Time After Time Series

(characters: Not ours, Joss')

Title: Lost And Found, part A

Hoofs thundered, so loud he could hear nothing else. Branches struck his face, stinging his cheek, his eye. Cold rain drenched him, and he kept going. Riding his horse harder... he didn't want to get there, the result was always the same, but he had to.... had to get to her.

"Ariana.... Ariana!" His voice was hoarse and his throat hurt from shouting, "Ari!"

*

Xander grabbed a pile of clothes and elbowed the basement door open. Ever since they found out that Spike had been killing in his sleep, both Spike and Buffy had insisted he should move to the basement of the slayer's residence and be chained up. Xander had protested volubly only to be overruled with twin glares of exasperation from the two blondes. So Spike moved to the basement, and Xander started spending even more time at Revello Drive. He refused to admit that his apartment seemed somehow emptier without Spike in it, so he used the old he-only-calms-down-with-me excuse instead. Spike's presence in the basement conveniently meant that none of the potentials would go down to do the laundry and with Buffy and Willow busy training and researching, he got stuck with it. He was halfway down the stairs when the whimpers reached his ears.


"What the...Spike?" he said softly, running the rest of the way. Spike whimpered again and the chains tinkled as he thrashed around.

"Spike?" Xander repeated, dumping the clothes and kneeling next to the bed.

*

"No! Come back, Ari.... Oh God..." William's heart beat as loudly as the hoofs striking the ground. His horse almost slid into a ditch, but he kept going... following the brown mare streaking through the trees.

*

"Spike please...wake up, please Spike, it's just a dream, come on now, wake up for me," Xander babbled, rubbing along Spike's arms, so scared his heart felt like it would burst through his chest.

"No... not again, not again," Spike pleaded.... knowing he was entangled in a dream of times past, but unable to get out, "No... please wait.... ARI!"

Crystal blue eyes opened to stare sightlessly for a moment before focusing on him. Spike reached out as far as the chains would let him and dragged Xander close, muttering incoherently.

Xander landed awkwardly, half on the cot and half off, his face pressed into the crook of Spike's neck. "Hey, it's okay, just a nightmare, sweetheart, calm down, it's okay," he murmured.

Spike rattled the chains loudly, forcing the metal cuffs to cut into his wrists in the process. The pain brought him back... the pain, and Xander. Had he called him sweetheart? No, that wasn't very likely, was it?

Maybe not, but how likely was it that Xander was settling in for a hug, letting him hold on for dear life as he shook off the dream. He tried to collect himself. It was embarrassing, this... being chained like an animal, and now more dreams and episodes. "I'm alright, yeah? It's just the new sleeping arrangements." And yet he didn't let go.

" "I told them they shouldn't chain you up down here,, we barely got you out of the school basement in one piece—what the hell are they doing sticking you in another one, and what the hell are you doing agreeing with them," Xander muttered, pulling Spike closer. "Are you sure you're okay? That sounded pretty horrible." He didn't even think about the strangeness of caring about Spike anymore, he just slipped into caretaker mode as naturally as he would with Willow or Buffy. Annoying menace to society that he was, Spike had somehow become part of the family.

He wanted to say yes. Yes he was okay. Yes he didn't need a bleedin' nursemaid, or sympathy. Yes he was tired of being less than whole... of having memory gaps... of maybe killing people while he sleep-walked. His throat convulsed "Yes... go back to your perfect little world upstairs, you don't need to see this," he said with a harshness intended to drive Xander away.

"Oh no, you've lost your mind! Perfect little world my ass, Dawn just asked me about the first time I did...you know...it," Xander said, imitating Dawn's tone as he lifted his head, intent on getting a smile out of Spike. His smile dropped away when he saw the familiar look in Spike's eyes. "So, Spike, how do you feel about telling me another story 'cause those are good, though not wholesome fun and it'll get my mind off Dawn and her questions and keep you talking which is not always good but in this case I'll make an exception." No response from the blond and Xander was starting to worry. "SPIKE! TALK TO ME!"

He was sinking again. Sinking into the darkness. That place where the world just felt like an echo around him, where he was lost and more alone than ever. But Xander was demanding he come back... that he fight it. One part of the vampire wanted to let go, to let whatever was happening happen. Another part wanted to do as Xander said... was afraid for Xander. If this was more than just one of the episodes of madness resulting from the soul binding, if this was the start of the murderous vampire coming out to play, his boy wouldn't be safe. If the chains holding him were long enough to let him hold Xander, they were long enough to allow him to kill Xander.

