CHAPTER 166 – JUST PEACHY, WITH A SIDE OF KEEN

Mike came rushing out the back door of the bar, followed by some other men, just as William, holding onto Buffy, were about to enter.

"What happened?" Mike asked.

"Demons."

"Figured, why didn't you come get me?"

"We got jumped, wasn't any time for coming to get you," William said.

"You guys alright?"

Buffy's head turned toward the voice, her eyes narrowing. It was the dark haired woman who had stood next to William at the bar, with so much familiarity.

"More or less, got to get this gunk washed off of us though. Seems to be of a burning nature; quite a bit, actually."

Miranda bit back a smile, noticing that Spike had seemed to have lost the working-class accent she had gotten used to hearing him speak with, "Yeah, go ahead. We’re good," she said, stepping aside, "you and...?"

"Elizabeth," William said, "Elizabeth, Miranda. Miranda, Elizabeth."

Buffy only nodded, appraising the competition. She felt William’s hand tighten around hers; assuring her without words that this woman wasn’t anyone to worry about.

"Nice to meet you," Miranda said, then turned back to William, "Go on, take care of yourself and Elizabeth."

"I will," he said.

William let go of Buffy’s hand just long enough to fumble with the keys to the basement door. "Be careful, it’s dark. Light went out last week, and I keep forgetting to replace it," he warned, reaching back for her hand. She took it, and they made their way down the stairs. Once there, he reached up, and pulled a chain for the overhead light.

She looked at him questioningly, not seeing anything but the furnace, washer and dryer, and a bunch of boxes.

"It’s this way," he said. They walked to the other end of the basement, where he produced a second key, and let her into his room. He left the door open so she could see, before he turned on the light in the ceiling. Coming back to her, he closed the door, locking it.

"Going for that minimalist look I see," she said, frowning at the Spartan conditions. "Not as nice as your... your home," she said, just barely catching herself from saying apartment.

He stared at her, but didn’t respond, "Don’t need much, I guess. Come on, bathroom’s this way."

Buffy followed him into the small bathroom. He turned on the faucets; "There’s a towel behind the door; best you get out of those things quick as you can. It’ll take a while for me to adjust this," he said, as he knelt in front of the tub.

She hesitated for a moment; embarrassed suddenly to be undressing in front of him, even though his back was to her. But the offending, ooze soaked clothing was only making the burning worse. She tore them off, leaving them in a pile on the floor, quickly grabbing the towel from the door and pulling it around her.

"I think it’s ready," William said, standing up. He looked at her, then looked away. "You want to be careful if you adjust it. The hot is on the opposite side than usual, and there’s more cold than hot, unfortunately. Oh, it’s not such a good spray, you might have to..."

"I’ll figure it out," she interrupted.

"Right."

"What about you?" she said, noticing that his forehead and scalp had turned from pink to bright red from his own burns.

"I’m okay, I can wait until you’re done," he said, putting his hand up to his forehead and trying to not wince.

"No William, it’s your shower, you shouldn’t have to wait."

"Elizabeth," he said, looking up in exasperation. "Please just get in, um I mean, unless you’re suggesting...uh, nevermind."

Her eyes widened for a moment, "I wasn’t," she said quickly, "but that’ll work."

He just stared at her, his mouth opening and closing.

"I’m just being practical, come on, lets get this burning crap off of us!" she said, getting into the shower. She pulled the shower curtain most the way closed, leaving enough room for him to enter, and dropped the towel back out onto the floor.

He stood there, frozen, as he heard the shower start, and then a piercing scream.

"What’s wrong?"

"Guess there was still some cold water in the pipes. Sorry, it’s okay now."

He let out a relieved breath.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well what?"

"Are you coming in, or are you just planning on standing out there until I’m done?" she asked, peeking at him through the opening.

Looking back at her, he pulled off his shirt.

Smiling a little to herself, she ducked back behind the curtain to give him some privacy. She heard the sound of his belt hit the floor, and moments later felt him enter the shower, and saw the shower curtain move as he closed it the rest of the way.

Her back was to him, her hair in the water’s spray as he entered. She didn’t say anything, just lifted her arm up, and tilted the showerhead back, so that he could rinse off as well.

"It’s still on you," he said, looking at her back, which was streaked with the brownish gray still, red showing around the edges.

"It’s sticky."

"Hold on," he said, half way stepping out of the tub to reach something on the sink.

"Got something that’ll help," he said, taking the washcloth from her.

"What is it?"

"I believe that the name is Fels Naptha," he said, as he rubbed the hard bar on the washcloth.

"Isn’t that...?" she asked, as she felt him start to rub her back.

"Laundry soap, yes. Works wonders on hard to clean spots of blood and guts I’ve found though."

