On the Other Side
folder
BtVS AU/AR › Slash - Male/Male › Angel(us)/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
30
Views:
9,080
Reviews:
40
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Slash - Male/Male › Angel(us)/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
30
Views:
9,080
Reviews:
40
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Prologue
Prologue
William shivered, whether from cold or emotion he wasn’t sure. He’d been lucky enough to find an alcove to hide away in, away from the sea of faces – none of them the one he wanted to see. He hunched back even further into the corner, glad to be away from the sympathy and the hollow “I’m sorry’s” that didn’t do a thing to ease the clenched knot in his chest that had been there since he’d gotten the news.
It had only been four days. Four days without her and he was lost and confused and….he couldn’t remember the sound of her voice. He grappled with the memories, desperate to find a “Go to bed, William” or an “Eat your dinner, William” or, more importantly, an “I love you, William.” But the last four days had been too much; he’d lost her and then lost her memory. He’d thought it would take longer.
Stretching his leg out, he wormed his way into the pocket of his slacks. Movement caught his eye and he flinched, head popping up and body tensed. It was the minister, backward-collared and solemn-faced, who said nothing, offering instead a soft, warming smile and a gentle squeeze to the toe of William’s shoe. As the minister turned back towards the milling mass it came to him, clear as if she were sitting next to him, huddled between the gaudy potted plants: “I love you, William.”
His lips stretched into a painful smile and he retrieved his hand from his pocket, drawing out his wallet as he had intended before interrupted. Opening the bi-, he, he pulled out a dog-eared photo. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he propped the photo between them and stared at the golden-haired stranger, whose piercing blue eyes ed red right back. His eyes glazed over with tears as he remembered the woman he’d called Mum.
William was deeply engrossed in his maths assignment when something slid into his field of vision. It was a snapshot of a blonde woman at the beach. She was laughing, golden curls tossed by the breeze, a delicate hand resting gently on the bulge in her abdomen. He felt the bed depress next to him and looked up into warm brown eyes.
“She’s very beautiful.” Jenny smiled, resting a warm hand between his shoulder blades.
He glanced back at the photograph. Something about her looked…familiar, almost as if he knew her. Chewing lightly on his bottom lip, he studied the photo. The beach was beautiful; golden sand and rocky cliffs, sunlight glinting off deep blue water, but it didn’t look like any place he’d ever been. It was her. There somesomething…around the eyes…the way she was almost cradling her belly…. The anvil dropped and recognition hit – hard – and, for one glimmering moment, he could feel the warm sun on his skin and smell the salty air, almost as if he were there, laughing with her.
Blue eyes, so much like those in the photo, sought confirmation in his step-mum’s face.
“You look like her.”
Drawing a shaky th, th, William scrubbed his face with the sleeve of his jacket, attempting and failing to remove the outward evidence of his sorrow. He lovingly caressed the photo of a face he’d never touch and placed it carefully back in his wallet. Maneuvering between the greenery, he slid out of the alcove into the sea of people who didn’t love her like he did. His clammy hands curled into fists and the muscle in his jaw spasmed. They had no right to be here.
Weaving through the crowd, he found what he was looking for: his father, silent and dry-eyed, and his little brother Xander, tear-streaked face pressed into his dad’s suit coat. William took his place at his father’s other side, slipping an arm around and drawing Xander into the triangle between his and his father’s bodies, squeezing both tightly.
Face buried against his dad’s chest, William gave voice to the question haunting them all: “What are we going to do now?”
Rupert Giles didn’t speak; he didn’t have an answer.
**********************************************************
**********************************************************
William shivered, whether from cold or emotion he wasn’t sure. He’d been lucky enough to find an alcove to hide away in, away from the sea of faces – none of them the one he wanted to see. He hunched back even further into the corner, glad to be away from the sympathy and the hollow “I’m sorry’s” that didn’t do a thing to ease the clenched knot in his chest that had been there since he’d gotten the news.
It had only been four days. Four days without her and he was lost and confused and….he couldn’t remember the sound of her voice. He grappled with the memories, desperate to find a “Go to bed, William” or an “Eat your dinner, William” or, more importantly, an “I love you, William.” But the last four days had been too much; he’d lost her and then lost her memory. He’d thought it would take longer.
Stretching his leg out, he wormed his way into the pocket of his slacks. Movement caught his eye and he flinched, head popping up and body tensed. It was the minister, backward-collared and solemn-faced, who said nothing, offering instead a soft, warming smile and a gentle squeeze to the toe of William’s shoe. As the minister turned back towards the milling mass it came to him, clear as if she were sitting next to him, huddled between the gaudy potted plants: “I love you, William.”
His lips stretched into a painful smile and he retrieved his hand from his pocket, drawing out his wallet as he had intended before interrupted. Opening the bi-, he, he pulled out a dog-eared photo. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he propped the photo between them and stared at the golden-haired stranger, whose piercing blue eyes ed red right back. His eyes glazed over with tears as he remembered the woman he’d called Mum.
William was deeply engrossed in his maths assignment when something slid into his field of vision. It was a snapshot of a blonde woman at the beach. She was laughing, golden curls tossed by the breeze, a delicate hand resting gently on the bulge in her abdomen. He felt the bed depress next to him and looked up into warm brown eyes.
“She’s very beautiful.” Jenny smiled, resting a warm hand between his shoulder blades.
He glanced back at the photograph. Something about her looked…familiar, almost as if he knew her. Chewing lightly on his bottom lip, he studied the photo. The beach was beautiful; golden sand and rocky cliffs, sunlight glinting off deep blue water, but it didn’t look like any place he’d ever been. It was her. There somesomething…around the eyes…the way she was almost cradling her belly…. The anvil dropped and recognition hit – hard – and, for one glimmering moment, he could feel the warm sun on his skin and smell the salty air, almost as if he were there, laughing with her.
Blue eyes, so much like those in the photo, sought confirmation in his step-mum’s face.
“You look like her.”
Drawing a shaky th, th, William scrubbed his face with the sleeve of his jacket, attempting and failing to remove the outward evidence of his sorrow. He lovingly caressed the photo of a face he’d never touch and placed it carefully back in his wallet. Maneuvering between the greenery, he slid out of the alcove into the sea of people who didn’t love her like he did. His clammy hands curled into fists and the muscle in his jaw spasmed. They had no right to be here.
Weaving through the crowd, he found what he was looking for: his father, silent and dry-eyed, and his little brother Xander, tear-streaked face pressed into his dad’s suit coat. William took his place at his father’s other side, slipping an arm around and drawing Xander into the triangle between his and his father’s bodies, squeezing both tightly.
Face buried against his dad’s chest, William gave voice to the question haunting them all: “What are we going to do now?”
Rupert Giles didn’t speak; he didn’t have an answer.
**********************************************************
**********************************************************