Written for jenjojen, rated PG13. She asked for William/Buffy, angst with a happy ending, interaction with Giles, post Chosen or post NFA, and no slash.

So ... it's post NFA. Buffy travels to London when she hears about the events of Never Fade Away. Once there, she gets an offer she knows she should refuse, but will she?

Thanks, as always, to geyer for the beta.



Part 1

I bow to Eurydice here as I've copied her basic tea/sleep mechanism from Legions of True Hearts. It wasn't intentional, and I only realised the similarity after I'd written it. That should be the only similarity, however.



A year after we left what was left of Sunnydale, I got the news that Spike, Angel, Wes and some others were gone. It's hard to accept. Funny really, because, until I knew he was gone this time, I already thought Spike was gone. Angel was a shock. Somehow, I always imagined he'd be around long after all the rest of us were dead. Last time I saw him, I was sure that I needed to find myself before I got involved with anyone, but he needed to know that there was a chance that it would be him. And there was a chance, although I knew even then that it was a remote one. He might have been largely the same person I fell in love with at fifteen, but I'm not her any more. I wasn't when I last saw him, and after a year of finding myself, I'm even less like her. Wes? Well, I don't think I knew the man he became. My memories of him from Sunnydale were such that the idea of him working alongside Angel seems ridiculous, but it sounds like he was a central member of the team. No, despite already believing him dead, it was Spike's disappearance that hurt the most.

The past year has been a strange mixture of everything I ever thought I wanted, along with the realisation that what I once had was closer to what I wanted than I realised at the time.

Confused? Yeah, me too, so I'd better explain, or at least try to reason it through.

From the time I was called, I wanted a normal life; the sort of thing most kids take for granted - that I had always taken for granted. You know, school, boyfriends, hanging out with my friends, going to college, maybe, in the distant future, a good job and eventually settling down with someone and even children. Then, suddenly, there were vampires and monsters and the world had turned into the nightmare version of a fairy story, and I was the one girl in all the world able to stop the power of evil. Pretty deep stuff when you're fifteen, and I resented it.

Over time, I got used to it - to the sneaking around, hiding things from my mom, worrying about the next apocalypse rather than the chem. test in the morning, but I still dreamed about normality.

Of course, I had boyfriends. Not that anything worked out like I would've imagined. I mean, two members of the undead community, and one human souped up on drugs fed to him by the US Government? Not exactly normal. Parker, I choose to forget.

And then, I had normal. One last apocalypse averted and I was one of hundreds of Slayers. It wasn't up to just me any more. The downside was that we lost people that day. Anya was a friend I miss more than I ever thought I would, and that's without taking into account the effect her death had on Xander. He couldn't stay with the rest of us after Sunnydale. He tried at first, but he just didn't want to be part of that life any more.

And, of course, I lost Spike. Considering I'd spent a fair bit of the time I knew him wishing him somewhere else, towards the end, I feel I finally got to know him. And once I did that, falling in love with him was sort of inevitable really. I just wish he'd believed me when I told him, or that I'd realised earlier so I could have showed him.

First stop after Sunnydale, well, once we'd recovered from the initial shock, was London. Not all of us - most of the new Slayers went home at first, and Faith and Robin decided to check out Cleveland, but Willow, Kennedy, Giles, Xander, Andrew, Dawn and I - we went to London. Giles set about putting the Council of Watchers back together, but Xander quickly decided to go back to the States. He laughingly complained he couldn't live in a country devoid of Krispy Kreme, but we all knew it was because being with all of us reminded him that Anya was gone. He's in Pennsylvania now, and doing well as far as we can tell.

Once the basics of the Council had been set up, the next job was to find all the new Slayers and offer them the chance to train and understand their powers. That's how Dawn and I ended up in Rome. And, apart from the work, and the mourning for Spike, there was Lucio. Also known in some quarters as 'The Immortal', he showed me a good time and kept me too busy to think about how much I missed Spike.

Then, a few days ago, I got news that shook everything up. Apparently, Spike came back. How or why I don't know, but he did. And, he ended up in LA, working with Angel. That fact alone would have persuaded me it was all a hoax except for the source of the information - Giles. He told me that, a couple of weeks ago, there was this huge battle, and they fought, and they all disappeared. Well, no, not all. Wesley's dead. They found his body. He wasn't at the battle, but he died that same night. Spike and Angel were there, and when it all disappeared, they were gone too.

Apparently Giles knew Spike was back. When he heard about Angel taking over Wolfram and Hart he was worried, so when he got his hands on the resources of the Council, he sent a team to watch them. I knew about that bit, of course, he just neglected to tell me about Spike. It seems Spike was originally some sort of ghost, but later, he was back to his undead self. Giles didn't tell me because he didn't want me side-tracked from my normal life. Why Spike didn't contact me? I can only assume he didn't love me any more. I don't suppose I'll ever know for sure.

And, worse than that, Spike and Angel were in Rome. I should have sensed them, should have known they were there, but I didn't. And, you know what Lucio told me when I was trying to work out how an experienced Slayer could not notice two familiar vampires? He told me he hid them from me. Because he didn't want me upset by them. Our relationship after that lasted the length of time it took me to slap his drop-dead gorgeous face and walk away.

And all of that is why I'm here. In London. I flew in yesterday, got some sleep, and I'm in a cab on my way to Giles' office. I turned down his invitation to stay with him. I'm still sore at him for not telling me about Spike, and it's just easier if I've got somewhere to get away and be on my own. Our relationship never completely recovered from the whole ‘conniving with Robin to kill Spike’ episode, but he's still important to me. I want to know what's being done to find out what happened to Spike and Angel - to know if I need to mourn him again or work to try to get him back. And while I'm here, I want to find out more about the man Spike was. I just get the feeling I need to know more about him before I can finally bury him - if that's what I need to do. His vampire life is fairly well chronicled, although much of the early part was under the heading of 'Angelus', but I know very little about his human life other than snippets he told me towards the end. His 'I was always bad' statement doesn't mesh with what I know now, and I want to know him - the man who became a vampire who would seek out a soul for love.

After a few days, I’ve made no real progress. To be fair, Giles has given me free access to everything that's being done to find out what happened to Spike and Angel, but the best information they've come up with is that they were both dusted. There's no evidence of that, it seems, but there’s also no evidence of anything else. I could complain that there's not enough being done on that research, especially as it's been given to some very junior Watchers, but the truth is that there aren't many experienced Watchers left.

I decided to call Willow to see if she can help. She and Kennedy went to South America to find more Slayers, and they're keeping busy with that. She agreed to try to discover where Spike's essence might be, but pointed out how difficult that would be without anything personal belonging to him. When she told me that, I got in touch with the leader of the Council's LA team and got him to send on some things from Spike's last known address - a seedy apartment in the city. Angel lived in the Wolfram and Hart building, and that was destroyed during the battle, so it's been harder to get anything belonging to him. That was days ago, and I'm still waiting to hear from her, so in the meantime, I'm working on the history. I've managed to get whatever there exists on William Spencer, but it's pitifully little. I know when he was born, who his parents were. I know he had no brothers or sisters, and that his father died when he was quite young.

He was a gentleman. There was an income from family investments that was enough to maintain a household, and he disappeared without trace one day, never to be seen again, or at least, that's the official story. His mother disappeared a short while later, and it was generally believed that she killed herself because she couldn't get over the loss of her only son. I, of course, know the truth. Neither of them has a grave, or at least, not a marked one. Spike told me once that he was buried, but by Drusilla, not his family.

So, I know some facts, but nothing about the man himself. I don't know what I expected, but it seems that as a human he was just too unremarkable to have left much trace.



*****



I'm down to my last week in London, and I'm considering whether to take an earlier flight back to Rome. I think I've done everything I can, but I've little to show for the effort. Willow has finally received Spike's belongings - a black t-shirt which was ripped and bloodstained - but she's had to work on isolating the blood because it probably isn't his. It'll take a while to get any information, and I can hear about that in Rome as easily as London.

I pause and look around the office Giles has given me for my stay. Of course, the old Council building was destroyed by the First, so he's had to find a new headquarters. Apparently, the Council owns a good deal of real estate in central London, and apart from the income that generates, one building in South Kensington was becoming vacant as its previous tenant was moving north. It's a lovely old building with thick stone walls and solid wooden doors. The rooms themselves are large and panelled in wood. To be honest, it's pretty much what I always imagined when I pictured the Council offices even though it's obviously not the same as it was.

I'm surprised by a tap at the door. Surprised because, apart from Giles, who doesn't feel the need to knock, I've had few if any visitors to my office in the time I've been here.

The young woman who enters is Asian in appearance, with long dark hair, a slender figure and huge dark eyes. She smiles shyly at me from the doorway, and with a furtive look behind her, closes the door.

"Miss Summers," she says, her English clear and precise. "I hope you will forgive my boldness, but I have heard of your quest and I thought I might be able to help you."

"Help me?" I reply. "Can you start by telling me who you are?"