"No wonder my mom used to buy it," Buffy mused.

"It’s coming off now," he said, as he worked the washcloth in small, gentle circles around her back, careful to not cause more pain to her already irritated skin. He reached over and got a bar of milder soap, and used that to wash away any residue of the harsher one from her back.

His movements slowed, and he became mesmerized by just the feel of her back under his hands, as they slowly moved over her soft skin. So very much he wanted to kiss the little spot right between her shoulder blades, the one he knew always made her shiver in delight. Instead shook his head to clear his reverie, and moved the showerhead to rinse her off.

"Here," he said, having soaped up the washcloth again, "you do your face and your front, while I take care of your hair for you. Make sure you don’t get any in your eyes. Stings like a bi...a lot," he corrected. "I know."

"What about you?" she asked softly. "You should be getting this stuff off of yourself, too."

"I’m okay, I didn’t have as much on me. It’s almost gone on it’s own," he said, starting to massage her scalp with the shampoo.

"I don’t remember bringing my shampoo," she teased him, sniffing.

"Um...yeah, well, I like it too."

"I know," she said smiling to herself, although she knew he’d had his own favorites, none of which had ever been vanilla anything.

She closed her eyes and let herself relax as he massaged the shampoo into her scalp. He pushed her head back under the water, and after rinsing out the suds, added conditioner, running his fingers through the tangles, like he’d seen her do, until her hair was snarl free and squeaky clean. He smiled at his handy work.

"Good as new, luv," he said, "wanna get dried off, or want to stay and soak up more of the barely warm ambience of my pathetic shower?"

She turned to look at him, and shook her head, "No, it’s your turn now, William," she said, as she shimmied around him, her bare flesh on his, causing him to gasp softly.

Pushing on his chest, she backed him into the water, and reached over his head to direct the spray for his height. As she did, she slipped a bit, falling into him. He grabbed onto her to prevent them both from falling. He looked at her, his face betraying both his desire and emotional turmoil from having her so close to him again.

"Um..."

"Yeah," she said, taking a step back, but not taking her eyes off of his, "you should maybe turn around now."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers, but all too aware of the rise and fall of her breasts, and the heat between their bodies. Buffy noticed it too, of course. Even without looking south, even before she’d fallen into him and felt his desire, even before he’d washed her back, and for a moment she’d thought she felt his warm breath on her skin. There were no surprises here; they’d always had heat between them.

She’d kept her eyes on his, but couldn’t help seeing the bruises on his torso. However, it was when he had turned, that she had to swallow down a gasp. There in vivid colors crisscrossing his back, were scars and bruises, proof of his new and dangerous life he’d been living. Lower down the back of his knee was angry purple, and swollen. It was no small wonder he’d been limping.

Buffy took the washcloth, and began to wash his back, as he had done for her. William winced when she went over a particularly nasty one starting on his right shoulder, although she tried to be as gentle as she could.

"I’m sorry," she said. Putting aside the washcloth, her fingers feathered over the angry gash.

"It’s alright, rest of it feels...nice," he said, hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

He gave a small nod.

"Okay, now for your head...hair!" she amended quickly, when she saw him freeze.

He reached out his hand behind him for the bottle. She was disappointed, but didn’t say anything. His blonde, Spike curls had been calling out to be touched, as she unabashedly stared at them now. Still, encouraged by his little admission, she returned her attentions to his back, alternately stroking and massaging.

"Ready for the conditioner?"

"Thanks," he said, putting his hand out. Instead he felt it being squeezed onto his hair, and her hands rubbing it in. He gave himself over to her touch and the nearness of her body almost, but not quite touching his. Bitter tears of yearning fell at what he’d been denying himself, for what he told himself he didn’t deserve.

"That’s enough!" he said suddenly and a bit too loud.

Buffy froze.

"I mean, I got it," he added, when she didn’t reply.

Quickly he finished rinsing his hair. "Best find some clothes for you, think yours are done for," he said not looking at her, as he turned around.

"Are you finished, or do you want me to leave the water running?"

She shook her head.

William turned off the water and pulled open the shower curtain, grabbing a towel he handed it to her. After grabbing his own, he stepped out of the tub, pulling the shower curtain closed between them as he did, partly to preserve what remaining warmth was in the room, but more so because he couldn't bear being so close to her this way anymore.

Without another word, she heard the door to the bathroom open and close, and she was alone. Buffy stood there in shock for a few moments, wondering what had happened. Finally, she covered herself with the towel, listening for him to return with the clothes he’d mentioned. Seconds turned to minutes, and her shock began to turn to anger.

Outside of the bathroom, William paced around the room, muttering to himself. Going to the dresser, he rifled through a sock drawer, until he found what he was looking for.

