Author: Tiara

Rating: PG-13 2 R

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel. These both belong to their respected creators, Twentieth Century Fox, WB, and UPN. So don't sue me for writing about them--it's not like I get an profit from this stuff anyway.... I'm innocent!!!!

Series: Self titled series. First of many, I'd say.

Summary: Billy and Buffy Summers were twins... until Buffy died.

Timeline: Now; but it starts with them in high school, sophomore year.

Author's Notes1: This is a response to Carol Ann's challenge, Masks. I've been planning on something similar to this for a while, but it was going to be a lot more lighthearted, but I decided to venture into the dark and depressed land of angst. So, this is going to be flangst with a smidge of humor.

Author's Notes2: It might not make much sense at first, but just go with it. There might possibly be muli POV's in this fic, but I most likely tell you who it is.

means POV change. It'll mostly be "Billy's" POV or 3rd person. *insert* means emphasis on words. (insert) means flashbacks of any kind.

Here's the basics of the challenge:

"Forced by her mother & father to pretend to be a boy all of her life."

The sentence alone scream hilarity--or maybe not...

-----

My name is Billy.

I'm sixteen.

I'm smart, polite, the perfect example of a young gentlemen.

I'm going to a public school for the first time.

I'm betrothed to a gorgeous person.

I'm gonna inherit a family fortune.

My parents are rich, proud, and well respected.

Everyone wants to know me...

I have so much going for me...

And I hate it...

-----

It was Monday when Billy woke up, his first day of public high school. Billy had never been in a real school before. His parents had brought in private tutors for most of his life. When one was born to privilege, one only got the best. That went beyond home and comfort. It went to education to clothes to cars to almost anything you could think of.

Going to a public high school didn't mean his family was going poor or anything--not by a long shot.

What it meant for Billy was a test.

Quickly he reached over onto the chair placed next to his bed and hurriedly pulled on the vest. Billy always wore it, no matter what.

Quietly, he got of bed and crossed the massive expanse of his bedroom. He found the outfit he had laid out the previous night laying on the chaise longue. He was already clean so he shrugged off last night's clothes, pulled on a pair of denim jeans, a white shirt, and a black jacket. The boots under the chaise longue were quickly pulled on.

Father and Mother were waiting.

Grabbing the simple black bag from it's place, he slung it over his shoulder and began the long trip from his room, down a corridor, towards the staircase, down the stairs. Turn left, go through two doors, and into the dining room where Father and Mother were already seated.

Without a word, he seated himself on his Father's right. Always the right side of Father, never the left. The left of Mother, never the right. Billy never sat anywhere else.

Never.

A maid, Teresa, a Hispanic immigrant who had been serving the Summers since Billy had been six, came in with a tray and set it down before Billy. He silently pulled out his napkin and laid it across his lap before eating breakfast.

Father was reading the local newspaper, business section no less. Stocks and bonds and the whatnot. A man by the name of Jerry J. Wilson had been trying to upstart Father at the company. Last Billy heard, Mr. Wilson had died tragically. Since then, Father had been smiling much more.

Mother was nursing a cup of coffee with a full plate of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and whatnot in front of her. She didn't touch a thing. Billy noticed that Mother never ate--but had seen her eating cakes and sweets in little less than a minute. Then afterwards, she'd lock herself in the bathroom then ask Teresa for a drink.

Father was very business and Mother was very social. Nothing odd about it, really.

When Billy finished eating, Teresa came and took his food away, along with Father's and Mother's. He waited patiently until finally Father, without taking his eyes off the newspaper, spoke to him.

"The limo's waiting out front." Father said. "Remember what we discussed."

"Yes." Billy said.

"Good. Go." Father told him.

Billy nodded, excusing himself, and leaving the room. Another normal breakfast with Father and Mother. This is what Billy had grown used to. The silence at meal times. There had been a time when they spoke animatedly about the day--a time when they had been happy. If only she hadn't died. If she hadn't had died then maybe--

("My name is Billy.")

A mantra in his mind.

Christopher Dickinson was the limo driver. A middle aged man who never spoke a word to anyone, and Father and Mother liked him that way. Silent. Servants were meant to be seen not heard--much like children, Billy thought.

("You're a child. You can be seen but not heard. Don't speak unless spoken to, that is our lesson for the day. Do not speak, Billy. Do not speak no matter what you see.")

