Summary: Set directly after the events of Same Time, Same Place. Buffy realizes that she's probably left Spike in the basement for too long and hauls him out. Her attempts to get the First to stop tormenting him don't go quite as planned, however. Then again, when do spells on the Hellmouth ever work right?
Author's Notes: I may be a minority, but I thought the First was about the lamest villain ever. How do you fight something like that? It's impossible. And besides, it's philosophically and logically insupportable that you'd have the First Evil and not a First Good of some kind. I'd give you the logical argument, but that's not the point. The point is that I'm treating the First as the S3 episode Amends treated the First—like some ghost that could be chased away by some fast talk and the light of day. I'm ignoring the rest of S7 canon pretty much. Oh, and the title is taken from a Christina Rossetti poem I thought was appropriate.
Rating: PG-13
"Maybe—though I do not bleed—I am wounded, walking/along one of the rays of your life./In the middle of the jungle the water stops me,/the rain that falls with its sky./Then I touch the heart that fell, raining:/there I know it was your eyes/that pierced me, into my grief's vast hinterlands..." ~Pablo Neruda, Sonnet LXX
The screaming woke all of them. Buffy was the first out of her room, but Willow and Dawn's heads emerged before she could make it to the staircase. "Buffy?"
The Slayer looked back at her sister and best friend. "I've got it, guys. Don't worry about it."
Dawn and Willow exchanged looks. Neither one of them thought they could help worrying about it. Willow stayed by her door. She had just gotten home and hadn't even had time to get into her nightclothes. "Are you sure you don't want some help, Buffy?"
"I've got it," Buffy repeated, hurrying down the stairs. "You guys get some sleep."
She took little care for her own safety, trusting her Slayer skills to prevent her from falling headlong down the stairs. The screams had died down to whimpers by the time Buffy reached the basement, and she hurried over to William's cot.
He was thrashing around in his sleep, his bare chest shining like alabaster in the dim light. She wondered belatedly if William slept with more clothes than Spike did, because she had a feeling that they would both be embarrassed if he didn't. "William? Come on, you need to wake up," she said, putting a tentative hand on his shoulder.
His cries increased in volume, and they tore at her heart. "Sweetie? Please wake up. You're just fine, I promise. I'm right here."
This was the second time she had woken up that night. The first time it had been the sound of her bedroom door closing that had brought her out of sleep. It had taken her a minute to realize that William must have carried her upstairs. She had finished getting ready for bed with a curiously warm feeling in the pit of her stomach.
That had been a more pleasant way to wake up than hearing William's screams echoing through the house. It was a miracle no one had called the cops, as loud as he had been.
It took her another couple minutes to wake him, uttering nonsense words of comfort the entire time. The sounds William was making were not quite human, and Buffy wondered if he was going crazy again. When his eyes popped open, she frowned. "Spike?"
"Buffy?" For one brief moment, the Slayer thought that Spike had somehow returned to her. The next instant disabused her of that idea. "Buffy? Did I commit such horrors as that? I watched—"
William didn't finish, not wanting to put into words what he'd just seen. He had watched himself do things he hadn't thought possible—such terrible things. "Come upstairs, William," she said softly.
He shook his head. "No, I cannot. I—you must kill me, Buffy. You must! What things I did! I don't deserve to live! What if I do it again? What if—"
"You won't," Buffy said soothingly. "It's going to be just fine, William, but you have to come upstairs with me now."
It had been a mistake to leave him in the basement; Buffy could see that now. Willow had said that the First wouldn't be able to use his demon against the soul after the spell, but that didn't mean that it wouldn't prey on his mind in other ways. What if William decided to kill himself? Spike wouldn't have committed suicide, Buffy was certain.
William, however—Buffy didn't know what William would do. She didn't know him at all.
"Where?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.
"My bedroom."
His eyes widened in horror. "I cannot! It's most improper."
"Are you really that worried about doing something bad again?" Buffy asked patiently. For once, she didn't feel anger or distaste or impatience as she looked at him. It wasn't even pity. It was—something unheard of, she was certain. Something soft.
He swallowed hard. Seeing her there, sitting on the edge of his bed, her voice gentle, William couldn't help but wonder if she wasn't an angel. What would an angel be doing comforting a demon, though? "I might. It said—"
Buffy knew her intuition had been correct. "What said?"
"I—I don't know," he faltered. "It was—there was a voice. Am I mad?" he asked her plaintively.
"No more than usual," she replied with a smile to let him know she was teasing. "Come upstairs now, William. It can't get at you with me there."
"Do you promise?"
"Absolutely."
William rose, still appearing reluctant, and Buffy saw that he was wearing his jeans. That couldn't be comfortable. She would have to find him something else to wear. Come to think of it, she probably should find him a lot of something elses to wear. The box she had retrieved from Clem wasn't very big, nor did it have much in it.
For his part, William was looking around for his shirt. It wasn't right to be undressed in front of a woman, even though she didn't seem bothered by it.