Hands shaking, he opened up the new pint of whiskey and drank straight from the bottle. His eyes stung along with his throat, but he felt calmer after a long pull. Closing the drawer, he found some clothes in a pile and got dressed, absentmindedly even putting the duster back on.

Buffy sat on the closed lid of the toilet seat and listened as the drawer was opened and closed, assuming that he had been looking for something for her to wear. Thinking she heard him approaching the bathroom, she stood up, but no knock came. She waited and waited, wondering what the hell he could be doing for so long. Her foot tapped impatiently on the cold tile floor, as she grew angrier and angrier, at both her untenable situation, and at him.

Forlornly, she looked down at her own ooze soaked clothes on the floor. The acidic blood of the demons had burned through them, leaving them in tatters. "Definitely not a good option," she muttered.

Finally, she stood up, and went to the door, clutching the towel around her. She put her ear to the door. Hearing nothing, she opened it up, and was surprised to see William just standing against the wall near the door, staring off into space. A couple of large candles burning on the dresser, now replaced the harsh overhead light.

"What are you doing? I thought you were going to get something for me to wear, so I could leave." She glanced down at his hand and saw the bottle, and her lips tightened into a hard expression.

Slowly he looked up at her. "Elizabeth," he said softly, his eyes focusing as if he’d just become aware of her presence.

"Hello! Clothes! Unless you want me to leave wearing this towel, but I will if I have to; I’m sure as hell not sticking around here to watch you abuse yourself."

He didn’t answer her.

"Fine, I’ll find some myself," she said exasperated, turning away.

His hand shot out and grabbed her arm, "Don’t walk away from me!" William yelled.

Instinctively, she swung at him, but he grabbed hold of her wrist a split second before her fist made contact with his nose. The bottle broke as it hit the floor, filling the room with the smell of whiskey.

"Let me go!" she yelled back, twisting to get away, but he held tight.

"Who are you? I look at you and I don’t see William anymore, and I don’t see Spike! I don’t know what I see anymore. What do you want from me?" she repeated.

The towel had fallen to the floor, when she’d swung at him. Still holding onto her raised hand, and other arm, he looked down at her body, her chest heaving angrily. Unconsciously, his tongue licked his lips, as he stared at her.

Suddenly, he pulled her towards him.

"Bastard!" Buffy said through gritted teeth, as his mouth crashed down on hers, tasting of whiskey, and she moaned as his tongue slipped inside her mouth. One hand firmly taking hold of her breast, the other held her around the waist, tight against him.

NOVEMBER 15, 2009

SATURDAY

NOON

***

"No!" he screamed, thrashing the bed covers.

William opened his eyes to the dim light of the low burning candles, and to the fading scent she’d left behind. Or maybe it was from the dream; he wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

Shakily, he sat up on the side of the bed, his head swimming dizzily, but he willed his aching and battered body upright, and  went into the bathroom. There, still lying on the floor, were the  remnants of Elizabeth’s demon-tattered clothing. It hadn't been a dream; she'd really been here. Sinking down against the tub, he put his head in his hands, and wept.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was still sitting in the bathroom, when an hour later he heard pounding on his door.

"I know you're there Spike! I saw your car outside," Miranda called through the door.

"Go away!"

"No, I won’t. I told you to get out of here for a few days, and I meant it!"

"Fine, I'll leave!" he yelled.

"Good, don't come back before Monday; Tuesday, even," Miranda said, with a parting knock.

Furious, he pulled himself up, threw some things into a bag, grabbed his car keys, and headed out. He stopped on the way to grab a couple of bottles of Jack Daniels, "Take 'em outta my paycheck," he said to Miranda, stomping off.

Throwing his stuff into the back seat, William sat in the car, wondering what to do, and where to go. He had no intention of going to San Marcos. Having not been there in quite a while, he knew the Wittman's would come to check on him, and he didn't want to deal with either their concern, or have to lie to them. It was just too much for him to handle.

Instead, once at the highway, William drove north, and headed up the coast. His intention was to keep driving until nightfall. Instead, an hour past Santa Barbara, he pulled into a nondescript, small old motel off of the highway. After paying for two days at the front desk, with instructions that he wasn't to be disturbed, he bought some snack foods from the vending machines. As he’d requested, his room was in the far back of the motel.

William pulled up in front of the room, and grabbed the bag from the back seat, and let himself into the room. It was small, its walls painted tan, with faux paintings of some nautical scenes, one over each bed. The room had a desk, a phone, and a small television set. The bathroom/sink area was at the far end of the room. Tossing his stuff on the extra bed, William drew the blinds closed. Except for the a little stream of sunlight where the curtains didn’t quite close over the edge of the windows, it was pitch black in the room.