That thought was enough to make him fight... claw against the darkness... struggle wildly against gravity. He clutched at Xander, holding him like a buoy in a sea of tossing waves, hanging on, listening to his voice... following it until he could hear him clearly... see him clearly. "Do you have to shout? I have sensitive ears."

Their gazes locked. "And I don't need to hear about your first time, even if it's some sort of therapy. Jealous vampire isn't a pretty sight." He was only half joking.

"Sorry, you looked kinda out of it, and I freaked a little," Xander apologized, relief colouring his voice. "Don't worry about being jealous, it wasn't that good. Or good at all. Or even fun in any way. So...tell me a story?" He fluttered his eyelashes exaggeratedly, hoping for a smile or even a laugh.

"You're humoring me." He wanted to be sour, to wallow in despair, but how could he fight the need to make Xander happy. He'd lost that battle long ago. "That sort of eyelash action usually comes with a kiss. And then I'll tell you." Spike's gaze dropped to Xander's mouth. So close, so tantalizingly close. "Might even be a better alternative to a story... the real thing."

"I am humoring, but you like telling your stories so you'll tell me one anyway. It better not be from a movie this time, though. As for your kiss," Xander grinned and rose up to plant a wet one on Spike's forehead. "Speak to me, oh story master."

A frustrated string of oaths broke from Spike, but he did manage to briefly scrape his mouth across Xander's throat, over that maddening pulse point that he longed to tease. "Right, no movies. How about that time you gave me Christmas and a whole lot more than just a bloody little kiss?"

[England 1800s]

Alexander was absolutely, positively, without a doubt in the universe, unbelievably bored. He was sitting in a lecture hall being...lectured. If there was one thing he hated in his life it was being lectured. His father had done it since he was a little boy and, quite frankly, he had had enough of it. Unfortunately his father had also insisted that Alexander get a classical education.

"We cannot remain in the merchant classes, Alexander. Our one hope of ascending socially is for you or your brother to wed ladies of stature and so you shall. A classical education will help cover the gap between them and us."

Pompous little man, was Alexander's father. David had secured his great match, having seduced the Earl of Winchester's daughter into matrimony, but Christian Harris was not yet satisfied. Never mind that as the youngest son of a merchant, Alexander had no hope in heaven or hell of securing a similar or better match. So here he was, listening to some professor or other warbling on about Modern English Literature. At least I can understand the language, Alexander thought, unlike the Ancient Greek silliness I'm supposed to memorize. The Iliad may be an interesting story but it's still written in a different and bloody difficult language.

Professor William Fine walked into the room with books piled in one arm and grooming his hair with the other. Upon capturing Professor Hibbens' attention, he explained that there had been a scheduling error and that the headmaster wanted to see him. As soon as the rotund man left the room, thirty-nine year old William dropped his books down on the podium and looked at the fresh faces of his new class. World weary, he wondered if he'd ever looked as enthusiastic... or bored ... in the case of the brunet stifling a yawn.

"Good morning, as some of you may know, I am Professor Fine. Please hold the groans, but I shall be teaching this class. It is my hope to inspire you to love the English language, to see how it can be molded and crafted, shaped into literature that is so very much more than the words themselves. You will learn to peel through layers and layers of meaning in the works we study, and hopefully reach the point where you will find you can touch the author's soul." Taking a book in hand, he'd slowly made his way to the student who wasn't paying much attention.

"But I insist you come to my class both prepared, and awake," his voice rose and he dropped the heavy book onto the desk in front of disinterestedly yours. "And that would include you, Mr......?" He trailed off, waiting for the young man to fill in the blank.

Alexander started when a heavy book was dropped in front of him, eyes darting upwards to glare at the perpetrator. Instead of the rounded stomach and red puffy cheeks he was expecting, he was treated to a scrumptious man with the most amazing face Alexander had ever seen. Where had Professor Insufferable Bore gone and who was this new professor standing over him? He could have sworn he'd only drifted off for a couple of seconds.

"Alexander Harris, sir," he said finally, prompted by Witherspoon, who'd decided to be helpful for a change.

"Alexander... Alexander the Great, Alexander Pope, there are many illustrious Alexanders, but I wouldn't expect that they fell asleep in class, Mr. Harris. See that you don't do so again." Unable to decide whether what he saw in his student's eyes was a challenge, he waited for an acknowledgement of his authority.

