RATING: PG
SETTING: A series of childhood memories, linking the Scooby gang together
for far longer than they ever expected.
DISCLAIMER: All characters are copyright Joss Whedon. May he forgive me for
the many sins I commit in their names.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: For Tracy - Because she's our favorite other Goddess. And
for the Willfic list, Willow's in here, you just sometimes have to look for
her. And the series doesn't make much sense without all the parts.
by: Laura Smith and Amy
He promised himself that he would never cry. No, after learning the hard way, the way his papa taught him, he would never cry again. Tears were for girls and babies, his papa said. They had no place in a man's eye. And then his papa would hit him with the strap and he would close his eyes tightly, swallowing the pain and the crying, swallowing any good feeling he had that day.
And, after a while, he *didn't* cry when his papa hit him. He grew into a strong, healthy boy, who loved his mum with his whole heart. He was taller than the other children, with thick brown hair and blue eyes the color of the sea.
He had never seen the sea, but his mum had once, when she was healthy. And she promised him that he would go someday. She had promised him lots of things, like that when she was well again, his papa would stop hitting him. That when she was as strong as she used to be, they would go away together, and maybe travel across the ocean to the Americas.
They never got that chance, however.
He woke up one morning and went in to see her before he went to help his papa with work. For a long time he stared at her, holding her hand. She didn't awaken, and he refused to wonder why. She was just tired. She was tired a lot. She would wake up later, and look at him with blue eyes that matched his.
He left the room quietly, numbly. His eyes and ears shut down, until he saw his papa, drinking at the rickety table.
Rage that was unknown to him now boiled up in his stomach, and his papa for once looked at him with no malice. There was a silent message that seemed to pass between them, and he knew that if he didn't leave, run away as fast as his legs would take him, that his papa would be dead too.
And even for all the hate that filled his heart, he could not hurt his papa. He ran.
He ran for what seemed like miles and miles, through the small town, off to the outskirts, rushing past carriages and men and women with polite smiles who seemed worried about the little, dark haired, dirty boy who was manfully trying not to cry.
When his lungs seemed ready to burst and were burning a hole in his chest, he stopped, heaving. The gasps came quickly, harshly, and then slowed down as he realized that he didn't know where he was.
He was standing in front of a house with a gate, and the dark was almost upon him. As no lanterns seemed to have been lit in the house yet, he climbed clumsily over the fence and fell onto the soft grass, laying there and panting. After a moment, he lifted himself up and looked around.
He was in the middle of an amazing garden. The scent of the roses that were just beginning to close as night fell still lingered in the air, as well as flowers that he had never seen, in colors he hadn't known existed. He walked up a smooth stone path to a swinging bench and sat heavily on it, his eyes locking on one sweet bud that remained open. He wanted to look at it forever. His mum loved roses.
A sweet, clear voice broke into his thoughts. "Who are you?"
He looked up, startled, to see two little girls standing near him, holding hands. They were dressed in the finest silk cloth, ruffles and lace everywhere, and looked no older than six years, two years younger than he. One had shining blond hair in ringlets and the other had glowing red, tied up in a rope fashion. His eyes widened, and he stood.
The little blond girl rushed to him. "Oh, no! Don't leave. We just wanted to know who you were."
The redheaded girl nodded. "I'm Rose and this is Beth. We're not mad," she confirmed quietly.
He slowly nodded, sinking back into the bench. "I'm.. I am..."
Beth smiled. "You are?" she encouraged.
"William. Will."
The two girls walked closer and sat on either side of him. "Why did you come to our house? Were you being chased by something?" Rose's eyes flickered fear as she asked, and William shook his head.
"No, miss," he answered, his voice wavering. "I just saw your...playground and wanted to look closer."
Beth touched his hand. "Are you sure?"
He began to nod, but was taken into shock with the simple caress of tenderness that these girls offered. His shoulders shook suddenly, and his chest heaved with quiet sobs as he buried his face in his hands. One of the girls, Will wasn't sure which, gathered him into her arms like she must have seen done by an adult and offered him comfort. The other followed suit and he let his heart break, and immediately be healed by the touch of their caring hands. And it felt so good to cry again, a voice whispered in his head. It felt so good to be free.
The sound of a breath catching made him pull his tear streaked face away from a warm shoulder, and look up. A tall man with light green eyes stood there, confused and obviously unsure of how to handle the situation. After a moment of stunned silence, Beth pulled away and stood.
"Papa... This is William," she stated simply, with pleading eyes. She turned back to Will. "This is our papa, Robert Giles."
Will stood, wiping his hands quickly over his dirty, wet cheeks. "Sir," he said quietly. Mr. Giles continued to assess him a moment longer and then nodded towards the house.
"We have a bathroom if you wish to clean up," he offered gruffly, looking down at his daughters delighted faces. "And a warm bed if you choose to stay the night."
Will looked up at him, his eyes large, wondering if it was a dream, a smile flickering over his face. The thought of his mum began to wander through his mind, however, and the smile dropped. "My mum died," he said quietly.
Mr. Giles's eyes widened. "Good Lord, Boy, come inside."
Debating, Will finally looked up and saw the faces of the two sisters staring at him. He looked at the man who was waiting in a pained silence for his decision. He thought of his papa, who was at home drinking, and his mum who was dead. He thought of the lovely garden-playground. He thought of the rose.
"Thank you," he mumbled.
Mr. Giles looked relieved and he quickly ushered the boy inside. As soon as the warmth hit him, Will was relieved at his decision. He sent a silent thanks to whoever was listening, whoever had thought of him, and loved him enough to provide him with all of these riches.
To whoever guided him to this playground.