Tossing his shirt over the chair, William sat down on the bed, and uncapped one of the bottles. Pouring a good measure into the tumbler he’d retrieved from the sink, he drank it down, neat.

NOVEMBER 16, 2009

SUNDAY

4:00PM

With no sense of how much time had passed, Buffy sat huddled in bed like a person in shellshock, since returning home early yesterday morning from her impromptu William-finding mission. Though the simple truth was that it was just as much purposeful, as shock. She’d come to realize that Spike had been onto something back in Sunnydale, back when she'd found him in the high school basement so very long ago. He'd told her if you didn't move, didn't speak, didn't think, that it didn't hurt as much.

Only three times since yesterday, had she spoken with anyone, and only one of those times, had it been by her initiation.

As she was driving home yesterday, she'd received a phone call from Dawn. Although she didn't want to, she knew if she didn't talk to her, Dawn would just call back until Buffy finally answered, and if she didn't, she'd worry. Reluctantly, she took the call, and as brief as she could, she told Dawn about William, less the personal stuff. She kept her voice steady and emotions in check because she knew that Dawn would rant and be furious at William, when she couldn't be.

"He's working in a demon bar?" Dawn had sputtered, "Is he crazy?"

"I'm afraid so," Buffy had answered, with a small, tight laugh.

"Really? Crazy-crazy?"

"No, not like vampire-in-the-school-basement-possessed-by-The-First-crazy, more like, I-found-out-I-was-a-vampire-and-now-nothing-means-a-damn-crazy. Other than that, I'm afraid he knows exactly what he's doing."

"What's that? Trying to get himself killed?" Dawn asked.

"Looks like," Buffy said softly.

"Oh, Buffy! I'm so sorry. I swear I'm going to kill him before he gets the chance. I'm going to go down there and kick his ass. I'll have John go with me. We can..."

"Don't!" Buffy said. "Let it go, Dawn. He made it clear it's his life to do what he wants with it, even if it gets him hurt...or worse."

"You don't mean that, Buffy."

"I have to mean it, Dawn," she said, taking a deep breath. "I got to get off now, I'm driving, okay? Please Dawn, don't do anything, let it go."

Dawn hesitated.

"Please Dawn? You've got to promise me!" Buffy pleaded.

"Okay, Buffy. I promise, but only for you," she conceded the backwards logic, keeping her fingers crossed, just in case.

~~~

Then yesterday afternoon, Clem had come over. When she didn’t answer the door, he had come in anyway.

"Buffy?" Clem said, poking his head into the bedroom.

She looked up at him slowly, "Clem."

"What happened Buffy? I didn’t hear your car last night. You saw him, didn’t you?"

Buffy nodded, "Yeah, in L.A., actually."

"What happened?"

"I don’t want to talk about it," she’d replied, turning away.

He didn’t say anything for a minute.

"You sure? You know I’m a good listener," Clem said softly.

"I know. I just can’t, not right now."

"Okay, but if you want to..."

"I know. Thanks."

Clem turned to walk away.

"He’s so lost," she said in a small voice.

He came back into the bedroom, and sat down on the bed, and took her hand. "I know. I can go and talk to him. I’ll make him listen Buffy, even if he doesn’t want to."

She shook her head, "No, you can’t. Nobody can. He won’t listen. If he won’t listen to me..."

"I know him Buffy. I know how stubborn Spike can be."

"And don’t you think I do?"

"Of course you do..."

"Then don’t. I’ve already tried."

"You sure?"

She nodded.

"Okay, but if you change your mind..."

"I know. Thanks, Clem."

He’d left soon afterwards, but only after she promised him that she’d get up and eat some soup he’d brought over.

~~~

In the middle of the night Buffy suddenly rose, and went to find her phone.

"Hello?" asked a sleepy voice.

"I’m sorry, did I wake you?"

"Buffy? Is that you? What’s wrong?" asked Giles as he sat up and automatically reached for his glasses from his bedside table.

Buffy explained to him in as much and as little detail as possible, about the demon problem in L.A. where William was working.

"It’s a bad scene. I’m afraid for him Giles, afraid that he’s going to get himself killed. These Gregorlines, they weren’t your every day run-of-the-mill type demons."

Giles had gone into his study and was now looking into his demon database, as they spoke. "You’re right Buffy, these demons usually work as scouting agents for a cult of demons named the Frashiks who usually only come around when they’ve gotten word that a town is ripe for the picking; that is, there’s no slayer to stop them."

"But it’s L.A., Giles! Not exactly the size of Sunnydale."

"Yes, I realize that, but these demons have tried to take over large cities before, it’s just that they’ve yet to succeed."

"And you think that’s why they’re in L.A. now?"

"I’m afraid that assumption may very well be correct."

"Then I’ll have to take care of them, I’m still The Slayer."

