Corruption by dampersandspoons

Chapter 25: Coming Home to You

Chapter Notes: This story was nominated for Best Original Character at the Spuffy Awards (for Vijay). Thank you!!

I can't believe it's been a month since I updated this...I'm SO SORRY! But I quit smoking (over 40 days without one) and it KILLED my muse. I had no idea how much control cigarettes had on me, to the point that I depended on them even while writing. But I've gotten over the hump and my hands have been a typing frenzy so you shouldn't have to wait long for updates!

Thanks again to Kristi for her prompt beta skills and never leaving me waiting too long! You rock!

William was still slightly buzzed from the bottle of whiskey he and Miranda killed, having only slept for a couple of hours before Buffy called him. None of that would deter him from his mission. He could barely see straight from lack of sleep, but so what? He was going to see Buffy and that’s all that mattered. She’d been expelled for reasons he wasn’t too clear on but from the sounds of it, she had one hell of a bad time. He contemplated showering and shaving, after Miranda’s suggestion that he looked like a lumberjack, but those would be precious moments wasted when he could be using them to get to her. And he would. Come hell or high water, he would go to her.

A quick perusal of his room was all it took to gather his things and then he was out the door—and had no idea how to communicate with anyone or where to go.

“Fuck.”

He groaned and turned back to the temple and walked into his father’s room. Rupert was fast asleep and it took several shoves and a slap on the cheek for him to finally awaken.

“What is it?”

William didn’t bother with keeping his voice low when he said, “I need you to put on clothes and help me get a cab and get on the next plane out of here.”

“Good Lord,” Rupert said with a roll of his eyes and turned over. “Let an old man rest and we’ll see to it in the morning.”

“Dad, I’m not joking. I have to go now!”

Rupert’s hand scrabbled on his nightstand in search of his glasses. William grabbed them in frustration and handed them to him, not wanting to waste any more time. “Here.”

“Thank you,” he said with a yawn and slowly sat up, putting them on. William was fidgeting anxiously. “Now, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that you’re moving like a sloth. Put some shoes on and let’s go.”

He tsked and looked at him incredulously. “You’re awfully bossy for having woken me up in the middle of the night. What time is it?”

“Four. Get up.”

“All right, all right,” he groused, standing up and looking for his shoes but William already had them in hand, his jaw ticking as he shoved them towards his father’s chest. “Thank you,” Rupert replied as he took them, not quite awake enough to notice how much he was irritating his son.

“I’d do it myself but I don’t speak the language and I need a cab.”

“Surely you know how to stick your hand out and wave.”

“Please, Dad.”

William looked at him then, pleading silently with his eyes, and Rupert could not deny his request. His son was in distress and this was more serious than he first imagined. Rupert nodded and tried to dress as quickly as he could.

Once they’d found a cab and got inside, William was finally calm enough to tell him what the problem was.

“Oh, dear…and you’re certain she’s all right?”

“No,” he said incredulously, “if I was certain of that I wouldn’t be leaving in the middle of the night, now, would I?”

“Where is she staying?”

“The Four Seasons.”

Rupert snickered. “She didn’t waste time finding the expensive one, did she? Tell you what, while you’re at the airport I’ll see to it that she’s gotten to her room and tell her you’re on your way.”

“She’ll be in room 512, or so the concierge told me. You can ring right up. I didn’t have time to wait for her to check in, so I appreciate it.”

“Can I expect to see you back here again or not?”

“I’m not coming back, Dad,” William said with conviction. “I appreciate you having me but—”

“I understand. You’re welcome to stay at my place if you wish. I won’t be there for another month and you can relieve Marta.”

William was stunned by the offer for a second, taken aback that his father was so willing to lend a hand to him in a time of need. He wondered if Rupert might have always been this way if he’d ever chosen to come to him for help before. But there wasn’t time for those sorts of thoughts now. Wasn’t time. “I might do that. Staying in a hotel will get expensive. You’re sure?”

Rupert smiled warmly, patting his son on his knee. “Stay as long as you wish.”

“Thanks, Dad. I mean it.”

Though he was in a hurry to get to Buffy, he couldn’t resist the small, grateful smile he offered to his father. Rupert looked at the cab floor.

“No trouble at all,” he said, his voice strained for some undetermined reason.

No time to decipher it, pick it apart, analyze it to dust. William had to go. Maybe they would talk about it later.

“Right, I’m off then.”

He grabbed his bag and exited the cab, slapping the hood a few times with his palm once he was outside and waved at his father before he ran into the airport.

“What do you mean you don’t have any flights to L.A.?”

“Sir, please calm down.”

“I am calm! I have to get out of here!”

