She knew why he didn’t want her to know he loved her. She knew exactly why.
Buffy continued adjusting the contents of her suitcase
without much interest. She felt like she’d packed and unpacked so many times it
was pointless to bother anymore. But she wanted to bring some pretty
underthings from home, and she didn’t think her mom was going to let her carry
paper bags full of lingerie to school, so she needed a suitcase to hide it in. And
that was the extent of her interest in packing, which she had once had down to
a science—a science designed to get her the maximum variety of clothes in the
minimum amount of space, the highest of all sciences. She had other things on
her mind now.
She didn’t linger on his denial of what he’d said. It wasn’t
that he didn’t mean it—it was that he was afraid of what it would do to their
relationship. As if either of them said anything, it would disappear. Well, it
would do that soon enough on its own. She wasn’t going to let it go before she
had to, dammit.
She didn’t even want to think about being away from him for a few weeks, but she didn’t have a choice. Besides, it would be practice for getting through the rest of forever.
God, you sound like an old woman, she thought in disgust.
It was almost time for the cab to pick her up to take her to the train station. But she wanted to say a private goodbye to William, and the cab could wait. It was only money, right? And her parents had plenty of that.
She slipped through the back door of his house and there he was in the kitchen, making himself a cup of tea—a disarmingly ordinary task that somehow startled her. She’d never seen himself doing something so homey, and it made her want to refuse to leave.
Instead she just smiled at his look of bemusement, and took off her backpack. Setting it on the counter, she unzipped it and rooted around, pulling out a simply wrapped package. “I’m sorry I don’t have any ribbon,” she apologized, holding it out to him.
“Oh, sweetheart, let me get yours,” he said quickly, padding out of the room. His feet were bare—she thought, blankly, that she seldom saw his bare feet. For some reason that made her smile. Half the time neither of them got their shoes off, or most of their clothes.
She took advantage of his absence to hide something away where she knew he’d find it. A few moments later he returned, a small, exquisitely wrapped package in his hands. “Here you are,” he told her with a shy smile—he’d never given her anything before. He was apprehensive about her reaction.
She tore the wrappings off with alacrity. “It’s beautiful!” she gasped, looking down at the delicate earrings inside the tiny package. “Are they—”
“Garnets,” he said hastily, not wanting unearned credit for getting her rubies. Besides, rubies sounded too old for her, too hard. “They’re your birthstone, aren’t they?”
“They are. I love garnets,” she told him. She reached up and immediately removed the little hoops she was wearing and replaced them with the garnets. “How do they look?” she asked with an inviting smile.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, reaching up a hand to assure himself they were really there. He loved seeing something he’d bought on her, nudging through her flesh. He hadn’t really thought about the implications, but now they seemed inescapable. “Beautiful,” he whispered again, memorizing the sight.
She looked down at her feet; it would all be over soon, and she couldn’t bear it. Don’t think about that, she reminded herself. “Why don’t you open what I got you,” she suggested, forcibly drawing herself back to the moment. “I think you’ll like it.”
She smiled as he opened the package carefully, not tearing the paper—as if he were going to re-use it or save it or something. “What’s—oh,” he said when he recognized the item inside. He looked at her quizzically. Opening the box, he withdrew the brilliantly colored vibrator and raised an eyebrow.
“It’s for me, not for you,” she told him mischievously, taking it from him and returning it to its box. “I’m taking it home with me—think about it while I’m gone.”
A wicked smile curled his lips. “Reduced to envying silicone,” he growled.
“Don’t be silly,” she told him, reaching up to press a kiss against his lips. Ah, she’d miss him. “It’s a jelly model.”
~*~*~*~
It was unbearable. He was insane, pathetic. He was Humbert Humbert. He thought he’d go mad. The students had been gone all of a week—Buffy had been gone all of a week—and he thought he was going to crawl out of his skin.
William stared unseeingly at the vast assortment of frozen dinners in front of him. They didn’t mean a thing to him. Usually he cooked actual food made with actual ingredients, but the last few days he’d been unable to make the effort. The last two nights he hadn’t even eaten. He had to do something, or he’d begin to lose his faculties.
Randomly he grabbed some boxes and dropped them into his cart; it didn’t matter what he ate, just that it was easy and quick.
“William?”
William turned sharply. “Bu—” Buffy was home, of course.
But Jenny was here.
~*~*~*~
William and Jenny eyed each other cautiously across the table. They’d gone for coffee, as there seemed to be some tacit agreement that the frozen foods section of the supermarket was an undignified place for a discussion between people who had last seen each other mid-way through sex. A coffeehouse seemed like a reasonable compromise, seeing as how none of the bars were open yet. Although alcohol certainly would have made the conversation a little easier.