"A slayer," Giles corrected, gently.

"A slayer," she said, resigned.

"No Buffy, let me call Wesley and make sure he knows. He’s got over a dozen slayers in L.A. he can put on it."

"Shouldn’t he have already known about it, then?"

"Yes, one would think that."

"Well, I’m not going to wait for Wesley to get his group of slayers involved, Giles. I just can’t!" she said. William might very well have a death wish, but she’d be damned if she’d make it easy for him.

"I’ll call Wesley to find out right away, and get back to you."

"Giles, it’s 3:00am here."

"Do you want me to wait, Buffy?"

"No," she said, swallowing, "I don’t."

"Then I’ll call you back," he said hanging up.

Twenty minutes later, the phone rang.

"Giles?"

"Yes. I just talked to Wesley. I had to track him down. It seems that him and his slayers have been in Mexico for a couple of weeks taking care of a demon problem in Encinada. The interesting thing about it, is that they’ve been fighting the same type of demons; the Gregorlines."

"Pretty convenient coincidence, isn’t it?" Buffy asked.

"Yes, that’s exactly what we thought, that they’d been set up to be out of town so that the demons could establish a foothold in Los Angeles. Wesley is rounding up the slayers as we speak, and bringing them back to L.A. He’ll have them there before day’s end; by the evening for sure."

"Did you tell him about Ipso Facto?"

"Yes, he’ll have a couple of slayers stationed in the bar tonight, with a couple more in the outside, and another few patrolling the general area."

"What did you tell him about William?"

"You needn’t worry, Buffy. I only told Wesley what he needed to know about, although I did warn him that William now looked like Spike again, but that he most definitely wasn’t a vampire. Of course, the slayers would know that instinctively."

"Why would they even think it? Most of them have never seen him, unless any of them were from Sunnydale."

"You forget, William the Bloody’s fame quite proceeds him. He is very much in the annals of watcher’s textbooks, those that hadn’t been destroyed, and the newer ones we’ve put together in the past seven years; along with pictures, of course."

"Forget?" she snorted.

"What I mean, Buffy," he said gently, "is forgotten how he was, and is, perceived outside of your very personal experiences with him."

"Oh," Buffy said, her mind retrieving and reviewing, in nanoseconds, the very vast library of just what those very personal experiences with him had been.

"Still, shouldn’t the damned textbooks have been updated, to reflect that William the Bloody just happened to save the world?"

"Of course, they have been. I dare say though, I can’t imagine, given William’s current state of mind, that he would want that sort of attention from the slayers either."

Buffy sighed, the fight gone out of her. "You’re right Giles. I’m sorry if I sounded so..."

"Exasperating?" he offered.

"I was going to say like a bitch."

"I’d never think that of you Buffy. I’ve got far too much respect for you. And Buffy, one more thing?"

"Yes?"

"Don’t be so hard on yourself."

A small snort escaped her before she answered. "Easier said than done."

"I know, but try anyway. For me?"

"I’ll try."

"Good. I’ll let you know the outcome, as soon as I hear from Wesley. Don’t worry, William’s safety is the highest priority of the mission."

"I would’ve thought that saving L.A. from the demon hoards would be the highest priority."

"Well, next to that, then."

"Fair enough. Thank you, Giles. For everything."

"You’re welcome, Buffy."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NOVEMBER 17, 2009

MONDAY

6:00AM

Buffy startled as the clock radio came on, alerting her to the time. Wearily, she got up out of bed, and went to turn on the coffeemaker, like she did every morning. Her head throbbed, and she felt light-headed. Grim faced, she made a mental note to eat something before she left the house, so that she wouldn’t fall over in an exhausted heap in front of her class. She grabbed the coffeepot and poured the half-cup it had already made, replaced it, and headed for the showers.

By the time she got to school, she was feeling a bit better, physically, anyway.

Mrs. Carpello came down to her classroom as she was getting her lesson plans in order, to tell her that Lily wouldn’t be coming in that day.

"Her son Brian is home from school with the flu. She said they had to take him to the hospital on Saturday. She said he had an extremely high fever, and wound up having a febrile seizure."

"Oh my God, is he okay?" Buffy asked.

"He is now, but he’s still pretty sick. She said he was fine on Friday evening, but by Saturday morning he was sick as a dog; throwing up, fever, sore throat..."

"Didn’t he get a shot?"

"A flu shot? I don’t know," Mrs. Carpello answered. "Probably. All the schools were offering them. Anyway, Elizabeth, I just wanted to let you know that Lily wouldn’t be in, so if you need any help let me know."

"Okay, but I’m sure we’ll be fine. If you talk to Lily again, will you tell her I’ll give her a call after school?"

