV. He frowned and said gruffly, “Hey! I was watching that!”
“Really? You were watching an ad for hair re-growth formula? Because honestly, your hair is fine. So get over it. Can we talk?”
“Don’t really want to talk to you,” he sighed, running one hand through his hair and squeezing his eyes shut, wishing she’d just go away, wishing the whole day would disappear, or even the entire week.
“Well, that’s just too bad, isn’t it?” Buffy moved to sit on the coffee table, facing him, and sighed when he opened his eyes to just look past her at the blank television screen. Suddenly her anger faded back into her embarrassment, she felt a stab of fear in her heart, and softly she asked, “Are you mad at me?” With her crushed self-esteem and her inexperience, she’d become convinced in the hours she’d been waiting that she had done something permanently, irrevocably horrible. “Look, did I do something wrong?”
He finally looked at her, shocked, tormented. “Wrong?”
She nodded, and now she was the one who wouldn’t meet his curious eyes. “Was I…I mean, was I a bad kisser? Or out of line? Or did I---“
“No, pet,” he almost growled, leaning forward quickly and grasping her hands in his. “It was me, I was the one, I…God, can’t you understand?”
“Understand what? Tell me.” He was frustratingly silent, but wouldn’t let go of her. “God, you’re such a jerk.” Buffy tore her hands from his and stood abruptly, then began to resume her pacing. William blinked at her from behind his glasses, suppressing the nausea he felt at seeing the dizzying speed with which she moved. “I’m not a child, you know.”
“You are.”
“I’m not! I’m seventeen…or sixteen, I guess, whatever, and I’m the Slayer, and I’m old enough to make my own decisions. So don’t treat me like I’m stupid.”
“I don’t think you’re stupid,” he said weakly.
“You do! You and Angel, you think I’m just some stupid little girl who can’t think for herself! You have to treat me with kid gloves or whatever and do what’s right for me. I know what’s right for me, not you. Unless…unless it’s just that you don’t really like me, that I’m just---”
“It’s not you, it’s not your fault. I’m the one…it’s my fault. I’m the adult here---“
“I’m not a child! Look, I just want to know---”
“I don’t care, Buffy,” William suddenly snapped, stood and grabbed her roughly, fingers digging into her bare shoulders. “Do you understand what would happen if someone found out? Found out how I feel about you? They’d take you away, I couldn’t…God, Buffy, don’t you get it? Can’t you see?”
“How do you feel about me?” She pushed for answers, pushed for the truth she could only hope for.
“I can’t, pet, I can’t, I can’t tell you,” he stammered, backing away once he realized how close he’d been standing, once he realized he could smell her shampoo, feel the heat of her body, see the desperation in her eyes. “Go to bed.”
“I’m not tired, so no. William---“
“You don’t even think you belong here!” He yelled, kicking at the chair and sending it flying across the room. Buffy shrank back as William’s gentle face hardened, as his eyes flashed, as he clenched his fists and stomped towards the stairs. “You don’t want to be here with me, you don’t want what you think you want and I can’t understand why. You won’t stay with me, I can get you home but you don’t---“
“You can get me home?” she blurted out, following him into the foyer. “I mean…you can? You figured it out? That’s great! Then you can have your Buffy, and---“
“You are my Buffy. You are the only Buffy. If you want to go home, you won’t be here anymore.” He spun around and glared at her, as if she’d made the decision to screw up her worlds, and his.
“What? But I don’t understand---“
“I researched. I was at the library and I figured it out and you have to go and bloody hell, Buffy, what the hell was your mate playing at?”
“William---“
“Don’t. Don’t call me that either, you don’t see me as William, you see me as Spike, some vampire, and you don’t care how I feel about you, you don’t see me as anything!” The pain in his voice broke her heart as his eyes frantically roamed her face, soaking it in, searching from some denial of that fact. He didn’t think he found it, so he groaned, “Just go to bed. Leave me alone.”
“No! No, you can’t just send me away after saying things like that. You…you like me? Right? You want…something with me, and I…want you too.” She held her breath, waiting for his response, sure that she’d crossed a line, or misread the signals, or maybe just changed her new world forever.
“You don’t know what you want,” he said sadly, rubbing his aching head as he began to sober up. “You don’t remember.”
“I do! I do, sort of. It’s like…it’s like I’m thinking of a dream I had, or something, but I have memories. I do. I don’t know anything for sure, but you, I know I have these feelings---”
“You want to go home, don’t you?”
“I don’t know where home is, but I want you---“
“Don’t. I can’t hear it.”
“Maybe you should hear it!” Buffy choked back a sob as the onslaught of emotions became almost too much to handle. “Maybe you should stop being such an asshole.”
“I’m being the adult, I’m the adult, I can’t…you’re sixteen.”
“I may be sixteen, but at least I’m not a coward.”
Swiftly, William grabbed her and pushed her up against the front door, something savage emitting from his darkening blue eyes. He leaned forward, and Buffy’s lips parted, expecting a kiss, but he pressed his cheek to hers and just shook, his body tense, hers pliant in his grasp. His rough, stubble covered face scratched her smooth skin, his hot, liquored breath tickled her ear, and he was pressing into her, his erection pressed between them, and she began to quiver right along with him. She’d never felt like this, never felt this raw, aching need, and only her fear of further rejection kept her from grabbing him and showing him what she truly wanted.
With a shudder, he pulled away. “Go to bed, Buffy,” he said again, voice tired and drained, resigned to a miserable fate. William spun and ran up the stairs, leaving her breathless, confused, wanting, and aching.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you so much to everyone who's reading and reviewing this story, I'm so glad you're all enjoying it! Chapter title from a song by Dido.