"My name is Meena. I'm one of the new Slayers, and Mr. Giles has recommended me as suitable to be trained as a Watcher."

I knew that, with so many Slayers, Giles was looking to train some of the more academically able of them in many of the subjects and languages which had been a standard part of Watcher training in the past. He has commented to me on more than one occasion how disappointed he's been with the girls in that respect, bemoaning the fact that many of them seem to have real problems with their own language and therefore considering them unsuitable to learn others. However, knowing Giles' standards in that respect, I know that this girl could probably give Willow a run for her money in terms of smarts.

"Ok, Meena," I reply, my curiosity piqued. "Which particular problem is it that you feel you can help with?"

"Oh, Miss Summers, don't you know that all the girls know your story? We all know that you were the Slayer for many years, and that you saved the world countless times. Andrew has told us about so many of your exploits."

Andrew. I might have known. While he's spent a lot of his time in Rome, he's been travelling back to London regularly. When I see him, we're going to have a little chat.

"You can't believe everything Andrew tells you," I warn her, trying to stay calm.

"Oh, but he said you would deny it. He said that you fought bravely and never thought of yourself or of any reward."

"And what else did he say?"

"He told us about the vampire who loved you so much that he earned a soul. He told us that it was he and this vampire who were responsible for the closure of the Hellmouth in Sunnydale. And he told us how you mourned him when he was gone. We know you came to London to find out about the man he was before he was changed, and we know you're disappointed with what you've found."

“And can I ask the source of your information?”

“There are many girls like me in this building, and we all live together. How can we not know what is happening to one such as yourself? We watch and listen and we share what we discover.”

"I see. And, assuming what you’ve described is true, how is it that you think you can help?"

"Ah, well, if I tell you, you've got to promise not to tell Mr. Giles. He insists that he must know everything about us, but there are some things you just cannot discuss with a man.”

I must look puzzled and I certainly feel that way, so she goes on.

“Where I come from, I am fortunate. My father is important in our town and he was able to pay for my education. Yet, that education was intended to enable me to attract a better husband. That was its only purpose. When I returned home, my parents were searching for a suitable husband for me, and I would have moved from my parents’ home to my husband’s and I would never have the chance to use my education. Then, Mr. Giles visited. I believe others visited first, but my parents dismissed them and wouldn’t allow me to know they had come. But Mr. Giles explained to my parents that I had a calling, that I was important to the future of the world, and after much discussion, they allowed him to bring me here and train me. If Mr. Giles ever decides that I am not worthy of this training, then I will be sent home, and all my dreams will be for nothing. So, it is very important that Mr. Giles continues to think well of me, and he would not do that if he thought I had secrets from him. Please promise that you will not tell him any of this.”

She pauses then, and I promise. She seems so earnest and her story is believable.

“There is a … magic, I suppose you'd call it,” she continues after smiling gratefully at me. For countless generations the women of my family have been gifted with it, and we can allow you to dream of the past. It's quite harmless - I've done it many times myself. I could allow you to dream of your loved one's last few weeks or days - to see it unfold, without changing anything at all. It would be like watching a film of it."

"I don't think so, Meena. It's kind of you to offer, but I don't think it's a good idea."

I say the words quickly, knowing, logically, that I shouldn't get involved with anything like this unless I understand it, and equally knowing that I won't be able to research it without Giles finding out.

Meena looks disappointed, but then she grins. "If you change your mind, here's my mobile number." She picks up a pen from the desk in front of me and looks for some paper. I give her a sheet, and she writes the number down. "It really is harmless," she promises. "If you like, I could get Anna to tell you about it. She, well, she found out her father died a few years ago. She hadn't seen him since she was very little, and didn't know anything about him. I gave her a dream so she could see just what he was like. She said it helped a lot, and she was able to confirm some of the details she discovered afterwards. I'm sure she'd convince you."

"Thanks, Meena. But I don't think …"

The door opens suddenly, and Giles walks in.

"Buffy," he begins, his eyes reading the paper in his hand. He looks up and spots Meena.

"Meena? What are you doing here? I’m sure I heard Miss McGuinness remarking on the fact that she would be taking you for Greek this afternoon."

"Yes, Mr. Giles, but Miss McGuinness wasn't feeling well, so she just set us some reading to do."

"I see. What I don't see is why you'd think Miss Summers could help you with that reading."

"I, er, I didn't. I just wanted to talk to her. I mean, Andrew told us all about her, and I wanted …"

"Yes, well, you've been told that Andrew has an excessively romantic notion of Slayers in general. I'm sure Miss Summers has more important things to do than listen to Andrew's stories regurgitated by you."

"Giles," I interrupt. "It's fine. If she was based in Rome, I'd be training her, and Andrew's been at the girls there too. I'm used to it."

"Yes, well, …"

"It's ok," Meena says as she retreats form the office warily. "It was nice meeting you, Miss Summers. Thank you for your time." As she leaves, I can't help but think that her body language is screaming 'guilty'.

"What did she really want?" Giles asks as soon as the door is fully closed.

"Oh, nothing. She just wanted to meet me and about find out more about how Andrew and Spike closed the Sunnydale Hellmouth. I think she's got a bit of a crush on Andrew."

"Really?" he answers, reddening slightly. "And to think I had considered her rather bright."

And, as I hoped it would, the mention of a romantic interest causes Giles to put Meena right out of his mind.
 

Part 2
I finally decided to stay in London for the whole week. I told myself I'd never had the chance to just do the 'tourist' thing, and that's what I've been doing. At least, my body's been doing that. My mind? That's been torn between worry about Spike, and thoughts of 'what if I contact Meena?'. I don't know how many times I've almost thrown her number away, and then panicked when I couldn't immediately find it. And now, two days before I'm due to fly back to Rome, I'm sitting in my hotel room, my hand on the phone. I've almost called the number three times already, just stopping before it connected each time. This time, I pick up the receiver and punch in the numbers, holding my breath until I hear it connect. Meena answers immediately, then tells me the connection's bad, and that she'll call me back in a moment. The connection sounded fine to me, so I assume she's just finding somewhere she can talk more easily.

When she calls back, we agree to meet in Holland Park. She describes exactly which bench to use, telling me to take the tube to Kensington High Street, and enter the park from there. I follow her instructions, and when I get there, she's sitting where she said she would be, on the fifth bench. It's a dampish day, so there're few people sitting in the park, although there's a steady stream of people walking past.

"So, have you reconsidered, Miss Summers?" she asks, looking excited.

"I wouldn't be here if I hadn't," I answer. "And please call me Buffy."

"So, would you like to dream of your love's past?"

"I'd like to know exactly how you'd arrange that."

"As to how? I can't really explain how I do it. My mother taught me the ritual, but it's very simple. I would come to your hotel room, or wherever you wish to have your dream. You would prepare yourself for sleep. I would ask you to drink something - it's herbal, nothing I can't buy in a health food shop - and I'd stay with you as you fall asleep, calling out to the past to visit your dreams. You would just have to concentrate on the person you wish to see, and you will dream of him."

"How long would I sleep?"

"It varies, but no longer than a normal night's sleep."

"And you have someone who can tell me how it worked?"

"Yes. Anna has gone on a retreat for trainee Watchers, but she'll be back in three days."

"I'm due to go back to Rome before then. Can I phone her?"

"Ah, no. She wasn't allowed to take her mobile with her. The only way to contact her is to go through the Council, and then Mr. Giles would find out. This magic is sacred. It cannot be used for the benefit of men, or in the presence of men. If he found out, he would require that I tell him about it, and I couldn't do that. I would lose the chance to become a Watcher, and I would have to return home to an arranged marriage. I wish to live a different life from that of my mother and I believe this is the only opportunity I will have to achieve that."

"I see," I answer, getting up from my seat. "Maybe this isn't a good idea after all."

"But it is, Miss … Buffy. How else are you going to know about him? It's only a dream. It can't hurt you, honestly. I'll even let you see me mixing the herbs for your drink. That way you'll know it's safe."

She looks so sure. And I did make a point of asking around about her. She seems to be genuine. She's frighteningly clever, looking at her record since she started her training. This retreat she's talking about is standard after a year of Watcher training. She did hers within two weeks of starting. She's now, after one year, according to her tutors, at the equivalent level of a five year student. Only her youth and general naivety have prevented her being sent out to a placement appropriate for her understanding. There's no hint of anything about her to cause concern. And, on top of that, I just feel I can trust her.

"Ok," I reply. "When?"

"Tonight, if you like."

And so we agree on a time, and I tell her where I'm staying. She promises to pick up what she needs, and meet me there later.

When I leave her, I wander down the High Street, looking in store windows, wondering just what I'm doing. It's probably not going to work. I know that. I'm not going to dream about Spike's life, and if I do, it'll come from my imagination and not history. I must be really desperate to even attempt this. But then, that's exactly what I am.

Later that night, I'm watching Meena mix up the herbs. She was right - there was nothing suspect in the mix, and everything was in sealed packs. I'm as ready as I'm ever going to be.