"Of course, sir. I will do my utmost to live up to my illustrious name," Alexander replied, a smirk twisting his lips.

"See that you do, I do not tolerate slackers, as ...your fellow students will tell you." He'd hesitated, because for an instant, he wondered if he'd had Mr. Harris in one of his classes before, but no, he didn't think that was the case at all.

Moving back to the podium, Professor Williams launched into his opening speech, one that he'd given so often over the years. And yet, his love of literature and more particularly, poetry, impassioned him. There were always new facets to be explored and ideas to be turned over and over in one's head, for that was where he did most of his living.

"Right, now that you have your assignments, I would like to discuss one last thing. Often, what makes a piece moving, what makes it resonate within us, is its' theme, or subject. The more common to the human condition and experience, the more it will resonate, the more likely it is to ring true to the reader. Give me examples of such themes."

"Love."

"Oh yes, that accounts for most of the poetry in this," he answered raising a heavy book. "It is probably the single most written about theme. Anything else?" He scanned the room and pointed to a student.

"Loss"

He nodded and pointed again, this time with his spectacles. Now that he was done reading, he didn't need them.

"Betrayal."

"Good, any more?"

"Death."

William faltered for a moment. "Yes," he said in a low voice. "You are dismissed, but I do expect to see all of you in study hall tonight."

Alexander could not say he'd been riveted by the class. No matter how beautiful the professor, it was still all about poetry and such things. He had been watching Professor Fine though, and he'd seen the look of pain when Witherspoon mentioned death. He pondered on it as he walked to his room, wondering what had caused the man to falter so at the mere mention of the grim reaper.

Still, he soon forgot as the day progressed in the usual manner. Alexander only studied as much as was absolutely required to pass each class. He had no illusions about his ability to absorb knowledge and was glad that he could, at least, work for his father and then his brother after him. It would secure a steady income, after all. The only subject he excelled in was classical mythology which held his interest like no other. Professor Debenham was quite proud of his achievements and had even urged him to take up a post at the university after his graduation.

Settling in to bed that night, Alexander briefly went through his day as was his custom, once again wondering at the look of pain on the literature professor's face. Had he lost someone recently? He wondered as he fell asleep.

"Ariana, what are you doing hiding under there?"

She lifted her head so she could be seen over the grand piano, smiling at the bemused look on William's face.

"Hush, William, I'm playing hide and seek with Imogen. She's only ten, we must indulge her a little while longer. Come hide with me and tell me of your day."

"You realize your father will have my hide?" he asked, but the defiant sparkle in her eyes told him she cared not a wit... not about the fact that he was a mere tutor, nor what her father would have to say on the subject. One day though, she'd learn that things weren't always as one wanted.

But not today. Today he would indulge her, the same way she indulged her younger sister. He joined her behind the piano, meeting the heat of her gaze when their hands brushed together.

"I'm turning sixteen on Christmas Eve, you know," Ariana said casually, leaning a little against him in a bold move that made her blush. "Father says I am to marry before I turn seventeen, that I am old enough to learn about such things."

"Ari... I am sure you shouldn't be talking about such things with me," it pained him to look at her. Beautiful, eyes shining and revealing all her feelings to him, the rosy tinge of her cheeks making him grow quite warm with thoughts of what she might be thinking, and that glossy mane that she tried so hard to keep pinned up. So beautiful, and so out of his league.

"Well I am sure I should. Who else would I be talking to about such things," Ariana insisted, frowning at his persistence in denying there were feelings between them that went beyond mere tutor and student.

He swallowed. At close quarters, she made it difficult for him to think. When he was alone in his boarding room, he could see things with the clarity of his mind. They were not meant for each other. It mattered not that, when he closed his eyes, it was Ariana he dreamed of, or that she was the inspiration of his poetry. But now, here, with her... his senses dulled his clarity, made him yearn for the things her eyes promised him.

"It's not seemly. This is ... this is entirely my fault... I should never have kissed you," he blurted. Of course it had been she who'd kissed him, or started it. What was a poor sod to do? The words had flowed out of him for weeks after that, about kisses as soft as rose petals and sighs floating on the breeze. He forced himself to look into her eyes and took her hand. "You... we must forget that ... we must."

Ariana glared angrily at William, incensed that he dared call what they had unseemly, that he dared urge her to forget. "No," she said and leaned closer to kiss him again.