Mr. Dickinson opened the door for the limo and Billy got in. When the door closed, Billy didn't relax. He was posed, back straight, shoulders squared. His blond hair, a pale color, was unruly, and their parents had soon given up on ever trying to fix it. It hung just around mid neck.

Billy found himself staring at his reflection. The limo glass that separated him from Mr. Dickinson. His eyes, those green eyes, too big, too expressive. He hated them. Damn those eyes, he thought. Damn them for being what they are. He silently swore. It wasn't just his eyes, it was everything. It was his face, that stupid shape, the dumb curve of his nose, the way his lips moved. He was too short, barely making five foot four. He was too small, his body too petite...

Billy was hopelessly effeminate. Another curse, he supposed. If he didn't look the way he did... perhaps things would have been better. Maybe then he wouldn't have to work so hard, so hard to be who he was. Didn't have to work so hard to be this person...

To be Billy Summers.

-----

The gate to the Summers estate had closed behind them a long while ago. The limo had to drive from a hill down towards the other side of town. A drive that Billy would have to adjust to, as well as the sights. Billy hardly ever went out. He never went to a school, never had schoolmates, never got to interact with many people his own age.

Not to say he had never been outside before, of course he had. Father and Mother had family functions all the time, just as they were invited to them. Sometimes he was brought along and he would be paraded around the room like an animal. Like a new toy for a child. He would recite poetry, speak clearly of issues with insight, say things that pleased his Father and Mother's friends and acquaintances.

It was joke.

Focus, you fool. Billy breathed in deeply. Remember what Father said.

("You will act normally. This is different then before. This will truly test your will, Billy. You act normal with these children. Act like a normal boy. Make friends, flirt with girls, be polite and proper with teacher's. Do not do a thing to embarrass us, do you understand? Don't you dare do otherwise Billy--you know what will happen. You know what we can do. We don't ask much of you Billy, you know that. Do as your told, act normally Billy. Join sports teams, school clubs, go to parties, but never, ever do anything that would displease us, Billy, you hear me? Don't ever do anything to displease us. Never.")

Billy watched the palm trees as they went by. He didn't like palm tress much, they seemed so out of place in town. Like they belonged somewhere else. An island, most likely. A place where people could climb them without being looked at as odd. A place where people could pluck coconuts from them and it would be okay.

His back was a bit tender from last night, but he didn't dare reach back to try and ease the ache. He had displeased Father, he had been weak and Father had known. It was his own fault, it was. He said so to him.

("I'm weak, Father. This is not your fault, it's me. I'm weak and a fool. I must become stronger, it's my own fault.")

My own fault... what a fool I am.

What a fraud.

("What is your name?")

A lie.

("My name is Billy.")

But it's too late to go back, isn't it?

Much too late.

The sound of the limo was quiet as they drove down streets, turned down different ones, and waited patiently for the red lights to turn green. The ride was driving Billy mad. It was too quiet here, too stuffy. With Father and Mother, he was quiet, but he never thought, not around them. Here, alone, in this tiny compound his mind was free to wonder as it pleased.

("Join a club. Join some sports. Be the perfect gentlemen, the model student. You should be at the top of your class. Be perfect. A perfect normal high school boy. That's what we want of you. Don't you dare displease us.")

Billy winced, though he tried desperately not to.

("You know what will happen otherwise. Don't make me, Billy.")

The limo started slowing down and Billy could see young people walking on the sidewalks, a bus just down the street, the high school on his right.

("Don't make me hurt you.")

Billy collected himself, taking a calming breath. Once Mr. Dickinson opened the limo door and Billy stepped out, he was the perfect image of cool serenity.

"Goodbye, Mr. Dickinson." Billy said politely.

Mr. Dickinson nodded, closed the door behind him, and made his leave.

Billy did not watch him go.

-----

When Alexander LaVelle Harris spotted the blond for the first time, an insane feeling ran through him that he quickly snuffed out and never wanted to talk about with another soul as long as he lived. It was... the most of...

Xander shuddered, not allowing himself to even think it. Best keep this to himself and file it away in the "I'm just a horny teenager" file of his brain. Luckily for him he had been knocked down the by the stair railing before the blond could see him make an even bigger ass of himself.

"That looked like it hurt." Willow Rosenberg, a long haired redhead said in greeting.

He smiled up at his best friend. "It did. Just for a minutes. But I'm a man and feel no pain." Gradually, he hauled himself from the ground and tucked his skateboard under an arm. "Besides, I need help with the math again."

"Study buddies?" Willow asked, intrigued.