I decided to dress for comfort, so I'm wearing some sweats and a tank top. I showered before Meena got here, and I even remembered to brush my teeth. She pours boiling water from the kettle in the room over the mixture, filling one of the mugs supplied, then filters it into another one. She adds a dash of cold water, and hands it to me.

I sip it, grimacing slightly at the taste. It's not really unpleasant, it's just got a slightly mentholly overtone that seems rather overpowering.

"Don't rush it," she suggests. "Drink it slowly. It's intended to help the relaxation, so it isn't a good idea to rush anything. In fact, if you want to go and sit on your bed, that will probably work well too."

I do as she suggests, sitting, propped up on some pillows, and wait. She's just started to chant in a language I don't recognise when the door opens. Giles is standing in the doorway, a look of outrage on his face.

"Meena! What are you doing? If you've harmed her …"

"Giles! How did you get into my room? Why …"

Giles holds up a key ring with an array of keys hanging from it. "The Council of Watchers has a number of privileges in this city. In an emergency, there aren't many places to which I couldn't obtain a key if I need it."

To my surprise, Meena is still chanting. It's as if she hasn't noticed Giles at all. Giles seems to realise that too, as he comes into the room and walks towards her.

"Meena!" he yells, but it makes no difference.

I go to her too, but she seems to be totally oblivious to what's happening in the room around her. I turn to Giles, confused by his sudden entrance, and trying to understand it.

"Giles, what do you think Meena's trying to do? Why did you think I was in danger?"

"I don't know, exactly. I knew there was more to her coming to see you the other day than she admitted, so I've been having her watched. Then we had a stroke of luck. During the retreat this week, one of the other trainees let it slip that Meena performed some sort of ritual on her. She was in a trance at the time, and answered a question about her father and how she had come to know him. Meena considers herself to be a practitioner of some sort of magic but she neglected to tell me about it because it's apparently sullied by the presence of a man. It's obviously arrant nonsense, designed to keep the information from me so that she would gain my trust. When I heard what had happened to this other girl, I put two and two together, especially with your vulnerability as regards Spike, and tried to find Meena. When she was observed entering your hotel, I came straight here."

"And was this other girl harmed by what Meena did?" I demand.

"Not as such, at least, there's no outward sign, but she'll need to be watched in case there's some hidden damage."

"So, you came here on the possibility that Meena was going to try to hurt me. Why didn't you call and warn me? If you had, I'd have told you that Meena was here at my invitation and that everything was fine. As it is, I think your sudden arrival has traumatised her to the point where she's caught in a trance. Your presence here defiles something she considers sacred. I think you should leave."

My voice is cold. I'm angry that he felt he had to break into my hotel room - especially since he had no evidence at all.

"Buffy, I really don't understand your attitude here. The girl's obviously deranged. How else can you explain her current state? Tell me, what has she done to you?"

"She made a drink with some herbs from the health store. The ingredients are all there, and the packages were all sealed. Take a look. There's nothing suspect there at all."

He walks to the tray, and while he does so, I move towards Meena. I ease her down into a chair. She moves easily enough, but the haunting chant continues without a pause.

"It seems harmless," Giles admits, having examined the herbs. "Is that it? May I?" He gestures towards the cup in my hand, and I pass it to him. The sooner I can convince him that I'm safe, the sooner I can work on getting some help for Meena.

Giles first sniffs, then takes a sip of the drink, swirling it around in his mouth as if tasting a fine wine. He walks towards the tray where the kettle sits and lifts the other mug ready to spit out his mouthful, but something stops him, and he seems to swallow. As soon as he does that, I feel a lethargy creep over me, making my limbs feel leaden and my eyes heavy. Instinctively, I make my way back towards my bed, noticing that Giles seems to be moving towards its twin. I fall onto the bed, unable to stand any longer, and then everything is dark.
 

Part 3

When I open my eyes, I find that the artificial light of the hotel room has been replaced by a purer light from a large window. I glance around the room, surprised by the size and style of the furniture, and then become aware of the extreme softness of the bed. I start to sit up, and I'm immediately confronted by the face of a young girl, pale in her dark uniform, looking like a maid in a film about the past. She speaks so quickly, and in an accent so strong it initially takes me several moments to make sense of it.

"Oh, Miss, you're awake. The Master will be so relieved. He was worried that you were hurt, but the doctor said you weren't, but you didn't wake up. I'll just go and tell him. Is … is there anything I can get you?"

"Er, no." I manage at last. I take a look around the room, and glance under the covers at my clothes. I seem to be wearing an outlandishly complicated white cotton gown. "Where am I?" I ask.

"You're in the home of Mr. William Spencer. He found you by the side of the road last night, and brought you back here."

William Spencer. Spike. Can it really have worked?

"Can you tell me where my clothes are?"

"Oh, Miss. The, er, garments you were wearing were hardly suitable. The Master thought someone must have stolen your outer garments. And they were so muddy, well, the Mistress said to burn them. She said you can send for some of your own clothes as soon as you were able to."

"The Mistress?"

"Mrs. Spencer, Miss. Mr. Spencer's mother."

"Oh," I answer, desperately trying to work out what's happening.

The maid doesn't seem to notice my confusion, or if she does, doesn't react at all, but leaves the room quickly. I manage to pull myself up, stretching carefully and checking for any sign of injury. I find none, and sit back to try to work out what's going on.

As the memories of the hotel room return, realisation dawns. I'm asleep, and I'm dreaming. Suddenly thinking about the old adage of pinching yourself to make sure you're not dreaming, I pinch my arm. And immediately wince in pain. I look around the room again, and at the same time, take in the texture of the bed where I'm lying, the comparative coarseness of the sheets, the old-fashioned jug and bowl on a table opposite. I don't think I know enough about any historical period to put in this amount of detail.

But more than that, it’s not like watching a film. I’m here – I’d swear to it. And the maid – if that’s who she is – spoke to me, acknowledged my presence. Whatever happened, I get the impression it wasn’t what Meena promised.

I'm interrupted from my thoughts by a knock at the door, and a woman enters. She smiles kindly at me, and approaches the bed. Her dress is more ornate than the girl’s, but it looks as if it’s seen better days.

"Oh, I'm so pleased you're awake. My son has been quite beside himself. Are you in any pain? The doctor said he could find no sign of injury, but there could be something …"

"No, I'm fine," I reply.

"Oh, good. Now, is there somewhere I can send to, someone who will be worried about you? And clothes. You'll need to have your own things. Of course, you're welcome to stay here until you are fully recovered, but you'll be much more comfortable with your own clothes."

I watch her face as she talks, barely listening to the words. It's a face I feel I already know, but different in some ways. Chestnut brown hair hidden under a lace cap, pale, creamy skin and a generous mouth. But it's the eyes and cheekbones that really draw my attention.

She's looking at me oddly, and I realise she's waiting for a response from me.

"Er, no. No one will be wondering, er, at least, I don't remember anything." I hastily change what I was going to say. A case of amnesia seems to be the safest course for now.

"You don't? Oh, I'm so sorry. You don't remember anything?"

"Well, my name is Buffy, but that's all."

"Buffy? No, surely not. Well, it could be a nickname, I suppose, but that hardly helps us to find your family. Don't worry, though. I'll get Ellen to bring you some things. Fortunately you're quite small, and my nightgown fitted you quite well, so some of my other things should suit for now. Do you feel able to dress? If you can come downstairs, my son would so much like to see for himself that you seem at least physically recovered. He has been so worried - he even thought to cancel his engagement for this evening."

"I'd be happy to get dressed," I reply, trying to grapple with the notion that her son couldn't see me dressed as I am. Despite the fact that it's obviously a night dress, it covers a good deal more of me than I'm used to.

As promised, Ellen comes in a while later, armed with a dress and assorted undergarments. I had already washed at the bowl, and she seems surprised that I did that much without help, and won't hear of me dressing myself.

By the time I'm dressed, I'm certain this isn't a dream. There's no way I'd make up the sheer discomfort of wearing the underwear I'm in. Not that it's tight or anything, in fact, given the lace-up style of much of it; it's pretty much a 'one size fits all' deal. It's just the sheer bulk. Even walking seems to require an effort compared to normal. Since my feet are apparently the one part of me that’s bigger than my hostess’, they are currently in some soft woollen socks, and Mrs. Spencer has apparently promised to obtain some shoes for me later today.

I make my way downstairs, taking in the surroundings as I go. It all seems grand but rather shabby. Sort of as if it had cost a great deal of money to put together, but then been neglected for many years.

Ellen escorts me into a living room that seems in keeping with the rest of the house. The furniture seems solid, but rather threadbare, as are the carpets on the floor. Mrs. Spencer dismisses Ellen with a request for tea, and takes my hands to lead me further into the room. She takes me towards the fireplace, seating me there before turning to the other person in the room and speaking.

"You see, William, I told you she was fine. Now, perhaps, you will believe me."