The ticket agent’s fingers clacked on her keyboard with a bored expression, certainly uncaring of her customer’s plight and his desire for her to hurry up. “I have a flight to London.”

“How is that going to help me?”

“You can fly from London to Boston and pick up a flight from there. It looks like there would be a four-hour layover in Boston before the flight to LAX.”

“You don’t have any flights from Marrakech to the States?”

She sighed and typed something else on her keyboard. “I have one to New York, but that’s not until one a.m.”

“Fine…book me to London.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “When does that flight leave?”

“In two hours.”

This was ridiculous. It was a ten-hour flight just to get to London, then another six and a half to Boston, plus the four-hour layover and then a nine-hour flight from Boston to Los Angeles. At that rate, he might as well wait for the plane from RAK to New York the following morning but he had a feeling if he did wait, something horrible would go wrong. So he booked his flights, took his large carry-on bag – hell no, he was not checking that – and waited at the gate for his flight to London. He was a couple grand lighter in his wallet, extremely exhausted, unshaven and uncomfortable in the chairs in the gate area…but William was going to see Buffy again and he would think of nothing else.

A shower couldn’t hurt, though.

Buffy loved garden tubs in nice hotels. God, the bubble bath! And the jets! And the candles! She’d been soaking in the tub for almost an hour when Giles called to confirm that William was on his way, but it might be a day or longer before she’d see him. Instead of pouting about it, and she was really quite proud of herself for that, she decided to be relieved that he was coming and she’d distract herself with all the amenities the hotel offered.

“Ooh, lemongrass,” she said with a sigh as she poured more bubble bath in the water. She was so very, very relaxed and comfortable and clean.

The baby hadn’t stopped crying for three hours straight. Three hours he’d been sitting next to this devil child in coach, his knees pressed against the chair in front of him, his elbow tucked into his side. The armrest had been taken hostage by his neighbor who hadn’t a care in the world that her daughter had been squealing for the duration of the flight.

He contemplated washing his face in the restroom but the last time he tried, they’d hit turbulence and he almost broke his neck when he tried to stay standing. He could feel his back locking up, his legs tingling with the signs of losing circulation and he looked at his watch and groaned. Fifteen more hours. And a four-hour layover, he mustn’t forget.

And then the baby started shrieking. It was inhuman, the noise it was making, like one of those big fucking parrot-like birds that puffed up the feathers on their faces while they squawked a pitch so high you might bleed from your ears if you didn’t shoot it in time. Over and over, like a fucking siren.

“Will you please shut that baby up?” He was a priest at one point. For ten years, he was a man of God. A kind sort of man who loved babies and children and Jesus and he’d just yelled at a woman in an airplane. He’d yelled, red-faced, clutching the seat in front of him. How long had it been since he’d slept?

“She’s sick,” she said incredulously, as if that explained away everything and stopped the stinging pain in his ears.

“Well can you at least move her to your other shoulder?”

“You have some nerve,” she said with a scowl, her baby’s vocal chords on a never-ending journey to find the decibel high enough to make glass shatter.

Glaring at her, he unbuckled his safety belt, made a show of removing it, and stood up. As soon as he walked two rows up, the baby stopped crying. He cracked his neck and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself.

“Just a baby,” he said quietly. “Demons cannot be babies. God wouldn’t do that to me.”

Buffy reclined on the huge, king-size bed with a satisfied sigh. She’d opened the French-doors of the balcony to listen to the calming waves of the ocean. It was late but she didn’t want to sleep yet. She wanted to bask in the feel of the feather duvet, the super-soft carpet between her toes, the lavender scented mask she’d used a few minutes ago, and just be. This was exactly what she needed.

After a moment, she stood and walked to the door to take a peek down the hallway. As soon as she had, she noticed something on the floor. It was a complimentary basket of chocolates! How did they know she loved chocolate? She pulled the attached card out of its envelope.

“Thank you for staying at The Four Seasons,” she read aloud with a smile. “Aww, you’re welcome, Four Seasons.”

She quickly snatched up the basket and locked the door behind her as she slipped off her robe and sat on the silky sofa. She turned on the television and almost had an orgasm from the first bite of a pistachio truffle. Then she became even more excited when she looked at the television screen.

“John Hughes movie marathon!” With her chocolates in her lap and her feet tucked beneath her, Buffy snuggled up for a long night of laziness and relaxation.

He’d fallen asleep in a chair in the lobby while he waited for the layover flight from Boston to LAX. His head was killing him, he’d barely had a real meal and he was in desperate need of a shower, a shot of whiskey, a smoke, and a bed. Luckily, he could take care of one of those things. He fished out his cigarettes and made his way outside to smoke. He still had two more hours before he could board the plane. But then he’d be with her.

