Subject: [SpikesSalvation] Phoenix Dreams- Chapter 12
Date: Wed, 29 Oct 2003 20:24:12 -0800 (PST)
From: Jerusha Hancock <enigmaticblue@yahoo.com>
Reply-To: SpikesSalvation@yahoogroups.com
To: SpikesSalvation@yahoogroups.com


Chapter 12


"Oh, come on, Will. It's my birthday, Angel has Ty all night, and I want to go 
out!" Emmie gave him her best pleading look, well aware that his ability to 
resist was rather low.

William sat back in his chair and looked at the girl seated across from him 
fondly. She'd changed in the three years she'd worked for him. Emmie was a 
terrific fighter and an excellent nanny, with a quick wit and a sharp tongue. 
She'd put on weight and muscle, and her lean, tall frame was well-rounded and 
absolutely solid. What's more, she'd managed to nanny Ty full-time while 
finishing up her GED and training as a Slayer with Wes and the rest of the 
gang. He was proud of her, and glad that his instincts had been absolutely 
right.

"An' what about the others?" he asked, already beginning to cave. "S'pose I'm 
the only one available tonight."

She shook her head. "No, but you're probably the only one who'll go with me to 
get my tattoo. In any case Fred and Wes are taking Ty the next couple days so I 
have some time off. And Gunn's taking me on an assignment he has on Friday 
night." Her eyes danced. "He's even letting me pick my own weapons."

'Only a Slayer,' William thought fondly to himself. "And this is Angel's 
regular night to have my son. So what's he doin' for you?"

Some of the sparkle left her face. "He gave me a card."

"He what?" William asked, and then rolled his eyes expressively. Sometimes 
Angel could be a complete prat. Which, of course, was why William was the 
people person of the group. A little charm could go a long way. But still, 
Angel and Emmie were at least friends. "He's a git, luv. Actually, a card from 
the great poof is better than most get from him."

"Unless you're Ty, and then he spoils you rotten," she replied, smiling. 
William didn't say anything to that, knowing the exact reasons why Angel was so 
intent on making Ty happy.

He gave her a look, holding out for just a minute longer. "And tell me again 
why you don't have more friends your own age, pet."

"Because then I'd have to explain that my boss is an ex-vampire who fights 
evil, my kid has visions regularly, I'm a Slayer, and my boss's boss is a real 
vampire," she said sweetly. "And even if I skip all that, and go for the 
shortened version of nannying for some big-wig executive, I would still have to 
explain that I spent five years living on the streets and that I would be 
happier if I never saw my family again. Then people look at me like I need to 
be pitied rather than like I'm crazy. Take your pick."

"The life of a Slayer is never easy," William intoned solemnly, already 
beginning to put his things away. Then, lightening up, he said, "But at least 
here you know you're among friends since we're all bloody freaks."