"I didn't disbelieve you, Mother," he replies. His voice is familiar, but much more cultured than I'm used to hearing. "I just wanted to see for myself."

He gets up from his seat and approaches me. His mother introduces us, and we shake hands.

"As you can see, Mr., er… Spencer," I reply, looking full at his face, "I’m fine."

"You're not from London, though," Mrs. Spencer comments. "In fact, I really can't place your mode of speech at all."

And that despite trying to speak more slowly and carefully. But that’s not something I want to discuss just now, so I change the subject.

"What exactly happened? You found me? Was I alone?" I'm looking at William as I say it, studying his face, trying to see Spike amid the various distractions.

"I was returning home from an engagement," he says. "It was quite late, and raining heavily. My driver spotted someone by the side of the road and drew my attention to you. I got out of the carriage, saw you lying there, undressed, muddy. You were quite alone. I felt sure that you had been attacked in some way, so I got the driver to help me get you into the carriage. I brought you home, and my mother and Ellen got you cleaned up and put you to bed. Our physician was called, but he decreed that you were well. He had the audacity to suggest that you were merely drunk, and would waken in time, but I could smell no alcohol when I found you, and I most certainly would have."

It could have been my imagination, but I could have sworn that comment earned William a disapproving glance from his mother. However, no sooner had I seen it than it was over, and our conversation is interrupted by Mrs. Spencer beginning to cough. The cough seems weak, and William rushes to her side, pausing only long enough to ask me to pour some water from a jug on the table. I bring the glass to her, then resume my seat as William holds the glass for his mother to drink. There are some whispers between mother and son when she is able to speak again, and then she rises, with help, from her chair.

"I'm so sorry, Buffy. I'm afraid I'm feeling quite unwell. I will retire to my room. I'm sure William will be able to look after you."

William tries to accompany his mother out of the room, but she gestures him back towards me.

"Ellen can help. I'll be fine," she says softly to him.

"Your mother isn't well," I comment when he returns to his seat. His eyes are still on the door as I spoke, but he drags them back to look at me.

"No, she isn't. It's so unfair. At this time of her life, she should be able to relax and indulge herself a little. Yet every time she exerts herself at all, she has to take to her bed. I fear she has little time left."

"I'm sorry, William," I tell him. His eyes are moist, and it's obvious how much the thought has affected him. He makes an effort to sit up straighter, and speaks in a firmer voice.

"No, it is I who should be sorry. You are our guest, and I should not be troubling you with our problems when you have so many of your own."

"Really, it’s alright. You and your mother have both been so kind to me."

William seems at a loss as to what to do, so I decide to take over a bit.

"So, what do you do?" I ask.

"Do?" he questions.

"Yes. How do you spend your time?"

"Oh, well, I have taken over a good deal of the running of the household. Of course, that isn't such a big job these days. There's just Mother and me, and Ellen and Albert the driver. He hardly qualifies anyway, as he’s mainly employed by a friend of Mother’s. It’s barely enough help to maintain a veneer of respectability according to one of my acquaintances."

He looks at me in horror, as if he didn’t mean to say what he did.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken so. I’m just … preoccupied by what he said.”

"But that’s a horrible thing to say," I tell him.

"It doesn't matter to me, not really. And he was right, of course. Within society, it's only our family name and certain wealthier relatives that maintain our place. Not that I mind, as such. My needs are simple. But I shouldn't be telling you all this. Somehow, I feel I can talk to you. Please tell me I haven't offended you."

"Of course you haven't, W… Mr. Spencer. If it helps to talk, I'd very much like to listen."

He seems relieved at that.

"You see, there is no one I can really talk to. Such friends as I have consider the subject of money to be at the same time vitally important and totally unsuitable for conversation. Whatever money my father had was lost in some rather dubious business deals when I was a small child. He … became depressed by it all, and took to drinking heavily. He died when I was eight. My mother had to look after everything then. She even did without any help in the house for many years, until I came into some money from my grandparents on my twenty-first birthday. How she managed to keep this house … I really don't know. Of course, we had another house when my father was alive - in Hertfordshire. I hear it was a beautiful place but my memories are faint. It had to be sold to meet my father's debts. Still, I cannot really complain. As long as I have time to write, I am content."

"You're a writer?"

"Yes, well, no. I mean, yes, I'm a writer, but just for my own amusement. It's not serious."

"May I read something?"

"I would be too embarrassed, Miss Buffy. Really. I don't allow anyone to read it. Well, sometimes, I read for my mother, and she hears what I write with a mother's ear and loves it."

He pauses then, studying my face.

"And you remember nothing about yourself?" he asks.

"Nothing."

"And you are not terrified? I'm sure I would be."

"No. How could I be afraid when you and your mother have been so kind?"

"We have done nothing, really. And, despite being taken ill this afternoon, I think Mother has really enjoyed having someone else to worry about. I suspect mothers do like to worry, and apart from fretting about how I'll be when she's gone, I really give her very little cause."

It's there again, the sadness in his eyes.

"Why would she worry about you? You seem to be comfortable with your situation."

"I am. Well, I would like to think that I would find a suitable companion in time, but…"

He stops suddenly, and his face colours. I’m tempted to push the subject a little, but I suspect he’d run if I did, so I don’t say anything.

“The truth is, that when I imagine one of the young ladies of my acquaintance sitting here with me as you are, I cannot but think that she would be regarding the room critically, seeing it as mean and shabby compared to her own home. In that respect, Miss Buffy, I believe you have already done me a favour which more than wipes out any debt you think you owe Mother and me."

"And how did I do that?" I ask, genuinely baffled.

"Because you, a complete stranger, have given me your attention, listened to what I've been saying, and generally made me feel that my opinion matters. You haven't been offended when I've spoken unwisely, and you haven't made me feel … unworthy. Now that I compare those few conversations I have had with … someone else, that is exactly how she made me feel. Unworthy. Yet she is not half the woman my mother is."

He sighs deeply.

"I think you misjudge your own worth."

"No, Miss Buffy. Perhaps, for the first time I actually understand my place."

Ellen comes in then with tea. She apologises for the delay, but William tells her he understands completely that his mother's need for her comes first. She curtseys and leaves the room.

We both drink our tea in silence. There are scones on a plate, and I take one, but William just drinks his tea. He seems almost to have forgotten my presence, so I take the opportunity to study him. The hair isn't white blonde, but then I was never under any illusion that that was natural. It's light brown, perhaps sandier than his mother's, and it's long and in soft curls around his face. He looks … much more vulnerable than Spike. No, that's not true. He seems more obviously vulnerable than Spike did. His eyes are less noticeable behind those glasses, but they're still the same vibrant blue. The longer hair serves to soften his face - the cheekbones are the same, they just seem gentler somehow. There's even a smattering of small freckles across his nose.

Ellen comes in again, this time approaching William directly. She speaks softly to him, but I still hear enough to know that she thinks the doctor should be called, but that Mrs. Spencer has said that they cannot afford another visit. He stands immediately.

"My mother has taken a turn for the worse," he explains. "I need to send for the physician, and then go to her."

"Of course. If there's anything I can do, please just ask."

"Thank you, Miss Buffy. I will remember that. Please, make yourself at home. Perhaps you’d like to see the library - Ellen will show you where it is."

He leaves the room then, and Ellen looks at me expectantly.

"Would you like to see the library, Miss?" she asks.

"Yes, that would be lovely," I reply.

I follow her from the room, and along a hallway to another door. This one has a feeling of warmth that has nothing to do with the actual temperature. There's a table in one corner, and, although everything is tidily arrayed, it has a sense of being regularly used. Three out of the four walls in the room are fitted with bookshelves, but there are gaps on the shelves. There are two large, comfortable chairs in the centre of the room.

"Can I get you anything, Miss?" Ellen asks. "It's just, I need to see to Mrs. Spencer."

"Oh, Ellen, of course you do. I'll be fine. Really."

She smiles, does a bob of a curtsey, and leaves the room.

I peruse the shelves, eventually picking up a book I know I tried to read before. Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen. I saw it on TV once, and it was pretty good, but I didn't get very far with the book. I pick it up, and sit in one of the chairs determined to do better this time.
 

Part 4

And I manage it. When I wake up, I find I reached page 14. Ellen has come to find me, and she's standing in front of me looking very unsure of herself.

"I'm sorry, Miss. The Master told me to invite you to come and eat. I didn't know you were asleep."

"It's fine, Ellen," I answer, stretching. "I shouldn't have slept here anyway."

My stomach makes a noise that seems totally out of place given my elegant style of dress. "It sounds like food would be a good idea."

She giggles at that - a strangely childlike sound that makes me realise just how young she is. I feel a kinship then – like me, she had to face adult responsibilities too young, but unlike me, she would have expected life to turn out as it did.

She leads me into a dining room where William is waiting at one end of a long table. He gestures to the chair next to his, and I go to sit there. He lifts the lid off some dishes and gestures for me to help myself.