"I will."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy went back to working on her classroom plans, the ones she’d neglected to do over the weekend, as she tried to ignore the pounding headache which was coming back with a vengeance. Her stomach had also started to hurt.

"Probably because you didn’t put anything in it except coffee and toast for almost three days," she told herself.

8:30am

Buffy looked up at the clock, then down at her watch, and made a face. Usually by this time, half her class had already arrived. School officially started at 8:50, but about half of the kids went to the All Day room before school, so their parents could get to work on time, and almost all the others were dropped off by now.

Getting up, she went out into the hall, just in time to see about a dozen of her students heading down to the classroom.

"Hey, I was beginning to wonder where everyone was," she said.

"This is all of us from the All Day room," Sally said.

"How many are there usually?" Buffy asked.

"I don’t know, a lot more!"

"Where is everyone?"

"Sick."

"I’ll be right back," Buffy said, turning to Sally. "You’re in charge for a few minutes, okay?"

Sally stood up straight, "I’ll make sure they get started on their morning work," she said, seriously.

"I’m sure you will, but I’ll be right back."

Buffy walked into the office, and until Sue was off of the phone. It was a call-off by one of the parents, she could tell.

"What’s up?" Sue asked her.

"That’s what I was going to ask, I’ve only got about a dozen students here this morning, where is everyone?"

Sue just looked at her, "Didn’t you seen the news this weekend?"

Buffy shook her head, "No, I was...out of town."

"Well, that flu they’ve been warning about, it’s hit, and hit hard. There are schools closing all over from so many of the students being home sick. I’ve had over 30 calls already this morning," she said, turning, as the phone rang. "And that’s probably another one."

"Hello? Yes, I see. I’ll let Mrs. W. know."

"That’s another one, Seth is out for the day."

Buffy shook her head, "I don’t understand. What about the flu shots they all got a few weeks ago?"

"I don’t know, sometimes it’s too little, too late, or it’s another strain," Sue said.

"Crap!"

"Yeah, you said it."

"Well, guess I’d better go and teach the students I do have here today."

"Okay. Listen; if any of the kids start to get sick, just send ‘em down right away. I have a feeling I’m going to be calling moms and dads to come get their little angels all day."

"Looks like it," Buffy said, as she walked back to her classroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NOVEMBER 17, 2009

MONDAY

NOON

There was pounding, insistent, painful pounding. There was also ringing.

"Mr. Worthington? The front desk needs to know if you’re going to be checking out or if you’re staying on," said the motel maid’s voice through the door.

William struggled to shake off the sleep he fought so hard to find.

"Mr. Worthington?"

"What is it?" he called.

"It’s past check-out time, and we were wondering if you’re staying another day?"

William looked up at the ceiling, trying to clear his head of the inevitable hangover. He hesitated before answering; did he want to stay here? Lost?

And where was here? Nowhere, came the answer. He was nowhere, with nothing of himself to claim. Was this what his life had come to, hiding out in a place even worse than the basement room of Ipso Facto?

Chagrined, he slowly sat up. "I must have overslept," he said, clearing his throat. "I’ll be down to check-out in a short while."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

JULIAN

By lunchtime, three students had gone home sick, and by the end of the day, she was down to five, one of whom she was sure was getting sick as well. The headache she had didn’t seem to respond to anything she threw at it, and although her stomach felt a bit better, her throat was now scratchy, and she felt feverish.

"Psychosomatic," she told herself. After all, being in a room full of sick people all day...and another reason she would never have made it in the medical profession.

Mrs. Carpello called a meeting for after school.

"Think she’s going to close the school tomorrow?" Marilyn asked Buffy as they walked downstairs to join the others.

"One can only hope."

They walked in and took their seats. One of the teachers was already speaking.

"...we’ve had more than half our students out ill today, and I think that if we’re anything representative of the county at all..."

"It is," Mrs. Carpello said, "it's been on the news all afternoon. Most all the schools have had an extreme number of absences. I expect that the school board will hear from the county and state health departments this evening, and close all the schools tomorrow, and possibly for the rest of the week in order to contain it."

"That will be a lot of school to make up," Marilyn said.

"True," Mrs. Carpello answered, "but we have more latitude here, than at the public schools. We’re small enough that we can find out what will be most convenient for the majority of families; even if it means a couple of weekend days. If not, there’s always the option of making spring break shorter, or going another week or more into summer break."

Groans were heard.

"I know you don’t want that, no one does, but that's where it stands for now. The important thing right now is to get this outbreak contained before we have 100% of our students sick."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"So, how will we know about tomorrow?" Marilyn asked.

"It should be on the evening or late news. I would say, don’t plan on being here tomorrow, unless you hear otherwise from me. As far as Wednesday, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I need each of you to call the parents tomorrow, and find out how many of your students would still be staying home. Then you'll report back to me. After I get a count from everyone, I’ll be able to tell you. If more than 50% are well enough to return, we’ll resume with classes. If not, you’ll repeat the calls on Wednesday and Thursday."