"What are you looking for?"
"My shirt," he said helplessly. "I shouldn't—you shouldn't have to see me like this."
Buffy's eyebrows went up. She'd gotten the impression that William was modest, but his attitude was so far removed from Spike's that she very nearly burst into laughter. "Really, I don't mind."
He turned startled blue eyes up to meet hers, and the heartache there broke the silliness immediately. "I don't know what to do," he confessed.
"But I do," Buffy replied, touching his cheek. "Trust me, William. It's going to get better."
"Alright." There was so much trust in his voice that Buffy nearly started crying. She wanted to warn him not to trust her, that she had a tendency to break him. Well, that was over. Buffy wasn't going to break him this time.
William knew this wasn't right. Buffy was wearing a tank top and shorts and showing more skin than he'd ever seen in his life. He was dressed immodestly, and he knew his mother would be aghast if she could see him now.
His mother—William's mind skittered away from that memory. He had dreamed the most horrible things, and all along that voice had been telling him that he was worthless, that he was evil, that he would be better off dead.
William wasn't sure that he didn't agree with that.
Still, Buffy's hand was warm in his, and he couldn't help notice that it was the first time a woman had held his hand. Even if she didn't love him, holding hands showed that she cared.
He hoped.
William balked at the doorway. "This isn't right, Buffy."
"Why isn't it right?" Buffy asked. "We've done this before. Or we've shared a bed before. It really doesn't hurt."
"I really ought not to take advantage," he protested weakly.
Buffy didn't bother telling him that he had taken advantage all the time and that she'd enjoyed every minute of it. "I invited you here, William. This isn't about taking advantage."
It was true enough. Besides, William rather thought that the nightmares might not reach him here. "Alright," he finally said meekly.
Buffy gave him a satisfied nod. "Why don't I find you something more comfortable to wear?"
At this point, William wasn't inclined to argue with Buffy over anything. He was tired and hurting, and he wanted to go to sleep. He didn't care how he got there. So William dressed the one-size-fits-all medical scrubs she found for him. He laid down in her bed and didn't protest when he felt her arm brush his.
Instead, William drifted off to sleep, feeling at peace for the first time since he'd woken in Buffy's basement.
~~~~~
He was so beautiful as he slept. Buffy hadn't often gotten a chance to watch him, to memorize the way his lashes fluttered against pale cheeks, to see the blue veins stark against pale skin. She loved the fact that William had no concept of hair gel, and his curls were wild and untamed.
She loved him.
The realization hit her like a ton of bricks.
She loved Spike.
Buffy paused to see if the world was going to end, and when it didn't, she breathed a sigh of relief. (Of course, that didn't mean it wouldn't end tomorrow, but that was the life of the Slayer.)
How long had she loved him? Had she loved him since he got himself tortured for Dawn? If she hadn't died and then been so messed up, would things have been different? Was it the soul? Was it William—seeing the softer side of him?
It was ridiculously easy to love him now. Easy because of the soul, easy because she had seen what he had truly been. Now that Buffy knew William, she could recognize hints in Spike of the gentle man who lay next to her.
It was easy to love Spike because she missed him so damn much.
Telling him she loved him was a completely different story, however. Buffy had no idea how she was going to say the words. How was she supposed to force them past her lips, given all she had done—given all Spike had done? William didn't even know the worst of it, and the Slayer had no desire to have him find out.
Although, with the First sending him nightmares of his past, Buffy had no idea how long she'd be able to protect him.
William stirred slightly in his sleep. From the sound of things, he wasn't having a nightmare. After a few minutes, his eyes fluttered open and he stared at her in sleepy wonder, even though Buffy knew she probably had pillow hair. "Good morning."
William was suddenly wide awake as he realized that he truly was in Buffy's bed. He'd been sure it was a dream.
Oh, dear. If she knew what he'd been dreaming—
"Are you okay?"
She was staring at him with concern in her eyes, and William realized that wasn't a dream. Buffy had come down to the basement to wake him from his nightmare. She had been almost unbearably kind to him. "I shouldn't be here," he said, gulping and looking around for a quick escape.
"William." Her hand was on his shoulder—warm hand, cool skin—on his bare skin . William found that he wasn't going to be able to get up now. Not unless he wanted to embarrass himself completely. "It's really okay."
"But you and I aren't—" William wasn't even sure what they weren't, just that they probably shouldn't be in bed together. Especially when he was having those kinds of dreams. Or when his body reacted to her proximity in that way
He could smell her, he realized suddenly. William had noticed that his sense of smell was that much more acute, but he hadn't realized how much so until her scent absolutely overwhelmed him.
Buffy decided that she had better leave him alone for a while so that he could compose himself. She had no idea why he was looking like a deer in headlights, but he was. "I'm going to get us some coffee, okay?" she said. "Why don't you take a shower, and I'll bring up some clothes for you."