"Ellen cooks for us, but she's got enough to do without serving us too. We normally do that for ourselves. You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not," I answer, checking out the food. It's some sort of stewed meat, and there are potatoes and some vegetables in another dish. I serve myself, and William does the same.

"How is your mother?" I ask.

"Better. She's tired now; the coughing takes such a lot out of her. She wants me to go out tonight, but I can't. I won't leave her with just Ellen. She's a good girl, but she's a child. She does so much for us already, and she needs to have some time to herself."

"Where were you planning to go?"

"Oh, it's just a poetry reading. Some people I know get together every couple of months, and we share our work. Not that I share anything, no. I couldn't. But I like to listen."

"Then you should go. I'll be here. I'll sit with your mother if you think that would help."

"No, thank you. I mean, I'm sure it would help, but I'll stay at home tonight anyway."

I decide not to push it. He seems determined not to go, and I don't want to talk him into something he's not sure of. If there’s any irony in that feeling, I choose not to think about it.

We make small talk during the rest of the meal. He tells me little bits about his childhood, and I listen, soaking up the details. The more I get to know William, the better I can see how he fits Spike. It's as if you took William and gave him confidence - as a veneer anyway. The way Spike was - the bad boy image - that was his armour. You get the feeling that there was a lot of unhappiness for him between the man I see now and the man I grew to love. Now, he seems guileless and eager to trust and believe the best in people. Spike? Yes, there were elements of that still, but it was as if he’d been hurt so often that he had to try to hurt first.

After dinner, I offer to sit with his mother so William can sleep for a while. He certainly seemed to spend a lot of time trying to hide yawns during our meal. He agrees reluctantly, insisting that he'll just nap for an hour and then come to let me get some sleep, citing my recent traumatic experience as evidence of my need for rest.

Mrs. Spencer is asleep when I creep into her room. There's a chair beside the bed, and a book open at its side. One glance inside is all I need to tell me that it's a book of William's poems. He must have forgotten he left it there. I can't help myself - I take a look inside. There are several poems that seem to have been written for someone called Cecily. Spike never mentioned her, but she must be important to him. The last entry is just a few lines, and its style is different to the others. For a start, the ones to Cecily refer to someone dark, while the most recent is about someone bright and golden. I realise with some surprise that it’s about me, and I close the book quickly and replace it on the table.

My sudden movement seems to have wakened Mrs. Spencer. She opens her eyes, and then smiles.

"Did William decide to go out after all?" she asks.

"No, he refused. But he was tired, so I said I'd sit with you so he could get some sleep."

She takes my hand at those words. "Oh, my dear, I'm very grateful. He's so devoted, but it does him no good to be tied to me. He should be out, meeting other young people, perhaps a woman who can make him happy. His inclination is to lead a quiet life, but it is possible to be too quiet. He needs to love someone. He always has. Yet … our situation means that few of the young women he knows socially would consider him a good match. They don't see beyond the shy young man with too little money tied up in a house that he won't sell so as not to break my heart. He's selling books to pay for the physician, you know. He tells me that he'll buy them back one day, but I can’t stop him."

"He's a good man," I agree, echoing what I told Spike towards the end.

"He is."

She seems to doze a little, and we sit quietly like that, until she says firmly that she feels able to sleep properly now, and that I should go to bed. Her tone is clear, and I decide to do as I'm told. My room is only two doors away in any case, so I'm not going too far.

I'm wakened next morning when Ellen comes in to open my curtains.

"Good morning, Miss," she smiles at me. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did, yes. How is Mrs. Spencer this morning?"

"She's a lot better. She'll take her breakfast in her room, but she wants to come downstairs later."

"Good."

"There's a pair of shoes," she says, pointing to the floor next to the bed. "Mrs. Spencer sent out for them yesterday, even though she wasn't well. She estimated your size, but you'll have to try them once you're dressed. I've brought warm water for you to wash. Do you want me to stay?"

"No, Ellen, I'll be fine."

"Good, because I'd like to check on Mrs. Spencer again before I go downstairs."

She leaves then, and I pull off the nightgown I'm wearing, and give myself a wash. It seems strange to stand here, washing like this, when I really wish I could have a shower. There are certainly baths in the house, and I make up my mind to ask about having a bath later.

When faced with the dress I wore yesterday, I decide on a simpler route. I ignore some of the petticoats Ellen supplied for me, and go for a minimalist version of the dress. It looks ok to me, so I leave it at that, and go downstairs.

William is in the dining room, apparently waiting for me.

"Mother seems much better this morning, no thanks to me," he announces when I walk in.

I don't answer, just look at him. His face is a mask of guilt.

"I only meant to sleep for a short while last night. I really did. And the next thing I knew, it was morning."

"And is your mother upset about that?"

"No, of course not. She's just too tolerant of me."

"Not tolerant at all. She loves you. And, if she's better, maybe that's because she had some time undisturbed."

"Do you think so? Do you think that maybe all the nights I've spent time in her room I've actually been making her worse?"

Way to go, Buffy. Talk about putting your foot in it.

"I'm sure your mother would have said something if you being there was a problem."

"Maybe," he admits grudgingly. "But I'm failing in my manners. How are you this morning, Miss Buffy? Have you had any memories return?"

"No," I lie. "Still nothing."

"We contacted the authorities when I first found you," he goes on. "They couldn't work out where you'd come from, and I'm sure, if someone realised you were missing, that they'd have been in touch. You really are quite a mystery."

He gestures at me to serve myself. It's a strange mixture of rice and … fish? It certainly smells of fish.

"I'm sorry there's no choice available," he apologises. "We always have kedgeree on Fridays. You do like kedgeree, don't you?"

"I can't say I've ever tried it, or at least, I have no memory of trying it."

"Oh, it's quite tasty," he says. "Of course, I have Ellen add a little extra spiciness to it - it enlivens the taste buds in the morning."

I take a small helping, and gingerly raise some to my mouth. Definitely rice, and smoked fish, with bits of hard boiled egg, and there's a distinctly spicy flavour there too. It's not excessive, though, and it works well. I smile my approval, and William noticeably relaxes. I make a mental note that Spike's preference for spicy food dates back longer than I'd have supposed.

Over breakfast, he apologises for the fact that he has to go out this morning.

"I've got a meeting with someone. Truth be told, he's my godfather, and he's the man who invested my inheritance from my grandfather. He wants to talk to me about the fact that I've been taking some of the capital. I know I shouldn't, but how else can I keep Mother comfortable? We need to keep the carriage, because without that, Mother would never get out. And Ellen is such a comfort to her. When she's indisposed, she would be most uncomfortable if she had only me to rely on."

"She said you'd been selling your books."

"Not my books, really. Most of them were in the house long before I was born. Yes, I enjoyed them, enjoyed knowing they were there, but really, how many books can I read at one time?" He pauses then, before adding quickly, “Do you think you could bring yourself to sit with Mother while I'm out?"

"I'd like to," I answer, meaning it.

"Oh, good. It's so lonely for her, being alone all the time. She'll probably want to do some embroidery. Perhaps you'd like to help with something."

"Perhaps," I mutter, wondering just what I'm getting myself into. To tell the truth, I've had more experience stitching up minor wounds on me than I've had with embroidery.

"Tonight," William continues, apparently not noticing my discomfort, "is a party I really must attend. It's given by a frightful bore, and for myself, I'd just snub him and be done with it, but his mother is a friend of my mother's, and there would be words if I didn't go. Once, it would even have given me a little pleasure," he adds, before turning his attention to his food. He swallows a mouthful, then pours himself some tea before adding, "Another of Mother's friends, Mrs. Hardcastle, is coming to sit with Mother tonight. It's all been arranged for some time. I, er, was wondering. I mean, I understand if you wouldn't want to, but I thought it might help. I mean, perhaps someone there will recognise you. And, what do you think?"

"I think I'd know better what to think if I understood what you were talking about," I answer, trying to be as gentle as I can. He's obviously nervous, but I really have no clue.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm an ass, I really am. I didn't make it at all clear, did I?"

He pauses then, taking a deep breath, and another mouthful of tea. "Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the party tonight? As I meant to say, it would be good for you to be seen, as someone may have met you elsewhere, so we could place you, and perhaps you'd start to remember. But, if you don't want to, I'd …"

I don't give him a chance to continue, interrupting with, "I'd be honoured to go with you. And that has nothing to do with hoping to get my memory back."

He gapes at me for several seconds before his face changes to the most genuine smile I've seen since I arrived here.

"Good, good. I spoke to Mother, of course, and she said she would have something suitable for you to wear. And the shoes have arrived, haven't they? Ellen said something. And considering all the things she does in this household, Ellen is a very capable Ladies' Maid - she can help you ready yourself. Not that you need help, of course, to look beautiful. I mean, …"

I can't help myself. I know that in this time and place, young ladies and young gentlemen do not touch when they're alone in a room - in fact, it's probably not even considered appropriate that we are alone like this, but I put my hand on his and thank him for the compliment. Far from calming him, this action seems to send him into a paroxysm of spluttering, and he quickly apologises and leaves the room, arguing that he must go or risk being late for his appointment.