He lifted his hand to take a drag and as he did, his neck tensed up. “Fuck,” he mumbled, trying to straighten it out but pain shot down his spine. Every part of him hurt and he wished he’d walked around more often on the last flight. His nose scrunched up as he rubbed his neck and he turned his head towards his armpit and sniffed. “Whooo!” he shouted suddenly with wide eyes and exhaled with a shudder. There was no way in hell he could see Buffy smelling like this, looking like this, feeling like this.

She’d jump him first thing and he was afraid the cartilage in his spine would turn to dust at any moment. He heard a voice sound out from the loudspeaker above him.

“Now boarding pass numbers twenty thru thirty five for Boston to LAX.”

“Shit,” he muttered, dropping his cigarette on the ground and he ran back inside. He must have been asleep much longer in the lobby than he thought. He dashed through the double doors, almost running a man over. He mumbled an apology and the man flipped him off but William didn’t have time to look ashamed. They were boarding his flight and it was a good two hundred yards away. It wouldn’t have been an issue if he didn’t have to go through the security line again. Maybe he should quit smoking.

Buffy woke up at noon the next day, sprawled out in the middle of the bed with far too much room on either side of her and she stretched, letting out a loud, satisfied yawn. She hadn’t slept that well in months, not since the last time she was in a hotel room with William. God, she missed him. And he’d be there today.

With a smile, she rolled out of bed and opened the heavy drapes in the room to let in the sunlight. She stood there for a moment, looking at the clouds in the sky and pretending she could see his plane right then, that he’d be there only in minutes. But it would be hours before she’d see him.

“You know,” she said to herself, “I think I’ll go back to bed.”

And that’s precisely what she did, because she could. She kicked the spare pillows off the mattress. She didn’t need those anyway.

It felt like someone had poured sand in his eyes and mouth, had stuffed his chair with nails, put splinters in his shoes and hit him in the elbows and head repeatedly every fifteen minutes. He was too delirious to sleep, too hungry to eat, too exhausted to sit still and he’d drank so much coffee he’d be pissing speed if he wasn’t careful. But he was in LAX, dammit. His eyes were blood shot and his shirt was wrinkled and his back was hunched forward, but he was in fucking Los Angeles.

“Finally,” he said with a relieved sigh and trudged outside to take a shuttle to the long term parking lot where he’d left his car. For $4.49 a day, he was looking at spending a pretty penny after being gone for nearly two months. It was still loads cheaper than parking at the airport itself. He was too damn tired to care.

Barely able to keep his eyes open, he drove his black DeSoto away from LAX towards the Four Seasons. But even five minutes alone with himself in a closed space told him how awful he smelled and one glance in the rearview showed him how awful he looked. He laughed. It started off as a low chuckle and because of his delirium, he started cackling. He pounded his fist on the steering wheel and laughed so hard his eyes watered. He looked like hell. Buffy wouldn’t even recognize him.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. This wouldn’t do at all. He spotted a cheap motel on the side of the freeway and pulled in. It was one of those nasty motels you took a hired woman to so you could teach her how much you hated yourself, paid for it by the hour, and got the fuck out of there before you caught any diseases from the sheets, if you hadn’t from the hooker. It would do. They’d have a shower and a sink and he’d have time to clean up and look a bit presentable.

It only cost him forty bucks and he went to his room, ignoring the stains on the bed and the sounds of lovemaking reverberating through the walls and headed straight for the shower. As soon as the hot water hit his skin, he moaned, dropping his head forward and letting the water massage the aching muscles in his neck. He stood there a bit too long, his eyes drooping with exhaustion. He shook himself awake, slapped his cheeks and his chest and turned the water to cold while he quickly washed himself. He got out, shaved, changed his clothes, and tossed his room keys to the hotel manager as he got back in his car. He sped off, keeping his eyelids wide open to try and stay awake.

“Almost there, Buffy.”

Buffy changed seven times.

She thought about staying in her hotel robe. It was silky and kind of sexy. But that seemed corny, so she changed into her school pajamas which consisted of a t-shirt that read “St. Mary’s” and a pair of cotton draw-string shorts. But that seemed too casual. She went back and forth between a few outfits and finally settled on the t-shirt she stole from William, her jeans and pulled her hair in a ponytail. She sprayed a bit of lavender perfume in the air and walked into the misty cloud, not wanting it to overpower her, and then she walked around the room, anxiously chewing her lip and wringing her hands as she waited for him to show up. It had been so long since she saw him. Two months. She missed him so much and after everything that had happened to her, the fact that she was finally going to see him filled her with relief.

She could go on if she had to without him, but it would have been horrible. Just reading his letters kept her going and she didn’t know how he was doing, especially since he never received her correspondence. Would he be mad at her?