"Yes, please, please." He begged her.

She awarded him with a sweet smile, "Okay."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you." He exhaled, relieved.

"That's fifteen cents now." Willow told him.

"I think I can barely afford it." He retorted, ushering himself and Willow into Sunnydale High with the rest of the crowd. No sooner had they entered had their other friend, Jesse McNally fell into step with them with a loud, "Hey!"

"Jesse, hey, what's going on?" Xander asked.

"New guy." Jesse shrugged.

"A guy?" Willow almost perked, "I heard somebody was transferring. I would have heard more if they hadn't told me to go away..."

"I think I saw a new kid out there." Xander started. "Drew some attention earlier."

"It's a Royal." Jesse said smugly, shifting his backpack as they passed by a corridor that he had learned to avoid before his bag could make contact with it.

"What's that?" Xander asked, confusion evident on his face.

"You don't know what a Royal is?" Jesse seemed almost appalled.

"No." Xander said.

"The Sunnydale Royals." Jesse started, "It's slang for all the rich people in this hellhole. Actually, it's *the* term for the new kid's family."

"Didn't think Sunnydale had rich people--" Xander paused, "I mean, rich enough to be royalty--let alone called it."

"Anyway, I heard one of Cordelia's friends talking about him. Said he pulled up in a limo. Called him Summers." Jesse went on.

"Summers." Willow started, her eyes suddenly widened. "You don't mean *the* Summers, do you? They're really rich! They live on this hill in Sunnydale with this massive estate! I heard they have their own zoo."

"Rich, huh?" Xander questioned. "I mean, who drives to school in a limo anyway? Richie Rich? What does that say?"

"That they're rich?" Jesse suggested.

"They practically own Sunnydale." Willow started. "My uncle works in one of their companies just outside of town. They're very private. He's not even allowed to discuss work or the exact location."

"I hate the rich." Xander spat.

"You're just jealous cuz your poor." Jesse shoved his friends arm.

"Which is why you should hate them, too." Xander said.

-----

Billy had ignored the stares. He was used to them by now, he somehow drew more attention to himself than he wanted. After standing out in the sun for far too long, he shrugged off his coat and hung it over his shoulder with the help of his hand. Without further wait, he started forward, easily moving through the crowd without bumping into anyone.

The principal wanted to see him, talk to him over his records. He wondered what exactly was on it this time. Father was good at pulling strings, good at fabricated stories for the masses. Hopefully he could live up to whatever were on those records.

He found the principal's office, reading the small lettering on the door. Principal B. Flutie. He knocked on the door, heard a muffled noise, then a quiet "come in, it's open."

Billy did just that and was greeted with a man with glasses, a odd sweep to his hair, dressed in a comfortable suit. Billy quickly noticed the gold band around his ring finger.

"Ah, Billy Summers, am I right?" Mr. Flutie asked, a vanilla folder in his hands. Billy's eyes stayed with the principal and he nodded.

"Great, please have a seat." He told him. "Make yourself comfortable."

Billy sat, but not at all comfortable. He was poised as if at a bordering school.

"Sophomore, privately tutored." Mr. Flutie went on, reading over the file as he moved to sit at his desk. "A very thorough record... quite the career--you were trained in fencing?"

Billy nodded. "For five years since I was ten. It went under Physical Education."

"That's quite..." Mr. Flutie started, "Yes, ah, well, your parents have informed me that you're a very good student, but I hope you wouldn't mind starting off slowly."

"Slowly, Mr. Flutie?"

"The students here are free to calm me Bob." Mr. Flutie said.

"Mr. Flutie." Billy said again.

"But they don't." He finished. "What I mean by slowly, Billy, is that I have you in the normal, required classes. I want you to catch up a bit, see where exactly you're at, and if you excel beyond these requirements, I'll arrange to have your schedule modified for our higher academics."

Billy nodded.

"But this is quite the... quite the record." The principal went on, scanning over the long lists of comments and information. "I mean, it's not every day that a student comes to... Sunnydale High with such... extensive records--look at this. You play the violin--you can read Latin?"

"Only at a ninth grade level." Billy said, sounding almost disappointed in himself. "I really should be at a twelfth grade level- -"

"This is marvelous." Mr. Flutie began, sounding very pleased. "We have a Latin club, you know... although, it's more Pig-Latin than Latin in itself--but it's still a language."

"With all due respect, Mr. Flutie," Billy began, "I would like to began my classes for today."