Alexander woke up slowly as was his habit, first stretching his entire body before slowly opening his eyes. This morning he added a smile to the procedure, and a pleased little humming sound. He was sure he should feel ashamed of dreaming himself as a woman but he...she...well, whoever it was in the dreams always seemed so happy. Especially in the era he'd just dreamed of, with her young man in attendance. Still smiling, he reached toward the side table for his pocket watch, his smile instantly replaced by a frown when he noticed the time. He was going to be late for class!

Twenty minutes later he was rushing through the lecture hall doors, ten minutes late and hungry for skipping breakfast.

At the soft sound of the door opening, Professor Fine stopped his lecture, and turned chilly, blue eyes on the latecomer. "Mr. Harris," he said, spacing the words out, "I thought I told you, in fact I know I told you, I expect you in this classroom before class is scheduled to begin. And yet you are late and disheveled, and you have disturbed the rest of the class. I will not have such behavior in my classroom. You will be here fifteen minutes BEFORE class every day for the rest of the semester, or you shall have all of your mornings free, is that understood?"

Alexander had been lowering himself to his seat when the professor had begun speaking, and the shock at hearing the familiar voice was so great, he stumbled and fell off his chair to the floor. No...it can't be. I'm just imagining things. Ignoring the laughter surrounding him, he looked intently at the Professor, mentally subtracting a few years and some grey from his hair. Oh. My. God. It is.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. I...of course," he finally found words to stammer out.

He hastily pulled himself off the floor and onto his chair, all the while staring at Professor Fine. Professor William Fine who looked and sounded a hell of a lot like dream girl's beau.

It was unsettling, the way the boy was looking at him. And yet Professor Fine preferred this expression to the open rebellion he'd displayed yesterday morning. One had to put the fear of God into these young bucks early on, else they turned your classroom into a circus. That much, he'd learned over the years. "Of course you will. And now that you have interrupted my train of thought, you will read the assigned sonnet out loud to the rest of us and tell us... how it makes you feel." They all expected to be asked its meaning, didn't they?

Alexander merely nodded and picked up his book, still entirely too confused by the professor's resemblance to the man in his dream to react. He began to read the poem, hastily at first but then slowing down as the words filtered through his mind.

"No, no, poor suff'ring Heart, no Change endeavour,
Choose to sustain the smart, rather than leave her;
My ravish'd eyes behold such charms about her,
I can die with her, but not live without her:
One tender Sigh of hers to see me languish,
Will more than pay the price of my past anguish:
Beware, O cruel Fair, how you smile on me,
'Twas a kind look of yours that has undone me.

Love has in store for me one happy minute,
And She will end my pain who did begin it;
Then no day void of bliss, or pleasure leaving,
Ages shall slide away without perceiving:
Cupid shall guard the door the more to please us,
And keep out Time and Death, when they would seize us:
Time and Death shall depart, and say in flying,
Love has found out a way to live, by dying. "

Alexander paused a moment, frowning in thought. The Professor asked him how the poem had made him feel but poems rarely elicited a reaction from him. He'd always found them too...flowery, too fake in their protestations, nothing like his favourite subject that tried to separate fact from fiction through the ages. This one though...he looked up, sure that the feelings evoked were clear in his eyes, only to see them reflected in the Professor's own.

"It hurts," he finally whispered, "as if I have lived it."

Indeed it cut William to pieces every time he read it, but never more than today. "It hurts," Professor Fine echoed, and even managed a rare smile. "Does anyone else have any thoughts?"

Though he heard them, and even duly commented on the other answers, his gaze was still oddly locked with his slacker of a student. It was as if they'd found a common ground in the poem.

"Right. I want you all to close your books, and write something. A poem. A story. A line, anything that reflects what feeling you described a moment ago. Melancholy, deep sadness, an ache... hurt."

He walked down the rows of chairs, glancing at the papers the boys were furiously scribbling on. A nod, a word of encouragement here and there, and he found himself with his hand on Alexander's shoulder as he tried to see what the boy was writing.

Alexander frowned down at his paper, trying to understand where the words had come from. He had never been rejected in his life, mostly because he'd avoided situations that would get him rejected. His father was bad enough, he did not need to add other people to the rejected-by list. He was keeping it small and single numbered. And yet, as he reread what he'd written, he felt it as if it was true.