"That’s a lot of calling," Buffy said. "Each of us will have to call something like twenty sets of parents to find out how the kids are doing, and then call them back to let them know one way or the other? That’s forty some phone calls, and it’s not like we'll just be able to just ask, ‘What’s your child's status? Thank you and good-bye.’ None of us will be able to do that."

"I know it is, Elizabeth. But you can also ask them to call and let you know if their child is well enough to return, and also, I’ll update the message board, as well as the answering machine, so one phone call should do it. Per day, that is."

"Mrs. Carpello, Elizabeth has a point," Sue said, "I don't know of any other school whose teachers have such a close, personal relationship with their students and families. However, under the circumstances, I think that you should utilize the automated phone system to both notify them of the school closings, and to ask them to leave us a message about their child's health. If it’s something serious, then they can call the teacher directly, or ask that we call them back. I also think that the message board should be utilized. There’s an easy way to set up a questionnaire regarding if their child is still ill, and what day they expect them to be well enough to return. I can stay after and set that up, if you wish."

"You all like that idea better?" Mrs. Carpello asked.

Everyone nodded, enthusiastically.

"Very well, thank you for the excellent idea, Sue. I’d still expect to hear from all of you tomorrow, to keep me updated. I suspect that you’ll be hearing from many of your student’s parents, regardless."

Buffy let out a sigh of relief. The meeting was over a few minutes later. She and Marilyn walked out to their cars together.

"I’m glad you said something, Elizabeth. Otherwise we would’ve spent all day tomorrow and tonight on the phone."

Buffy coughed, "I’m just glad Sue spoke up. At least it didn’t make it just sound like I was whining."

They stopped at Marilyn’s car.

"Well, guess I’ll see you later in the week, then," Buffy said.

Marilyn nodded, "Yeah, maybe. By the way, how are you feeling? You don’t look so good yourself."

"I’m okay, just have a headache I can’t seem to shake today. I’ll be alright."

"You’d better be," she said, shaking her finger at her, "somebody has to stay well."

"I’ll be fine. Same goes for you!"

Marilyn laughed, and crossed her fingers, as she walked off to her car.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3:30PM

Thinking of the rich soup that Clem had left her, Buffy reluctantly stopped at a convenience store to buy something quick, light, and more importantly, microwaveable. She knew she had next to nothing in the house, but couldn’t stand the thought of going to a regular supermarket. She bought some canned soup, a loaf of bread, yogurt, and some 7-Up, promising herself, she would actually purchase some real food sometime this week.

On her way out, she ran into one of the parents of one of her ill students in the parking lot, who had also come for quick ‘sick’ foods, such as popsicles, applesauce, and ginger ale. Katie’s mom kept her talking in the light drizzle, for over ten minutes.

By the time Buffy arrived home, she felt like she didn’t even have the energy to get out of the car. Just opening the bottle of 7-Up seemed like an effort. Still, she poured herself part of a glassful, and took it to her bedroom. Telling herself she just needed a little nap, she lay down on top of the blankets, and fell asleep.

Three hours later, she woke, teeth chattering, and shaking with chills. It took all of her effort to pull the covers around her.

A couple of more hours later, she once again awoke, drenched in sweat, and nauseous. Yanking off the covers, she sat up slowly.

"This can’t be good," she said feeling her forehead and wondering where she’d put her thermometer the last time she’d used it.

Taking a sip of the warm 7-Up only served to suddenly make her want to throw up. Somehow, she made it to the bathroom, and threw up into the sink. Her sweat-drenched clothing was making her chilled again, and she sat down on the toilet, and with effort, pulled them off. Teeth clenched from the effort, she put on her nightgown, and robe, and started off to the kitchen.

"Damnit!" she said, finding only one aspirin left in the bottle. Gritting her teeth, she swallowed it down with some water, hoping that it would stay down long enough to do her some good. She grabbed a bucket from the laundry room, and went back to bed.

It wasn’t to be the case; no sooner had she lain down, than she had to throw up again. Leaning over, she emptied the scant contents of her stomach into the bucket.

Covering herself up, she lay there shaking with chills again, as her fever climbed higher and higher.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

LOS ANGELES

IPSO FACTO

8:00PM

Miranda hadn’t said much to Spike since he’d come on tonight. She’d been more than ready to have it out with him, if he’d showed up in the state he’d been in when he’d left. However, he’d been nothing but polite, subdued, and even sober, since he’d started his shift. That in and of itself was strange, but she kept quiet, watching him from a distance.