"Oh, yes, yes, of course, of course! Well, here's your schedule." He said, handing over the papers to him.

"Thank you, Mr. Flutie." Billy stood. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I have History class I should be heading to. It was a pleasure to meet you."

-----

When Billy left Mr. Flutie's office, he barely gathered his bearings before someone bumped into him, sending his things scattered across the floor. "I'm sorry." He told his unknown assailant, before kneeling down to collect the spilt contents of his bag.

Billy's assailant bent down next to him and began piling up the notebooks and pencils together. "It's okay, I'm the one who was running, I should have--oh. It's you."

Billy looked up and looked at the boy for more than was necessary. Brown hair, brown eyes, shagging exterior, awkward looking young man.

He looked somewhat irritated as Billy continued looking at him.

"Excuse me." Billy said a moment later, surprising the boy.

"Um... yeah..." The boy murmured, handing Billy his things to him. He eased them into his bag with care, not wanting to bend or wrinkle any of his things.

"Hey, those are cool." The boy said, suddenly.

Billy looked up and saw the boy's gaze drawn towards the bands around his wrists. They had symbols on them that the boy kept looking at. "Thanks."

"They mean anything?" He asked as Billy stood up.

"Not really." Billy replied. "Thank you for your help." He nodded before making his leave.

"Hey, no problem..." Was all Billy heard before he found the History class.

-----

Billy had almost started laughing, which would not have been appropriate at all. Not in the middle of History, not during note taking, and surely not at all while the teacher was speaking. But it was silly, really.

The Black Plague, Black Death.

How funny indeed, the more morbid part of Billy's mind cackled, before Billy shoved it away and wrote as the teacher spoke. 25 million died in 4-year span. Originated in Europe how?

As an early form of germ warfare, his mind whispered.

"As an early form of germ warfare." The teacher said after a moment. "If you look at the map on pg. 63, you can trace the spread of the disease--"

Billy almost jumped as a text book was suddenly appeared in front of his nose. The map on pg. 63 visible to his sight. A brunette girl with an olive complexion, hazel eyes, and a wide smile held the book up for him to read. She was dressed like many of the people Father and Mother would have liked.

When the bell rang the book disappeared and the taller girl introduced herself as Cordelia.

"I'm Billy Summers." He told her.

She smiled. "If you're looking for a textbook, there's probably some in the library."

Billy nodded as they stood.

"Do you know where that is?" She asked.

Billy started, then shook his head, sheepishly.

Cordelia giggled, "I'll show you, follow me."

"Thank you." Billy said.

"So... you're one of the Summers, right?" She began, looking him over.

Billy shifted, but confirmed it. Yes, he was a Summers. Born and breed to perfection, he would die a Summers no matter what.

("There's no escape.")

"...family goes to L.A. on Holidays and the weekends, don't they? I would kill to go to L.A. all the time, that close to that many shoes. But you'll be okay here," She went on, "You've already made it in my group by default. I don't even have to give you the test."

"Test?" Billy questioned.

"Just a minor coolness factor one." Cordelia explained, "Nothing big. I'd thought one of the guys would have approached you by now, but they're all busy getting excited about the basketball team. Do you like basketball?"

"It has it's moments." Billy answered, "I'm more of a soccer fan."

"That's cool too." Cordelia commented, "Too bad they don't have a cheerleading squad for them, too. I'm trying out for cheerleader this year--though I protested in freshmen year. They really should let freshmen try out--but it's the curse of being a freshmen. Luckily for me I was no where near loser land like some people."

"Some people..." Billy questioned.

"Willow," Cordelia started, her tone withering, "Nice outfit. Good to know you've seen the softer side of Sears."

The girl, Willow, was a redheaded girl wearing a white shirt, a plaid skirt/dress thing, with long white stockings. Billy frowned. What was wrong with that? He didn't quite understand--it looked perfectly fine to him. In fact, it suited the redhead, really.

"Oh, well, um, my mom picked it out." Willow stammered.

"Are you done?" Cordelia snapped.

"Oh." Was all she said, before she left.

Cordelia was saying something, Billy knew, but for the first time he didn't pay any attention to the person who was talking to him. Something that never, ever happened.

("Don't look away from me, Billy! Don't you dare--don't ignore me!")

He couldn't help watch the girl as she went. She looked... sad.

("Stop looking like that! Stop it! Stop crying, Billy! You're not a baby! Stop it, right now!")

A look that nobody should ever have.