Today I was undone, she cried, galloping through fields and mountains,
Today I was undone, and he has caused it with his words
Such pretty words he said to me before, of love and starlight and romance,
Such cruel words he uttered in his earnestness, of duty and family and form.

Today I was undone, she cried, not caring where her mare would lead,
Today I was undone by his rejection of me
Such gentle touches he bestowed on me before, to show he cared and loved and wanted
Such cruel touches he bestowed this day, to show he did not care nor love nor want enough.

Today I was undone, and he has made me so,
and yet I love him still, she cried, as I shall love him always.

William read the words, not once, but twice. They stirred the old familiar ache, reopened old wounds and rubbed salt into them. Or was he just being sensitive today? He knew not. "Class is dismissed," he said, his voice low and husky with emotion.

"But Professor, it's early..."

"Dismissed," he repeated, releasing Alexander's shoulder "Go on. Get that sleep you needed."

Alexander remained seated, staring at the Professor as his peers left the room. The more he looked at him, the more Professor Fine looked like the William in his dream, the one Ariana had been so in love with.

"Did you know her?" he blurted out, unable to keep the question in.

"What?" Deep in thoughts of the past, wallowing in regrets and fighting old memories that still hurt, William had stood there with unseeing eyes and hadn't realized Alexander was still there. Looking very much confused, he blinked and brushed the hair off his temple.

"The girl in my dream. She loved William and I think you're him," Alexander said, growing more certain with each word. The girl was real and she loved Professor Fine.

"I don't know what you are going on about. Now isn't the time. Please collect your books and leave." His normally authoritarian tones were replaced by what sounded like a plea.

Alexander had kept the girl in his dreams a secret for many years, sure that to reveal her would lead to accusations of insanity at the very least but now, now he had finally admitted her existence he couldn't stop himself.

"I've been dreaming her since I can remember. She was just a baby at first, but then she grew up and there was this tutor, he was supposed to teach Imogen but she liked him more, and he spent time with her. Soon I loved him. She loved him. It gets confusing sometimes," Alexander trailed off, looking lost. "I'm sure it's not supposed to be this confusing."

William had been just a lowly tutor. Imogen, just another student. And then he'd been introduced to her sister, Ariana, and lost his heart for all time. Long glossy hair that slipped through his fingers like silk. A ready smile, eyes that sparkled with laughter but were also quick to flash with anger. She could have been Irish, his Ariana. It had been love, pure and true. But he'd made a mistake, a fatal one, that last day. He focused again on Alexander, angry at him for dredging up the past. Wasn't it enough he was tortured by nightmares all these years, that he paid her homage and had never strayed?

Blinking away a tear, he strode to the podium and gathered his own belongings. "Listening to gossip and then using it to wage battle is beneath you, Alexander," he ground out, giving him one last long look before leaving the room.

Alexander was too shocked to react for a few moments, and by then, the professor was long gone.

"It is him," he said softly, confirming it to himself.

***

[Present]

"I'm confused," Xander said, frowning down at Spike. He'd somehow managed to sit leaning against the wall with Spike's head resting on his lap. He rationalized his decision by telling himself that Spike needed to calm down after the episode and prolonged physical contact always helped him do just that. "Ariana was a ghost?"

"No you git, it was just like you and me... except you were me, and I was you." He stared up at Xander, and saw the boy didn't comprehend what he was saying.

Right, he'd try again. "Alexander was Ariana in his past life. He remembered her life and relationship with me... William, but I didn't recognize him, or believe him. I lost her and then... eighteen or nineteen years later, he found me. It must have been difficult for him. He didn't understand it completely, and I kept pushing him away. I thought it was a game he was playing, or ... I didn't want to face the past any more than I had to. But he kept coming back, hard as it was to be fobbed off. He kept coming. Like a bad penny," Spike grinned and shifted his head. Now he was staring at a sliver of skin right above the waistband of Xander's pajama pants. What would happen if he were to kiss that spot?

"So I was Mulder to your Scully?" Xander grinned, liking that idea. "Neat! Did I tell you stories? I betcha I was a good storyteller, way better than you."

"That came later. At first, I didn't want to listen to any of it. Your presence... your knowledge was disturbing. It took a tremendous amount of concentration to continue to teach the class and not wonder what you were writing in your notebook... whether it was another passage of my life. And the way your eyes followed me around, silently begging me for something I couldn't give..." Spike shifted again, 'accidentally' brushing his cheek against the warm skin of Xander's abs that remained exposed.