William had no idea why she was being so kind, especially after what he'd seen in his nightmares. She had no business being this way. She ought to have killed him. This morning, however, in the light of day, he wasn't quite so inclined towards death. "Thank you."
She left him then, and William gave a sigh of relief. Perhaps a shower would help. He would simply have to think about something else for a bit.
~~~~~
Buffy had no idea what had gotten into William. She had expected him to be a little weirded out about sharing a bed. It wasn't like he'd been in any shape to really think about what he'd been doing the night before. Still, it was almost like—
A sly smile curved her lips. There had been the sounds before he woke, and the way he'd waited for her to leave before he got up...Spike had actually done the same thing once or twice, before they'd slept together. She'd known what he was hiding, but had been content to let it pass.
The smile died. Buffy knew how badly she'd screwed things up. They had both been at fault, but she was going to have to move carefully. William was fragile, more so than Spike.
Or not. William had accepted all of this with remarkable aplomb, and Spike had always had a soft underbelly. All she had to do was to remember his words. Every night he saved her.
Well, it was time for her to return the favor.
Buffy wrinkled her nose as she sifted through the box of Spike's things. None of this was really appropriate right now. The unrelieved black was old anyway. She felt something in her belly twist at the thought of that blue shirt. Not the best style, but the color...
Blue definitely suited him. She had a little extra money she'd been saving for a new pair of boots, but she could manage to get a couple shirts for him. He'd probably do better for the variety, and maybe it would help him feel a little more at home.
Buffy finally grabbed a pair of jeans and the brown button down shirt he'd been wearing when she was invisible. Spike must have sewn the buttons back on, and she found herself grateful for that. She had liked that shirt, even though she'd never said anything.
Thinking back on it, Spike had been trying for her—wearing different clothes, letting her come to him, saying things that made her insides melt. Or her insides would have melted if she hadn't been so numb. It was no wonder that it had been Spike who made her feel.
She had never said anything, when Spike had noticed the littlest change.
Buffy tossed the clothing over her shoulder with a sigh and went to get their coffee. Just because she'd been stupid in the past didn't mean she had to be stupid now. She could be smart about this relationship.
After all, William needed her.
~~~~~
William was trying to figure out what he was supposed to wear since Buffy had taken the jeans he'd been wearing the night before. He assumed she was going to clean them, but it left him with nothing to put on at the moment.
"Hey."
William turned, hanging onto the towel around his waist for dear life. "I wasn't certain—"
"I brought your clothes," Buffy said. "And coffee." She put the mugs down on the dresser. "I figured we could eat once you got dressed."
"Of—of course," he stammered, taking the jeans and shirt from her outstretched hand. "I—I'll just go—"
"I can turn around," Buffy said, doing just that.
William knew he was blushing. There was no way he wasn't completely red-faced right now, because she was standing there, and he wasn't wearing anything. It was rather obvious that she wasn't going to leave, however, and so he dropped the towel and scrambled into the pants and shirt. Clearing his throat nervously, he ran his hands down his pant legs.
His palms might not be sweaty, but they certainly ought to be.
"Coffee?" Buffy asked brightly, pretending not to notice his embarrassment and holding out a mug.
"Thank you," he replied formally, hoping that if he could keep his distance he might be able to control his reactions to her.
"You want to come downstairs?" she asked. "I made sure the blinds were all closed."
William nodded, following her silently. He had no desire to disrupt the truce they seemed to have reached, but he was curious. Buffy seemed to have turned her reaction to him completely around. "I don't understand."
She turned to look at him. "What don't you understand, William?"
Her voice was so gentle. "Why are you being so kind to me?"
Buffy found that she couldn't meet his eyes. "I haven't always been very nice," she confessed in a low voice. "Spike and I—we had a really complicated history. Sometimes it's hard to know what to feel about him."
"But you feel something?"
"Yeah, I do. I've been taking my confusion out on you, and I'm sorry. It wasn't fair."
Somehow William knew that Buffy apologizing to him—or to Spike—was something akin to the sun rising in the west. The look in her eyes—he almost thought she might care. He'd never had a woman look at him like that. "I forgive you."
It was that simple. Every word was imbued with perfect earnestness, and Buffy knew that the demon and the soul had that much in common. They would both forgive her nearly anything. "Thanks." She smiled at him. "So what do you want to do today?"
He stared at her. "What?"
"It's up to you," Buffy said. "We should probably stay inside because of the sun factor, but other than that, it's your choice."
"You don't have to go to work?" he asked.
Buffy shook her head. "Nope. I'm all yours."
William stared at her, wondering if she knew what she was offering. "Don't you want to spend the day with your friends?" he asked, knowing that he sounded a bit desperate. He didn't want her to go off with her friends, but surely she didn't want to spend time with him. Surely—
"I am spending the day with a friend," she replied, laying a hand on his arm.
Watching the way William's eyes lit up, Buffy knew she had done exactly the right thing.
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