-----

Rupert Giles, the librarian, was a refined British gentlemen with kind eyes. He wore tweed and wools, dressed neatly and comfortably. He was busily sorting out the books in the stacks when he heard something near the door. A noise perhaps? Just a creak. Those sort of noises he had grown quite accustomed to.

Another noise, distinctively a voice, albeit a very soft one. A student, Giles concluded with a single thought. He moved towards the checkout counter. A young boy was hovering near it, reading something he must have left out for the world to see.

He gently reached out and touched the youth's shoulder, and he spun around startled. Almost frightened.

"Can I help you?" He asked the youth politely, his eyes searching the student's.

The young man nodded, "Yes," He spoke, his voice very soft and low. "I was told that you have some textbook."

"Yes, I do believe we have some volumes here." The librarian said, "If you could just tell me what you're looking for..."

"Twentieth Century--something or other, I'm sorry. It's for History class, sophomore year, if that helps." He informed him.

When he frowned, the young man was quick to relieve that look.

"Is something wrong Mister...?"

"I'm Mr. Giles. The librarian." He answered, "Uh, nothing is wrong. I was just curious as to why you needed these textbooks. You didn't perchance lose the old ones?"

"Oh, nothing like that, Mr. Giles." The youth informed him. "I'm a new student, Billy Summers. Nice to meet you."

Mr. Giles blanched, almost dropping the textbooks he had gathered together during their short conversation. He seemed almost disturbed, as if something had gone wrong and it had. Most definitely gone wrong.

"Summers, you say?" The librarian began, opening up the file with his name. He quickly scanned and handed them over to the young man.

"Yes." Billy said. "Thank you very much for your help, Mr. Giles."

"Uh, no problem at all." He answered back, watching as the student carefully set the books into his bag. "If you'll excuse me." Billy said with a small nod, then left the library.

Prim and proper. Polite and kind. The perfect example of an age old gentlemen. That young man was a very, very good one, that much could be told just by his politeness.

What was bothering Mr. Giles was that boy's name. Summers. That was the name that belonged to his charge. The council had told him, specifically, that his charge would have the name of Summers. That she would belong to a wealthy family, that she would be starting school very, very soon.

Except there was a problem.

The only Summers that had come to Sunnydale High was a boy.

He had to call the council immediately. Somebody had definitely messed up along the way. A miscalculation, mispronunciation, who knew? He could be in the wrong town, the wrong city, the wrong state, the wrong country for all he knew! It did not change the fact that there was a girl out in the world with strange new powers and nobody to guide her.

Mr. Giles hurried into his office and began dialing the number. He waited, once, twice, three times, and then someone answered.

"Yes, hello. Yes, this is Rupert Giles." He began. "We have... a very big problem."

Unknown to Billy, the librarian continued on with his conversation for a long while. But what he was aware of were the way Sunnydale High news got around the school so fast. When he passed by groups of people, they stopped to stare. When he had gone to his locker to put away his jacket and some of his things, people had begun to whisper about him.

Billy didn't understand, really. But he could hear their whispers as if they were merely speaking out loud in normal conversation. Apparently someone else had seen his transcripts--someone blue? Had seen what was written there and had told a circle of friends who had then told another circle of friends.

A snowball effect, Billy thought distractedly. He closed his locker and the bell rang. Lunch. It would be his first lunch away from his home, away from his parents, away from... that place...

("Sit up straight. Don't slouch, it's bad manners... no, no, no, that's a salad fork. Salad fork, dinner fork, there's a difference. Don't touch that!")

Billy left his locker and found himself wondering towards this quad thing everyone said they were going to for lunch. If not there, others were going to the cafeteria, or to their next class. The Quad, as they called it, was the center of Sunnydale High. It was open ground with stairs and benches, a place of gathering.

Billy began his descend of the stairs, then spotted her. The little redhead. She was sitting on a bench, unwrapping something in plastic, and looked very lonely...

("You'll always be alone, you know that, don't you? You shouldn't get attached to anybody, really. If you do make friends, make them in high places. Don't dawdle with insignificant ones--the poor ones. The ones from which we could squish beneath our feet. Don't get attached.")

Billy found himself smiling. For the first time in a long while, he was going to actively defy his Father's wishes. All by sitting next to the redhead girl and having lunch with her.

If only Father could see me now, Billy thought.