* * *

[Past]

The college field was filled with people, not only from Oxford, but from the surrounding areas as well. The fundraiser was a success, as always. Who could resist the stalls that sold freshly baked goods, grilled foods, arts and crafts, or the games that were set up? If that wasn't enough to draw a person, then the music and dancing might do it.

It was the affair of the year for the school, and William was not at all excited as he did his part in the 'Lost and Found' stall. "Red scarf with fringes, right, there you go," he passed the article of clothing to a red faced woman and gave her a smile he didn't feel. When she was gone, he thumbed through his book of poetry, fully expecting many an interruption.

Alexander walked through the fair, determined to find William and tell him what he'd discovered. He'd finally realized what was going on last night in his dreams. He had been riding, as fast as he could, tears streaming down his cheeks as he ran away from the one person he loved. He'd looked down and instead of his own body there was a dainty female one, which looked remarkably like the girl in his dreams. Ariana. He was Ariana. And if that was true, that meant that the man was William. William. No more Professor Fine for him, oh no, not when he knew how the man kissed, not when his words of love were ringing in Alexander's ears. He was not as unsettled as he should have been with the revelation, after all, he'd lived with dreams of Ariana all his life.

He finally stumbled to a stop in front of the Lost and Found stall. "How fitting, you've lost something and I have found it. Would you like it back?"

William looked up at dark, serious eyes filled with hidden messages. Eyes he'd avoided as much as possible, as he didn't enjoy feeling unsettled, or feeling as if he was on the edge of a precipice, about to plunge into an abyss. For someone who'd claimed not to like poetry, this boy had not only the art, but also the mystery and brooding nature that often accompanied the poet. He had secrets, but William did not wish to be the one to unlock them.

"Mr. Harris." He met the boy's gaze even though it inexplicably pained him to do so. "You are mistaken, no part of me or mine is missing. Perhaps you meant to go to the jesters' tent... it is in that direction," he pointed across the field.

"You always were stubborn," Alexander muttered. "Please call me Alexander, Mr Harris makes it sound as if you don't like me much. At the very least, remove the Mister, and just call me Harris," he said a little louder.

Giving a loud sigh, William rubbed his eyes. "Please don't cause a scene, I won't tolerate it," he warned. "Now if you're quite done, I have other business to attend to." It was clearly an untruth. There was no one in line behind Alexander. No one waiting to speak with William, just the book he was reading.

"I am most certainly not causing a scene. I'm simply standing here, talking with my literature professor." Alexander smiled in his most innocent way. "I'm even being helpful, offering to return lost items to him. D'you mind if I call you William? Except it took me months to get you to agree last time, and I really do not have the patience she did."

"Stop it, enough." William put his hand on Alexander's shoulder and shook him. Appalled by his lack of self-control, he let go as if his fingers had been burned. "I don't know the cause of your fascination with my distinctly unremarkable past, and quite honestly, I don't want to hear any more about it or her, from you. And you most certainly may not call me William."

"I do not think you or your past to be unremarkable." Alexander laughed brokenly, his shoulder burning where William had touched him. "You certainly tilted my world on its axis did you not?" He was suddenly on the verge of tears, the fire coming from his big revelation unable to keep him going for long. "I'm probably not taking this as well as I thought. Do not mistake this as abandonment, William, for I do not use white flags. She may have run, but I will not. I am determined to get to the bottom of this, and if I find you there, so be it. I have never been ashamed of who I am, and I do not aim to start now." The words would perhaps be more effective if your voice did not tremble like that, Alexander, he thought as he turned to leave.

The memories those words brought tore William up inside. Run from him... that was indeed what Ariana had done... straight into the arms of a cold, hard grave. He could never forgive himself... hadn't forgiven himself. That moment haunted him still. And now this young upstart was making it so much worse, even replaying the past before his eyes.

"I told you, do not call me by my given name." He took a few deep breaths, furiously trying to rein in the storm of emotions that threatened to tear him apart. "I don't believe in reincarnation, if that is what you are trying to... just stop it. Leave me alone, Alexander. Leave me to my peace, what little of it I have."


Alexander paused his escape for a second. "You called me Alexander," he pointed out, "It doesn't matter whether you believe or not. The point is, I do."