Mrs. Spencer and I spend a very pleasant morning. She sews, and as she does so, she talks. She is very happy that I agreed to go to the party with William, and makes it clear that he only had courage to ask me because she had assured him there was a good chance I would say yes.

"He is too shy for his own good," she comments. "And it's largely my fault. When my husband died, and the truth of our financial situation became obvious, I largely retired from society. We lived quietly. I had a few friends who still associated with me despite my circumstances, but most of those I had considered friends, well, let's just say, I had my eyes opened. Mrs. Hardcastle, who is coming to sit with me tonight, has been loyal throughout. Of course, she married below her, so she is excluded from much of the company that excludes me and barely tolerates William."

When the opportunity arises, I ask about the possibility of a bath. She tells me she'll ask Ellen to make sure the boiler is on early enough that I can bathe before dressing tonight.

"And talking of tonight, I think we should go upstairs and choose you something to wear. That dress suits you so well that I'm sure most of my other gowns will fit. There's nothing new, of course, but I was never one for excessive detail in my clothes, and that means that they don't date as much as they could. My most recent gown will look beautiful on you, I think. William bought it for me when he came into his inheritance. I've only worn it once, and it really is quite beautiful. It's teal silk, with some lace, and as I said, it's simple enough to be, well, not too lacking in fashion."

We go upstairs, slowly, as Mrs. Spencer gets out of breath easily, but she bats my hand away when I try to help. Once in her room, she throws open a door to reveal a huge, walk in closet. A huge walk in closet that's depressingly empty. She picks out a dress from the back of the rail, and holds it up for me to see it. It really is the most beautiful colour. It's teal, but depending on the angle of the light, it seems to be both blue and green at the same time.

"Would you like to try it?" she asks, and I agree. I assure her I can manage without Ellen, and go back to my room to put it on. It’s one use of Slayer flexibility that I had never considered, but I’m grateful that I can do all the catches without help. I return a few moments later, keen to see my appearance in the large mirror in Mrs. Spencer's room. It's really a very good fit. It's surprisingly low cut, with just a bit of lace saving it from being too revealing for the time, and the length is perfect.

"It fits you better than it did me," Mrs. Spencer says, smiling. "By the time it was delivered, I'd lost some weight, so it was looser than it should have been. William didn't seem to notice, and I didn't say anything since he would have insisted on paying to have it altered."

"Now, what are you going to wear with the dress?" she asks, but the question isn't addressed to me. She's moving to the other side of the room, and pulling open a drawer to reveal a box. She opens it, and sorts through some jewellery. "None of it is very grand," she admits. "The jewellery was the first casualty of our straitened circumstances. I did keep this, though. My husband used to promise me he'd buy me the real thing when he'd made his fortune. Poor thing, he was a younger son, and his fortune was just a fraction of his brother's. Even so, it would have been more than enough for us to live comfortably, but he wanted more. He gambled it on some risky business ventures, and lost most of it. He bought me this set at a village fair near our country house the year we married. I had just discovered I was to have a child, and we were so happy."

She holds out a necklace and hair clasp with matching stones which, were they emeralds, would probably be worth a very large fortune. She clasps the necklace around my neck, and pulls my hair up with the comb.

"I couldn't borrow these," I protest. "They're too important to you."

"The most important thing in my life is my son, and having you on his arm tonight, looking as beautiful as you're going to, is going to make him so happy. I shouldn't say this, I know, but I think he's half in love with you already. All I ask is that you don't break his heart."

"Believe me, Mrs. Spencer, that's the last thing I intend."

"I knew it, my dear. I just wonder how things will be when you remember who you are."
 

Part 5:

When I see how much work it entails for Ellen to bring water for my bath, I really wish I hadn’t asked. She apologises for the time it takes, pointing out that everything in the house is ‘a little old-fashioned’. Still, Slayer strength has uses that have nothing to do with demons, so I help, carrying the water with her. She’s embarrassed that I’d help, but she also seems relieved. She explains that the boilers in the individual bathrooms no longer work due to lack of maintenance, but doesn’t seem to bemoan her fate. The fact that we’re working together seems to put her at ease and she tells me how, when she was looking for a position, most places would only consider her for a kitchen maid due to her youth, but she felt she was more able than that, having helped her mother for years in her position in a small household. When her mother died, she was essentially homeless until William and his mother employed her. Comparing her life with that of other girls she knows, she is convinved that she has much more freedom with the Spencers than she’d have in a bigger household, and it’s obvious that she is very fond of Mrs. Spencer.

When the bath is full, I tell Ellen to go and relax for a while, and go to enjoy my bath in peace. Lying back in the hot water feels so good. And, once I’m dry, Ellen helps me dress and arranges my hair in the comb. When she’s finally happy with my appearance, she goes to get Mrs. Spencer who comes in to see. She seems to think I’ll do, and so she escorts me downstairs to where William is waiting for me.

His reaction almost causes me to trip on the stairs. His look of absolute awe reminds me of something I’d all but forgotten -the night Willow and the others brought me back, and Dawn found me and took me home. Spike came into the house, angry with Dawn because she’d scared him by running off, and he spotted me coming down the stairs. Then, the realisation that I wasn’t the bot came gradually, and when it was complete, this is how he looked. Amid all the conflicting emotions of that time, that memory had been lost, but now it hits me full force.

Somehow, I make it to the bottom of the stairs, and William takes my arm to escort me to the carriage. I use those few moments to try to compose myself. I want to kiss him, to hold him, to … but I know that, were I to try any of those things, I’d terrify him. Keeping physically remote from him is almost painful, but I steel myself to be content with his arm.

We make the short journey in almost silence. I ask about some of the sights I see, and he answers factually, but his nervousness is almost incapacitating.

We arrive, and once again, the requirements of getting ourselves out of the carriage and into the house take over for a moment, and then we’re being greeted by our host, a Mr. David Hodgeson. He’s physically big – maybe Angel’s stature, and, come to think of it, I can see something in his manner that reminds me of, well, not Angel perhaps, but certainly of Angelus. His smile is rather too wide, and to be honest, it’s predatory. His words are perfectly polite, but his meaning isn’t, and while he doesn’t respond in kind, William obviously understands.

We move into a room full of people, and a few greet William and look curiously at me. Most seem to ignore us. Unfortunately, that means that we’re standing alone, which allows our host to accost us again. This time he seems intent on hearing all about me.

“So, you’re the mystery lady! My mother heard all about you from Mrs. Spencer. I hear that Spencer here found you lying in a gutter, is that true?”

His voice is loud, and I feel that everyone in the room has turned to look at us, but I do my best to remain calm. Words seem to have failed poor William.

“Mr. Spencer found me, apparently injured, and was kind enough to come to my aid,” I reply carefully.

“Ah, yes, always the gentleman is Spencer.”

He turns as someone else approaches. He is quickly introduced as Edward Wilkinson, but he insists on taking William away to speak to someone else. When I go to follow, he tells me that the conversation will be dull for a lady, and that I should stay with our host. William looks over his shoulder at me as he is almost dragged away, and I know he’s concerned for me. I smile back at him, hoping to convey the fact that I’ve faced worse than David Hodgeson.

“So, Miss… Buffy. That’s an odd sort of name, isn’t it?”

“It seems to be,” I admit. “But it’s all I can remember.”

“Ah yes. You were injured and have lost your memory.”

“That’s right,” I agree, but I can feel malice coming off this man in waves.

“You’ll forgive me for saying that it all seems a little … unlikely.”

“If you’re implying that I’m lying, then I suspect I won’t forgive you,” I reply, putting as much steel into my voice as I can.

If anything, my answer seems to make Hodgeson smile even more widely. He turns to look at William who, on the other side of the room, seems to be rather upset.

“I suspect Spencer is quite smitten with you,” he says as I follow his gaze.

“Mr. Spencer has been a perfect gentleman.”

“Oh, I’m quite sure he has. He doesn’t have it in him to be anything else.”

“I don’t see that being a gentleman implies a lack of anything,” I disagree.

“I’ve got to say, I’m impressed.”

That doesn’t seem to be connected to our previous conversation, so I’m confused.

“What exactly impresses you?”

“Well, your plan, of course. I mean, it was a good idea. It surprises me that a pretty thing like you would have the brain for it. So, did you come up with it on your own, or is there some man behind it?”

“What plan?”

“Well, your plan to get yourself into the home of some gentleman or other, so that you could compromise him. Obviously, you must be disappointed that it was Spencer who found you. Not only does he not have two spare pennies to rub together, but he’s too much of a gentleman to actually take advantage of you. Still, you can make up what you like, and I suppose even such money as he can get together will be welcome! Or better still, with Spencer, you can probably persuade him to marry you.”