“How have you been?” Jenny asked carefully. “It’s been awhile.”
William flushed. “Yes, I’m, uh…sorry about that,” he said inadequately. What could he say? Sorry about that almost-sex? Or the not calling afterward? But they’d never had a commitment. It had never been more than friendship between them, albeit friendship that had primarily been centered in the bedroom.
“I have a theory about that,” offered Jenny. “It never really happened.”
“What?”
“It’s something we imagined—it never happened,” said Jenny airily, waving her hand.
He laughed. “Yes, you always did have a way of looking at things,” he agreed.
“I’m surprised you remember,” said Jenny gently.
William hesitated. He could think of nothing to say that would both leave Jenny’s feelings undamaged and yet make it clear to her that there could be nothing between them anymore.
“I don’t suppose you’d want to stop by for dinner,” she suggested tentatively.
William smiled gently. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
Jenny nodded, accepting it without comment.
It didn’t surprise him, really. She was one of the most easygoing people William had ever met. But she wasn’t Buffy.
It didn’t take them long to finish their coffee, and William made his excuses. If she was hurt, she didn’t show it; she merely studied his face as if she knew everything about him. “Take care, William,” she told him quietly. “I hope whatever it is you’re chasing will bring you happiness.”
He smiled, his eyes a little bleak. “Thank you, Jenny. It won’t…but thanks.”
~*~*~*~
His books were worthless. He’d spent so much money on them,
so much time. He’d pored over them as if they were his children, and now they
held no interest for him. He, who’d never been at a loss, could find nothing to
do—nothing he wanted to. Books were dry and without resonance, music had lost
its meaning. He turned the pocket watch he’d found hidden in his cutlery drawer
over and over in his hand, not really looking at it. There was nothing he
wanted to do in town, and no one he wanted to see. His entire being was focused
on a house in
It wasn’t until the train had crossed into
He caught a taxi without any trouble. He told the driver to let him out at the end of her street. Somewhere inside him, he knew even that was too close. It must have been the same instinct that had kept him from simply driving there.
He approached the house carefully. There was a big wreath on the front door, but no Christmas lights. The front window was lit and he eased next to it, peering up into the raised first floor.
And there she was.
She was laughing. Wearing a pretty pink dress and laughing, moving her hands as she made some remark. She looked so alive, so vital. The opposite of the way he felt.
His heart contracted. Maybe it was joy at seeing her again. Maybe pain. He wasn’t sure.
Then suddenly her face fell and he lost sight of her, his view blocked by an older man. The man turned his head for a moment and to William’s shock he recognized him; it was Rupert Giles, whom he’d met a few years before at a conference. He’d given a very interesting speech on education reform, albeit with several points William disagreed with.
Giles turned his head to look at someone out of William’s view, and then Buffy’s mother, Joyce, came to stand next to him; William could see the resemblance between mother an daughter, but Joyce had a disapproving expression on her face William could never imagine Buffy wearing.
Giles moved over slightly to accommodate Joyce, and Buffy once again came into view. Her face looked miserable and sullen. William could see her say something to her mother and then flinch at her mother’s response. Giles put his hand on Joyce’s shoulder, soothing her, and after a moment his arm slid around her familiarly.
It all clicked into place. He was her stepfather, whom Buffy had mentioned without much warmth. He was apparently less objectionable than her mother, but not by much.
Finally Buffy stormed out of the room.. Or was, perhaps, ordered to bed.
It wouldn’t be a merry Christmas for either of them.
~*~*~*~
It was yet another thing he shouldn’t be doing, so of course he did it anyway. That was what he did these days, it seemed.
The phone was answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Mr. Giles?” asked William cautiously. When he’d returned to the school he’d checked Buffy’s records, and found that, indeed, Rupert Giles was her stepfather. Her real father was presumably dead or otherwise out of the picture, as he wasn’t listed in the file and Buffy had never mentioned him.
“Yes?” the older man said a little impatiently.
“This is William Bloodsworth—I’m the headmaster of
There was a slight intake of breath at the other end of the line. “What’s she done?” he asked, his voice resigned. “Is she being expelled?”
“No—no!” William said hurriedly. “I just wanted to tell you
what a pleasure it’s been, having Buffy at
For a moment there was no response. “I must say, I’m most relieved to hear that,” Giles said finally, surprise in his voice. “She’s always been so headstrong. Her mother and I have long despaired about her wild ways.”
“You will tell her mother?” asked William. “I know she was worried.”
“Yes, of course,” said Giles. “This will be a wonderful holiday gift for her. For all of us.”
They exchanged pleasantries, and the call ended. It was enough; William had accomplished what he’d hoped to.
“Merry Christmas, Buffy,” he whispered.