"Mr. Harris..." William ran a harried hand through his hair. "The 'point' is, this is ridiculous and irrelevant, and quite, quite irregular. You must get hold of yourself and ... I don't know... fraternize with people of your own age group."

Alexander merely raised his hand in farewell and left the fair. He very calmly made his way to his room, smiling at acquaintances and friends and stopping to chat for a few moments before he proceeded on his way. He walked into his chambers, closed and locked the door behind him and completely broke down. He screamed and raged and blamed gods and demons for making him like this, uninterested in the fairer sex, and then compounding their crime by putting him in this position, for reminding him what it felt like to kiss William when it was even more impossible to be with him now than it had been before. He finally shouted himself hoarse and lay back on his bed, too exhausted to stay conscious.

"I'm not letting him go this time. I've dreamt of him all my life, and I'm not. letting him go."

* * *

William glanced nervously at the clock in the class room. Drat that boy... now he really was arriving early every day. Staring at him with soulful eyes. Sometimes trying to talk to him. Of course the Professor couldn't have that, he'd cut him off or shuffle papers, or leave to get a book he'd forgotten, all the while praying that other students would arrive.

In an all boys college, of course he'd been the subject of other boys' tendres. It was always a difficult situation, one that had to be nipped in the bud. But unlike his colleagues, he didn't think liking other men was an abomination. How could he, when he had on occasion visited the bi-sexual brothels in London. Oh, it had been only a few times, but it had been as satisfying as his infrequent trips to the red light district here, in Oxford, where in exchange for a few pounds, a woman could be had in a hired hackney. It was better that way... he could take care of his body's needs and avoid complications. Complications were dangerous and painful. Deadly, where he was concerned. It was a blessing he wasn't often troubled by the need to couple.

The big hand moved to a quarter before the hour, and he tensed.

Alexander walked into the classroom early, as he'd been instructed to in the first class. His earlier determination not to let William go was as strong as ever, but he was beginning to feel as if he was slamming his head against a brick wall. William refused to even look at him most of the time, never mind speak to him. To top it all off, he kept having those horrible dreams, reliving the last time Ariana had spoken to William, over and over again. Today he simply had no energy to even try to talk to the professor so he simply walked to his seat and sat down. He needed a plan, something more than just trying to talk to the stubborn idiot, something that would force him to deal with what had happened. He looked at William thoughtfully, dredging up as many of Ariana's memories as he could, trying to find his weak spot.

Professor Fine stared at the book on the lectern. He read the passage again and again, but couldn't say what he had read even to save his own life. Painfully aware of Alexander's scrutiny, he was doing his best not to squirm or give in to the urge to leave the room. And yet the weight of the boy's stare was almost unbearable. He swallowed and rubbed the palms of his hands on the smooth wooden sides of the lectern.

Alexander's gaze moved down to the hands rubbing against the lectern, spending long moments just looking and imagining what they would feel like against his skin. Ariana's memories were useless, proper lady that she was she only ever felt them on her cheek and one thrilling time on the back of her neck when William had helped her put on a necklace.

"She always did think you had the most elegant hands. I used to watch you while you wrote Imogen's lessons, just sit there and follow their movement," he murmured, eyes still focused on those long fingers. "I want to feel them on me now, as I am now not then, touching my skin, stroking me."

First, there was the warm flush of anger... and then heat from the images those words brought to mind. William stilled his hands, gripping the sides of the lectern until his knuckles went white. His chest constricted, his mouth went dry. He licked his lips and looked up. "Mr. Harris, you are to consider this as study hall. Please do not make any more... noise."

Alexander looked up, meeting William's eyes. "You should hear the 'noise' I make at night when all I can remember is her life and my death. Perhaps you would listen to me then," he said coldly. He was tired of dealing with the bloody nightmares on his own while the one person who could understand refused to give him a chance to explain. He just wanted one good night's sleep so he could figure out a plan to make William see sense!

William's gut clenched. He wanted to order him out of the room. He couldn't. Not once he noticed how pale and disheveled the boy looked. Troubled. "You need to get hold of yourself. Shave. Rest more." The depths of pain he read in those eyes were almost unbearable. He gripped the desk again, this time to prevent himself from giving the lad a shoulder to cry on. He would have done that, probably for any of his students. Not this one, not when there was something going on between them that aught not ever see the light of day. "You are excused, if you wish."


(A/N: Want more... let me know! FB is greatly appreciated. I think this one will be 3 to 4 parts, I hope you enjoy it)