-----

Willow liked peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches on plain white bread. Really, she did. It always tasted good, especially after sitting in it's plastic wrap all day at the bottom of her lunch. Being squished once or twice also added texture and made the bread soft. She suddenly felt very boring. It was sad, not only was she boring, but her lunch was boring. So involved in her thoughts was she, that she barely noticed when somebody sat down beside her.

"Hello."

She jumped. "What? I mean, hi. I--oh." Willow stopped, that was him. Billy Summers, the boy for whom she kept hearing about in all her classes. She had only seen him for a second in the hallway after Cordelia had scared her away. Now there he was, sitting next to her, and Willow quickly noted all of his features. He was pretty... for a boy. Not that most boys were pretty--well Xander was pretty, but not in a pretty sense, more in a manly sense. Billy was pretty, feminine looking even, but still very male. That was obvious by the shirt he wore--a rather tight one at that.

Willow briefly wondered if he was allowed to wear such a shirt on campus. Most boys didn't wear tight shirts--they wore lose ones with bright/dark colors and manly designs on them.

"You're Willow, am I right?" He began.

"Yes!" Willow cried, "Yes... I mean, yeah, I'm Willow... did you want me to go away?"

He blinked, lashes brushing across his cheek. He was awfully pale... but it wasn't as if she were a bronzed god either. "Not at all." He said, "I just thought you might enjoy some company. I'm Billy Summers, pleasure to meet you."

Were those actual words he were speaking? Willow never met a boy who spoke like that unless they were teacher's. Mr. Giles, the librarian, was the only other person who even came close to talking like that.

"Sure." Willow began, almost jumping onto the idea. Then stopped, "But aren't you supposed to be hanging out with Cordelia?"

Billy frowned. "I can't do both?"

"Not legally." Willow told him honestly. Cordelia wasn't one to be crossed. The only time she'd let any of her friends near someone like her was when they needed help with their academics and it was only as a last resource.

"Well, it's no fun unless it's illegal." Billy retorted, a sly smile lit his face.

"I suppose that's true." Willow agreed, thinking of how she accidentally decrypted one or two security systems on the net. It had been wrong of her to do so, but it had been exciting! It was the complete opposite of boring.

"So, what you got there?" Billy asked.

"Hmm? Oh, this. Peanut-butter and jelly sandwich." Willow explained, then felt like slapping herself. Duh. It's not like he never saw one before, she didn't have to go explaining the whole thing.

"This is gonna sound weird, but I've only had peanut-butter and jelly once." Billy confessed.

"What? Really?"

"Really." Billy explained. "Had it once when I was seven. There was this social thing, charity, and they had these little kiddy snacks laid out. I had peanut-butter and jelly--but it was about this small, cut up with no crust. My parent's didn't want me near it. They said it was for the--never mind."

"That's sad. Everybody should know what peanut-butter and jelly taste like." Without thinking, Willow tore a chunk out of her sandwich and offered it to him.

Billy glanced at it, then slowly reached for it. Once he had it, he sort of just stared at it, which confused Willow. Had she offended his high class nature? Maybe she should have gotten a platter or something... maybe she could swipe one from art class...

Willow's eyes widened as the boy suddenly gobbled the chunk up with one bite. He chewed with his eyes clothes, seemed to be savoring, then he started laughing. "I almost forgotten... Willow, thank you."

What? It was just peanut-butter and jelly, and only a small chunk. Instead, she said. "No problem. Hey. Don't you have a lunch somewhere? I mean, it is lunch time."

"You're right, it is." Billy began glancing about and Willow followed the motion. What was he looking for? Oh, he was probably embarrassed about what she did. Maybe Cordelia had seen them and was planning revenge even as she thought it. What horrors could Queen C unleash?

"Ah, there he is." Billy stood. "Hello Mr. Dickinson."

A man that reminded Willow of a character out of a fairy tale book appeared. He was holding what looked like a picnic basket. Apparently Billy knew this man.

"I was concerned that you might not know when to come." Billy started, "But I suppose Teresa called to find out when lunch was. Thank you." He took the basket. "I'll leave this in the quad, you can come and get it when I'm finished."

The Mr. Dickinson gave a bow then walked away.

Willow looked at Billy questioningly.

What the hell was that? She wanted to ask, only, minus the hell part. Was this for real?

"Here's my lunch. My parent's are rather strict about my diet. And they're somewhat paranoid about other outsiders feeding us food." Billy said planting the basket between them. He flipped the lid off and smiled at the contents inside. "Tell me Willow, when was the last time you had apple cider?"

-----

TBC...

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