“Mr. Hodgeson, you are completely wrong about me. I have no intention of duping Mr. Spencer into anything. However, the simple fact that you could concoct such a theory proves that you are not the man Mr. Spencer is.”

“Ah, denial. I suspected as much. But, never fear. I won’t tell him. Your plan is safe. However, there will be a charge for my silence.”

“You can say what you wish, but I’m sure Mr. Spencer will not believe it.”

“At first? Oh, I’m sure he won’t believe. But, when I announce it to the assembled company, he will be embarrassed. Especially when I denounce you as a filthy whore and insist you leave my home. And what will that do to his mother? Poor thing, already so weak – a shock like this? Well …”

“So, let me guess. My choice is to either be a filthy whore, or to be denounced as one?”

“Ah, your understanding, of course, convicts you. Still, you will probably enjoy the price – certainly more than you will enjoy anything that milksop can give you.”

He places his hand on my arm, as if he’s trying to move me elsewhere. I put my hand on his arm and squeeze it with every ounce of strength I have. And, of course, I’m a Slayer.

The noise of surprise he makes is extremely unmanly, and his face is red.

“Very well, I see you have made your decision,” he announces. Then, in a louder voice, he says, “I think you had better leave. Or do I have to call the authorities?”

Thinking that I can save William the worst of what is to come, I start to leave the room, but he stops me, grabbing at my arm again. I push him away, but the room is too full of people for me to give a public show of strength without questions being asked.

“We are asked to believe that this … woman … is one of us, but has lost her memory. Spencer, here, picked her up from the gutter. He has dressed her up and brought her among us, but I suspect she is nothing more than a gold digger. Everything about her shrieks that she is not a lady. Well, you are not welcome here, and if Spencer had any sense, he would not tolerate you in his home any more.”

There is shocked silence for a moment, and then what seems to be thunderous chatter. One or two others, including Wilkinson, start to laugh loudly as if it’s all a tremendous joke. I start to move towards the door, desperate to get out. I’m jostled as I go, everyone, it seems, trying to get a better look at me. I keep going, determined not to do anything to make things worse for William. Once outside in the street, I run a short distance – anything to get away from that house.

Once I’m far enough away, I look back, keen to see whether William has followed me. There’s no sign of him. I’m saddened by that fact as it implies that he believes Hodgeson.

I turn to move further away, but I hear my name being called from a carriage that’s just drawn up outside. I turn around in confusion, and see … Giles! I run towards him, and he helps me into the carriage.

“Giles! What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, of course. This stupid magic of Meena’s. Harmless? Sent us back in time. Dropped me in the middle of London in 1880. I had to find my way to the Council of Watchers and persuade them to help me. Took forever, of course, but they helped in the end. Got them to get their seers to find you. I’ve even worked out the magic that she used. I was actually already aware of it, but didn’t make the link. I’ll tell you more when we’re safe.”

“Giles, it’s complicated. I’ve …”

I turn towards the window of the carriage then, and spot William standing, staring at me from across the street. He pulls himself erect and walks towards the carriage.

“I didn’t believe him,” he says, his eyes moist. “I couldn’t get out of that room – people laughing at me, making a fool out of me, but I could bear that. Then, coming here, and finding it’s true. You were working for someone, and he was here, waiting, watching you. Well, congratulations, you fooled me. I should have known that no one …”

“William, it’s not true. If you come with me, I’ll explain.”

“I’m a fool, but there are limits to my foolishness. Still, I think there is good in you, Miss Buffy. I wish you well.”

He walks away then, and as I try to get out of the carriage to follow him, Giles grabs me from behind.

“Look, I don’t know what all that’s about, but it can’t be important. We’ve got to get back to the Council. They’re working on a way to send us back, but time is of the essence.”

I hesitate for a second, and Giles tells the driver to go. By the time I look out of the window again, there’s no sign of William.

We drive to the Council buildings, and Giles takes me inside and straight up to a large room on the top floor. Once inside, it looks like the nerve centre of a library convention, with men sitting at long tables, poring over large, ancient-looking books.

“Ah, you found her!” a voice greets us. “So, this is our Slayer from the future!”

“Yes, Wallace, this is she. Buffy, this is James Wallace, the head of the Council of Watchers in this time.”

I shake his hand, but Giles is impatient of the niceties.

“Have you completed your work? Are you ready to send us back?”

“Well, we know what to do,” he offers. “But I’m afraid there’s got to be a delay. From what you told me, you fell asleep at about eleven at night, is that correct?”

“As close as I remember,” he agrees.

“Well, we need to be as close as we can to that time when we send you back. So, it’ll have to wait for another couple of hours.”

Giles’ shoulders slump at the news. “Thanks, Wallace. I was hoping to get back immediately. The danger of being in another time, and changing things, …”

“I understand, old chap, I really do. Still, you’re here now, and everyone involved in this will be made to forget once you’ve gone.” He turns to me. “If you’ll just give me a list of everyone you have affected since you arrived, I’ll see to the arrangements.”

I tell him what I know – about William and Mrs. Spencer, and Ellen, and about the party. It seems to me that it would be a good idea for everyone to forget, and for more reasons than just the possible effect on the future.

Giles leads me to a small room down the hallway from the nerve centre. It’s got some comfortable chairs and a table. “Sit down, Buffy, and I’ll tell you what we discovered.”

I sit down, feeling I should be doing something else, but unsure what it is.

“The magic Meena used is well known to the Council. As she said, it’s an ability that is passed down from mother to daughter, but in most parts of the world where it exists, it’s not considered something that is sullied by the presence of a man. What happens, though, is that it becomes more powerful, and somewhat unpredictable. It’s perfectly possible that the belief of Meena’s family that it is sullied by men stems from this fact. And, of course, if they have hidden it from men for many generations, they may no longer realise the true situation. My presence in the room changed the outcome. Instead of dreaming of a time in the past, we actually travelled here. However, it’s dangerous. If we alter something here, it could do untold damage in the future. If, for example, you were killed in this time, then perhaps the Master will succeed in opening the Hellmouth, or the Mayor will ascend, or Angelus will succeed with Acathla. You must see that it is imperative that we return to our own time with as little contact with this one as possible. I have no idea how we came to be separated, but all we can do now is make the best of the situation. I know this has been very rushed, but we’ll be home again soon.”

I know I’m being unusually quiet as he speaks, but somehow, I can’t bring myself to talk. The vision of William’s face at the carriage window is in my mind, and once again, it reminds me of Spike so much it’s like a physical pain. Comparisons between William this evening and Spike all those times I chose to hurt him – telling him he was worthless, and that I could never love him – it’s almost more than I can bear.

Giles is speaking again, so I try to shut out my memory of William’s face, but I can’t, not completely.

“So, these people you’ve been with? What were they like?”

“The Spencers? I can honestly say that they’re two of the loveliest people I’ve ever met. But then you know one of them.”

Giles looks blankly at me for a moment.

“You mean Spike? You were trying to dream of Spike as a human, weren’t you?”

“Yes. If he’s finally gone, I just needed to know more about him.”

“And that was him you spoke to from the carriage, was it? I know it was dark, but I can honestly say I would never have recognised him. But you don’t look well, Buffy. It’s obviously been a traumatic experience for you. Why don’t I go and see if I can get us some tea? Will you be alright here?”

I manage to tell him that I’ll be fine, and at first, I sit quietly. Then, various things start going through my head. Giles said something important, and I try to remember what it was. Then, on an impulse, I’m on my feet and out of the door. I leave the building, grateful that years of Slaying in heels has, at least, made it possible to run dressed even as I am.

Once in the street, I head off, as closely as I can tell, back towards Hodgeson’s house, and once there, I keep going, back to William’s, looking for him as I go. I’ve got to explain. If he’s going to have his memory wiped, then it doesn’t matter, but I can’t go back to my own time with him thinking that I could do that to him. Logically, I know it can’t make any difference, but I’m not operating on logic now.

When I get to the door, I knock on it, and it’s opened by Ellen.

“Is Mr. Spencer here?” I ask, breathing hard.

“No, Miss Buffy, he isn’t. The carriage is, though. Albert was under orders to return later for you. What happened? Have you been hurt?”

“No, I’m fine, but I’ve got to find him.” I turn then, walking this time back in the direction I came from.

If he didn’t get home, then where could he have gone? I delve into my memory, desperate for any idea. There’s got be a clue somewhere.

Giles. He said it. The year is 1880. That’s the year William disappeared. That’s the year Drusilla …

The memory of what little I had discovered about William Spencer comes back to me then. He was at a party, but left early and alone. He didn’t wait for his carriage, but he never got home. If this is the same night – the night he died …

Right, I may not be able to track William, but I’m the Slayer. Drusilla should be easy to find if I put my mind to it.

Ignoring the odd looks I’m getting from passers-by, I stop and reach out my senses. I get a couple of minor tingles, but then I feel it, and I know it’s familiar – familiar in the way both Angel and Spike are familiar. I follow the sense, moving quickly, finally ending in an area where there are fewer streetlights and narrower roads than before. The sense is very clear now, there, in that building.