William was distracted all night. He’d had a vague, but gnawing sense of unease, starting with the drive back to Los Angeles, and only increasing as the night wore on. Thinking that it must be demon trouble brewing as the source, he kept careful watch on the place. If anything, though, the demon population seemed to be quite light tonight, and those there, weren’t the types usually given to violence.

However, more than once during the evening, William had the distinct feeling that he was being watched, but scanning the bar did little to ascertain whomever or whatever was watching him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

JULIAN

9:00PM

Buffy awoke, sweating profusely. She somehow managed to get out of her cocoon of blankets, and fought the arms of her robe until she had gotten out of it as well. Trying to stand, she swayed on her feet, and sat back down. Her head thundered with the sound of her own blood pumping in her ears.

Slowly, she teetered to the bathroom, and looked in the medicine cabinet for the thermometer; it was there. She stuck it under her tongue, almost making herself gag, and took her temperature. It buzzed, and she took it out, holding it away to read the numbers. 103.9 degrees it read. She took it again, not believing it.

103.9 degrees, it read for the second time.

Buffy stood in the bathroom, trying to remember what she knew about breaking a fever. Running cool water over her wrists was the first thing that came to mind. Wasn’t that what her mother had done when she was a child? Or had she read it somewhere? She turned on the tap to cool, and forced her wrists into what felt like the icy stream for a few minutes. However, her temperature didn’t show any change when she took it again a few minutes later.

Glancing over at the adjacent door to the spare room, that had most recently been William’s room, an idea came to her feverish brain. Opening the door, she walked across the room to the closet door leading to the annex. Holding onto the walls for support, she slowly made her way up the narrow stairs to the attic for the first time since William had left. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she labored to reach the top. Once there, she swayed from dizziness, and just nearly managed to not fall backwards down the stairs.

As she’d suspected, the sealed off room was much cooler. Hopefully, it would bring her temperature down; she just had to stay there for a while.

In the pitch dark, and with her inherent slayer sense of space diminished by illness, Buffy stumbled over the boxes William had been looking through, only righting herself seconds before crashing into the windows. She stood there a minute, leaning against the wall, panting. Finally, as she regained a modicum of her equilibrium, she inched her hand up the wall, until it made contact with the large metal ring on one of the vertical slated windows. Pulling it hard, the shades opened up across most of the room, illuminating the space.

Slowly she made her way over to the couch. As she collapsed onto it, a cloud of dust billowed up, making her cough. Reluctant now to lie on the dirty couch she eyed the floor, her foot sweeping over the inviting coolness of its surface.

Scooting off the couch, she leaned back against it for a while, but exhaustion and dizziness was making her light-headed, and soon gravity won out. Buffy stretched out on the floor, the coolness feeling good to her feverish skin.

At eye level, she caught sight of a half-empty bottle of water. The floor sloped slightly in that direction, but something underneath the couch was stopping it from rolling; something she’d never seen there before. Curious, she moved the bottle aside, and began to pull.

It kept coming and coming: a large, flat object, wrapped in brown paper. Somehow she got it out, and with one hand, started to tear the wrapping off the back. When she had torn it all she could, she managed to turn it over, propping it upright against the couch. Half of the paper came down, and she pulled the rest of it to the bottom.

In the moonlight of the room, for the first time, she saw the picture William had painted in art class for her that summer. It was of her, and it was beautiful. Standing with her back to the viewer, wearing a light blue dress, which seemed to gently billow in the warm breeze, she stood at the water’s edge of Clear Lake at Fuller’s Resort.

This must have been the surprise he’d hinted at this summer. He had already given her a couple of smaller still life’s he had painted - one of fruit, and one of a wine bottle and glass, which she’d hung up next to the kitchen table.

"I’m working on another one. It’s quite a bit larger," he’d told her.

"What is it?" she’d asked.

He’d smiled, arching his eyebrows; "It’s a surprise. You’ll have to wait and see."

"Meanie," she said, flopping down on his lap, "you’ve got me all curious now. How big is it? What’s it of? Tell me, tell me!"

He laughed; a full-hearted laugh, which lit up his face, and always made her joyous to see. Then he’d kissed her, "Uh-uh. I won’t reveal state secrets that easily, missy."

"Oh no?" she teased, kissing his neck slowly, the way she knew would have the most effect.

"Uh-uh," he’d replied, though not quite as firmly this time. "And as for how big it is," he said grinning, as he’d grabbed her hand and put it over the bulge in his pants.

"Wow! That is big!" Buffy said, eyes wide in mock horror.

"Come ‘ere you saucy wench!" he’d said in a low sexy voice. Still kissing her, he’d stood up, and carried her to the bedroom.

"Oh, William," she whispered, throat tight and tears coming to her eyes, knowing he’d probably never see her that way again.

END CHAPTER 168