She didn’t think so, or else he wouldn’t have dropped everything to see her. She smiled at that, knowing how awful it must have been for him to travel on such short notice. She just wished he’d hurry up already so she could cover him with kisses and probably cry into his shoulder for a good hour and then fuck him until they could no longer move.

Maybe she should change again.

But then someone knocked on the door and she gasped with a smile and ran to the door. She opened it and started giggling happily at the sight of him, holding a bouquet of roses in front of his face.

“Get in here right now!” she shouted excitedly.

William lowered the flowers and smiled at her but before he could open his mouth to speak, she’d jumped him, just as he thought she would, and he had his arms full of Buffy and his mouth covered with hers. No matter how awful he felt or how tired and exhausted he was, it was all worth it just to have her in his arms, her hair tickling his cheeks, her scent bombarding him and her giggles lifting his spirits. It was worth it to have her kiss him like that.

“Missed….you….so…much,” she said between kisses. William laughed against her mouth and walked them inside, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist and giving him no obstacle as he did so.

She slid down his torso until her feet touched the ground but continued to kiss him, making sweet little moaning sounds that warmed his heart as her hands ran through his damp hair. She didn’t seem to notice his hair was wet and if she did, she said nothing of it, too distracted with loving him to say a word. He held her close with one hand while his other still held the bouquet, returning every sweet noise she emitted with one of his own. William was finally home where he belonged. He’d left his bag outside but he didn’t really give a shit about it right then.

“God, I love you. Missed you so much,” he mumbled against her throat when he moved his mouth to explore every inch of her face and throat.

“You got me flowers?” she said, panting as he nibbled on her favorite spot behind her ear.

“Mmhmm.” She was so warm and smelled so good and he’d missed her so much. “I missed Valentine’s Day.”

“Don’t care,” she moaned, shoving her hands beneath his shirt to touch his stomach.

He was starting to feel dizzy, overwhelmed with sensation and fatigue and he pulled back a bit to catch his breath before he passed out. “Need to sit down for a minute.”

“Ok,” she nodded and took the flowers from him so he could sit down on the edge of the bed. She smelled them, rocking from side to side as she looked at him with a sweet smile. His pale skin was now bronzed and healthy looking, his hair a touch lighter, he was wearing linen trousers which she found both odd and sexy at the same time and he looked really damn good. She would have found him handsome no matter what he wore. “You’re tan!”

“Yeah,” he said, chuckling. “Sun’ll do that to ya.”

They looked at one another for a moment longer, too happy to do much more than bask.

“Where are your bags?” Buffy asked, finally breaking the silence.

“In the hall. Got a bit carried away.” He couldn’t stop smiling at her. Her hair looked longer. And she looked thinner. She looked so much thinner. “Buffy, have you—”

“I’ll go get them,” she interrupted and kissed him on the cheek before she quickly turned around and walked to the bedroom door to retrieve his carry-on. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she sang out to him happily from the adjacent room.

“Me too.” Fuck, the mattress was really soft, he thought as he rubbed his hands over the sheets. “What are you doing?”

“Putting the flowers up in the kitchenette. You want anything?”

“Yeah. You! Get in here!”

He heard her giggle and he smiled and kicked off his shoes. He knew he shouldn’t, but fuck he was so tired. He yawned and lay back on the bed, groaning as his spine popped back into place with grateful and relieved cracking noises and his body went limp. The bed had to have been hand crafted by angels. It might have been the most comfortable thing he’d ever lay upon.

Buffy finally found a bucket to put the flowers in. There weren’t a whole lot of options, so the champagne ice bucket would just have to do. But the flowers were too tall so she had to cut the ends and that had taken too long and she wanted to see William so damn bad but she didn’t want him to think she didn’t appreciate his gift. Once she’d taken care of that, she walked back to the bedroom and smiled at the sight of him sprawled out on the bed, his legs dangling off the side.

She crawled over him, kissing a path along his torso until she reached his face. His eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly parted. She thought he was playing with her. So she said, “Are you sleeping?”

No answer.

She giggled and kissed his neck, letting the weight of her body sink into his. Oh, he smelled good. She inhaled his scent deeply and let out a sweet sigh as she lay upon him. “Come on, I know you’re not asleep.” She knew she’d catch him faking her out as soon as she started touching him. She bit her lip mischievously and slid her hand down his torso until she reached the bulge in his pants and squeezed. No way in hell he’d resist that.

But instead of a moan, William let out a loud snore. He was a goner.

Buffy dropped her head against his shoulder with a sigh of defeat. She couldn’t be mad at him, not after the hell he must have gone through to get to her. So she curled up into his side, wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes as she relished the feel of him beside her again. “Welcome home, baby.”

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