I walk in, the gloom even greater inside than it had been in the street, and I spot her. She’s feeding, but as soon as I enter, she seems to sense me, and moves away from her prey.

Ignoring Drusilla, I rush towards him. She’s already drunk from him, and he’s very weak. He opens his eyes as I approach.

“Miss Buffy.” The name is said with a reverence that’s hard to imagine.

“William, I’m here.”

“No, you’re not, but it’s a pleasant last memory.”

There’s a hiss from behind, and Drusilla starts to move towards me.

“Here’s the pretty Slayer, but she’s too early and too late. The stars told me he would be my dark Knight.”

I get up from William, ready to lash out at Drusilla, but there’s another figure in the doorway. I start, half expecting Angelus, but it’s Giles.

“Buffy, what are you doing? I told you how important it was not to change anything. Why don’t you ever listen?”

“Because it’s important that he doesn’t die hating me. It’s a travesty that he has to die at her hands and become something he would have hated. Maybe I can change it – maybe I can save him.”

“And go back to our time to an open Hellmouth in Sunnydale? Because that would be the likely result.”

“Then I could stay here – live my life here with him.”

“And those you care about? You have affected so many lives in your own time; saved the world so many times. What if no one else could do it? The world we come from isn’t perfect, I know that, but it’s not too bad, is it?”

“But it doesn’t have him in it,” I answer, my voice sounding weak and tearful.

“I know, Buffy, but it’s not your decision to make. You know that.”

And with those words, I know he’s right. I can’t save William. I saved the world a lot, but I can’t save this man.

“If I can’t be with him, then at least give me the chance to let him die without believing the worst of me.”

“I told Wallace who you’d met, and what his likely future would be. He has assured me that the spell to erase memories will include him, whether he’s alive or dead. It won’t make any difference.”

“But you see, Giles, it’ll make a huge difference. He saved the world, but didn’t believe I loved him. I’ve got a chance to put that right, sort of. I need to do this.”

While we’ve been speaking, Drusilla’s been standing just out of the way, swaying to some music no one else could hear. She’s made no effort to attack. I watch her for a moment.

“I just need to talk to him,” I offer. “I won’t interfere, just, please, give me a few minutes.”

“The stars told me about my dark knight, and Miss Edith says you can’t stop me from having him.”

“Please, a few minutes.”

She nods her head, but Giles steps between us, a cross held high. Drusilla hisses, but retreats only slightly.

Taking the opportunity, I kneel down beside William.

“I thought you’d gone,” he whispers.

“No, not gone. I need to tell you something.”

“No, no more lies. I want to remember when I thought you could care for me.”

“I do.”

He doesn’t respond, so I make it clearer.

“I do care for you. I love you. It’s not what Hodgeson thought. Really. The truth is … much stranger than that, but I never meant to hurt you. You must believe me.”

“I must be a greater fool that I thought,” he murmurs, looking into my eyes. “Because I do believe you. Your face speaks the truth.”

I try to take a deep breath then, but a sob escapes. There’s so little time and so much I need to tell him. This is probably the last time I’ll ever see his face, the last time I’ll be able to touch him, and it hurts. Even if he survived in LA, it’s clear he doesn’t love me any more, and that makes the finality of this moment even more heartbreaking.

“I love you. I love you so much that living without you is like living without sunshine. I need … you to know that. Not just in your head, but deeper.”

He smiles then. “Somehow, I never thought I’d have any romance at my death. This is my death, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “I’d save you if I could, but …”

There are tears in my eyes, running down my cheeks. That seems to spark something in him. He tries to sit up, but his eyes glaze over and he gives up the attempt, taking a moment to recover.

“Tears? For me? I thought the only tears would be from my mother. Buffy, it’s not up to you to save me. I should be the one to save you. Don’t cry, please. If you love me then I can accept death.”

The comment about saving me hits me harder than you’d think – reminding me again of just after they brought me back. He said ‘Every night I save you’. I don’t think I really understood how he felt until now.

“Buffy, we must go. If we don’t leave now, we’ll be too late.” Giles’ voice is insistent, but I can’t tear myself away.

I move closer to William, not sure what to do, and his hand comes up to wipe my tears away. And then I kiss him. I press my lips to his, and the kiss is sweet and tender and so full of love that it almost breaks my heart.

“Buffy,” Giles voice interrupts again. “Someone’s coming.”

I feel it then, another vampire approaching. Angelus, I’d guess.

I turn back to William.

“You believe me, William? That I love you?”

“I do, Miss Buffy. I really do.”

I can’t look at him any longer, or my resolve will be gone. I get up and Giles and I go out into the street where he’s got a carriage waiting. We climb in, and as we move away, I look out of the back in time to see the unmistakeable forms of Angelus and Darla approaching.

 

Part 6


The next minutes are a blur. We get back to the Council building, and are immediately escorted to the room I ran from. Giles insists on making sure that I haven’t been in contact with anyone else, questioning me in detail on the time before he caught up with me. To be honest, I answer the questions like an automaton – because that’s how I feel. Numb. Miserable. It feels like I’ve lost him all over again. Eventually, it’s time for the ritual, and we’re each given a cup of that pungent liquid, and a woman, this one much older than Meena, starts to chant. To be honest, I couldn’t give you any more detail because my mind feels divorced from my physical situation.

When I feel the lethargy – it’s not like before, it’s like I’m feeling it from a distance - I try to pull myself back together. If I can’t change anything here, then I need to go back – to the life I have in my own time. I just want to get away from here, from knowing that he’s dead again, and that I could do nothing to prevent it. I know sleep is coming, but I hardly know whether to welcome it or not. But then, the darkness comes, and that’s welcome.

And then I hear a voice. I open my eyes, and Meena’s standing over me, shaking me.

“Buffy, Buffy, wake up.”

There’s panic in her voice, and I try to sit up and reassure her.

“Meena, I’m fine. Really.”

I hear someone stirring behind me, and turn to spot Giles getting up from the other bed.

“Oh, Buffy, Mr. Giles, I thought something had gone wrong. I heard something at the door, then nothing until a few moments ago when I saw the two of you unconscious. I thought,… I thought I’d killed you.”

“No, we’re fine. Or at least, I am,” I try to reassure her. “How about you, Giles?”

“Quite alright, I think. Although, we’re going to have to talk about this, you know that, don’t you, Meena?”

“Yes, Mr. Giles.” Her head droops at the words.

“It’ll be ok, Meena,” I promise her. “His bark’s much worse than his bite.”

She looks at me, as if surprised at the comment.

“Buffy, if you don’t mind, I’d rather that you didn’t undermine my authority. Just because you yourself were unaware of the importance of …”

“Giles?”

“What?”

“Meena will continue to train to be a Watcher, right?”

“What? Oh, yes, I suppose so.”

“Ok, good. And she doesn’t have to tell you anything about what happened here tonight?”

“Well, insofar as I already understand that, I suppose not.”

“Good. Good enough for you, Meena?”

She looks relieved. “I’ll explain later, ok?” I promise. She just nods.

Meena packs up her things, while I call to the desk to ask them to get her a cab. When she’s gone, Giles gets ready to leave too.

“You took some serious chances tonight,” he reminds me.

“I did what I thought was right, like always,” I tell him.

“Yes. And sometimes I don’t agree with your choices. But, overall, I suppose you’ve been right more often than you’ve been wrong. And, it seems that you got away with it this time too. Everything seems to be unchanged.”

It’s a major admission from him, and I hug him as he stands at the door.

When he’s gone, I flick on the TV, wondering if there’s anything worth watching on the box. I can’t settle to watch anything, but I decide to check my voice mail in case there’s any news from home.

I dial the number and hear that there’s one new message. I hit the number to listen to it, and hear Willow’s voice.

“Buffy, it’s Willow. I’m sorry, but that thing you had me looking at? It’s bad news. I’ll call you later and we can talk.”

So, that’s it. Spike’s gone, and he’s not coming back. I feel like I’m sinking into a dark morass and yet I can’t cry. The feeling of loss that’s been a part of me since Sunnydale is fresh and sharp again. I need to do something – anything – to take my mind off my sorrow. I jump up, wondering if the hotel pool will still be open. The idea of a workout seems like a good one. Or even better, I’ll just hit the streets and see if I can find something to slay. Yes. What better way to mark Spike’s passing than some good, old-fashioned violence. I walk to where my purse is lying on the table, and I go to pick it up, intending to take out my wallet and put it in my pocket. My eyes are drawn to my return ticket and on impulse, I take it out and read it. Maybe the finality of going back to Rome will help in some way. I read the words, then read them again. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and look again. Los Angeles. It’s a return ticket to Los Angeles, not Rome. I sit on a chair, my heart hammering in my chest. When the phone rings, I almost jump out of my skin. I scramble for the receiver, almost dropping it as I do, and put it to my ear.

“Hello, Pet. Took you a while to answer. You ok? Didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Spike?” I answer.