Emmie smiled. "Why do you think I spend all my time here?"

~~~~

She winced only once, when the needle first went into the skin. And when 
William asked if she needed a hand to hold, she simply grinned at him. "Feels 
kinda neat, actually." Her grin changed into a smirk. "So why don't you have 
one of these?"

He raised the scarred eyebrow and went back to watching the artist work, 
fascinated at how the skin took the ink. "Because I have an eight-year-old who 
would love one, and I'd have to explain that he has to wait another ten years."

"The things we do for love," Emmie said mockingly.

"Besides," he continued, "what would I get? Like yours, luv, but it wouldn't do 
for me."

Emmie snorted. "I never saw you as the butterfly type of man, either, Will." 
Her tattoo was the size of his palm on her right shoulder, and was a stylized 
butterfly emerging from a cocoon. It was both pretty and powerful, something 
she'd designed herself, liking the symbolism. But William was right. What would 
he get? For all that he had made a life for himself, Emmie knew better than 
anyone that he was still very much a blank slate. In many ways, he was little 
older than his son, having been reborn but a few months before Ty's birth. And 
she was well aware that beneath the devil-may-care, charming exterior lived an 
insecure man with deep doubts as to his worth and general ability to do anyone 
any good. He was very much himself, but there was still a piece missing.

"You design the piece yourself?" the tattoo artist asked. She had introduced 
herself as Lavender.

"Yeah, why?" the Slayer asked.

Lavender smiled. "Because it's good work, kid. You let me use it, I'll give the 
tattoo to you free. I'm always looking for new designs."

"Really?" Emmie asked, taken aback.

"Sure," she said. "You come up with something else, bring it in and I'll pay 
you for it. Maybe not a lot, but it's a little extra cash in the pocket."

Emmie looked over at William. "What do you think, Will?"

He shrugged. "Do what you like, pet. It's your work."

Emmie made the deal, and once Lavender had put the finishing touches on the 
butterfly, they left, looking for a different kind of entertainment. "How does 
it feel?" William asked.

"Like a sunburn," she replied. "It's not that bad. But now, you're going to buy 
the drinks." Emmie grinned at him, and he smiled in reply, glad to make her 
happy. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to be out with a woman, where 
your only job was to make sure she had a good time and got home safely. And 
since he genuinely enjoyed Emmie's company, he didn't mind helping her out at 
all.

So he paid for the drinks and watched to make sure she wasn't letting 
inexperience take her further than she really wanted to go. But she held her 
alcohol well, and they'd hit three bars before they headed back to the 
apartment building. She'd taken an apartment two floors up from his, mostly out 
of convenience, and since they both desired their own space it had been a 
perfect arrangement.

William showed her up to his place, wanting to make certain she wasn't going to 
be sick. He figured if he was the one paying for the drinks she got drunk on, 
he should stick around till the end. But Emmie seemed alright, and she was 
sobering fairly rapidly. He'd had a couple beers, but he didn't drink much 
these days. It might have been different in the past, but these days he had a 
job and a son to think about, and that changed a man.

"Do you miss her?" Emmie asked, out of the blue.

He looked over at her in surprise. "Miss who?"

"Erin."

He sighed. "Yeah, s'pose I always will in some way." He stared off into the 
distance, not even trying to put what he felt into words. Because the loss of 
Erin was painful, but behind it lay a deeper pain, of another loss, one he 
didn't have the words to name. He plopped down next to her on the couch. "Have 
a good time tonight, pet?"

"I did." She stared at him through dark eyes, and her tanned hand reached up to 
brush a lock of hair from his forehead. "Thank you. For everything, you know."

"Didn't do much, luv," he said, brushing off her thanks.

She shook her head. "No. You saw me when I couldn't even see myself." And then 
she leaned in and placed her lips on his. For a moment, everything was fine. 
The kiss deepened, and he brought his hands up to caress her face, and then, at 
the same instant, they both pulled away.

"Uh, yeah," Emmie said, a slightly disappointed look on her face. "That was—"

"Like kissin' your sister," William replied, a hint of frustration in his eyes. 
And then they looked at each other, and both of them lost it at the same time, 
laughing until their sides hurt.

"Damn," she gasped when she finally had enough breath to talk. "And I thought 
you had a crush on me."

He stared at her. "What? I got told you were the one that had a crush on me." 
That set them off again, until he finally stopped and looked at her. "So what 
was that, luv?"

"That was me trying to take the easy way out," she admitted. "It's just that 
you're a great guy, and I like you, and I love your son. I figured it would be 
a perfect match."

"And you thought kissin' me would—"

"Make sparks, and I would find you irresistable." Emmie groaned. "So I'm an 
idiot. Just shoot me now." And then she narrowed her eyes. "You kissed back," 
she pointed out.

"Probably for the same reasons," he admitted. "Thought it might work."

Emmie lay her head on his shoulder. "So we're still good?"

"Probably better," he admitted. "Now there's no wondering." William looked at 
his friend. "You want to tell me who he is?"

She closed her eyes. "You're too perceptive," she complained.

"You're the one wanderin' around, daydreamin'."

Emmie frowned. "Promise you won't laugh?"

"Yeah," he said, smiling slightly. "Cross my heart, an' hope to die."

A smiled lifted her own lips. "It's Angel." At the silence that followed, she 
opened her eyes to look at him. "Like I said, just shoot me now. I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot," he said gently. "An' you're not the first. I'm sorry."

"So am I," she admitted. "I never wanted to fall in love with him, you know. 
And he barely acknowledges my existence."

"No one ever said love was logical, Mary Elizabeth," William said.

"Who is it for you?" she asked. "Because you talk in your sleep."

"Nosy chit," he said fondly. "If there's anyone, it's the one I dream about."

"Buffy?" she asked quietly. She knew all about Buffy. Most every new Slayer, 
when they found out who and what they were, heard the story. How, to save the 
world, the Slayer had managed to activate every potential Slayer. And, 
incidentally, how a souled vampire had sacrificed himself to prevent the 
opening of the Hellmouth, thus sealing it off for all time. What Emmie knew 
that most people didn't, was that said vampire was now Mr. William Smith, the 
man who kept track of their whereabouts and status.

He shook his head, a gesture at odds with his next words. "It's bloody useless, 
you know. She doesn't know I'm alive, and even if she did, she probably 
wouldn't care. She's well rid of me."

"How can you say that, Will?" Emmie demanded. This was a side of him she'd 
often seen, but knew no one else did. "You died. You saved the world. There's a 
lot to be said for that. Whatever happened between the two of you, surely she's 
forgiven you by now."

"There are some things that are unforgivable," he murmured, and concern bloomed 
on her face.

"Maybe you should let her decide that. You'll never know how she feels unless 
you let her know you're actually alive," Emmie pointed out.

He shook his head again. "If she finds out, I'll deal with it then. But I'm not 
forcing myself on her." And he winced as he said the words, as though there was 
something deeper there. Emmie sighed. She knew that William's memories, or 
rather his dreams, were spotty at best. She also knew that he remembered 
nothing about getting his soul, or how he died. He had very vague memories of 
being human, but his dreams were filled with violence. It was no wonder he felt 
as he did, but she couldn't help but think he was wrong. The story she'd 
managed to wring from Wesley said that Spike, the vampire William had been, had 
gone off to get his soul on his own volition.

If Emmie had a better idea of Buffy's reaction, and had a prayer of escaping 
William's wrath, she would have told the Slayer herself. But perhaps Will was 
right, and the Slayer hated him. In that case, it was better to let things be. 
But she also knew that it had been several years since Buffy's last visit to 
Wolfram & Hart, just before William had reappeared. She had a feeling deep in 
her gut that such an absence wouldn't last for too much longer.

And then the shit would really hit the fan.

"But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this 
extraordinary power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every 
way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted but not 
forsaken; struck down but not destroyed." 2 Cor 4:7-9

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