CHAPTER TWO

Buffy took a break from exploring the writing box, to let the tears come without any fear of damaging the box and whatever else lay within. She took the time to heat some soup as well, regardless she didn't feel like eating, in an attempt to ease the headache starting behind her eyes. Returning to the box later in the afternoon, she began exploring the largest and deepest drawer and found an April 1880 program from the opening production of Gilbert & Sullivan's "The Pirates of Penzance."

Was that the last show William saw before he was turned? Buffy wondered.

Beneath it was a theatre program from Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest.

This is autographed? Buffy marveled.

She peered at the inscription. "My dear William, it's good to have seen you again after so many years. ~O. Wilde."

Spike knew Oscar Wilde? Wait until Giles hears about this.

She was blind sided by a thank-you note in Joyce's handwriting that was buried beneath the programs, along with two ticket stubs from one of the Sun's matinee showings of 'Chicken Run.'

"I had a wonderful time at the movies with you," her mother had written. "We'll have to sneak off again sometime."

"Mom snuck away from her gallery with Spike while I was in school?" Buffy squeaked. "They didn't say anything to me."



What was worse was that Buffy discovered more ticket stubs in a Zingos Extra Strength Cinnamon Breath Mints tin that had been tucked away in one of the smaller drawers.



"They went to Evita and Jerry Maguire together and didn't take me?" She shook the tin. "I don't believe this!"



Buffy next found a small box pushed far back in the drawer. A beautiful knotwork ring lay nestled inside, along with a receipt. Unfolding the receipt, Buffy found a pencil design of two rings stapled to it. The receipt itself read:

(1)Special order gimmal wedding ring Size 5--Silver. $150

(1)Special order gimmal wedding ring Size 9--Silver $200

Buffy ran her finger over the shining silver. Spike designed this for me?

Lifting it from the box, she peered at the inscription inside.



Buffy Anne & William • 24 June 2000





The wedding date was the one she and the vampire had set years before while under the influence of Willow's "My will be done" spell. Closing her fingers around the ring, Buffy thought, When did he look at rings for us? He obviously canceled the order for his after the spell ended. Why didn't he cancel mine too?

Maybe he didn't want to, her heart answered the question. Or maybe it was too late, and he had to pay for a ring he knew he'd never see on my finger. She slipped the ring onto her wedding finger, and it fit.

Of course it fits. Obsessed Spike ordered it. She left the ring on.

Peering into the box, Buffy saw that only a few items remained. A plain, tarnished-silver Zippo lighter lay forlornly in the third small drawer. She knew that the one Spike had carried had gone into the hellmouth with him, this one had to be a spare. Flicking it open, she heard the familiar snick and smiled. This lighter was missing its flint and the fluid was long gone. The sound was still comforting.

Beneath the theatre programs was a stack of parchment writing paper and what looked like hand-made envelopes. Closer inspection informed Buffy that the flaps were unglued. Digging beneath the paper, she found a forgotten calling card and gasped as she turned it over.

William A. G. Ward

16 Queen's Gate Terrace, Kensington

"Oh, my god." Her fingers trembled as they traced the antique lettering on the brittle card. She blinked hard as tears made the words smear. "Your last name was Ward."

She knew she would never tell Giles.

"You were real," Buffy whispered, blinking back tears again. "More real and more alive than I think I am now."

Setting aside the card and knowing she'd stare at it some more later, Buffy discovered the only things left in the writing box were a brass letter-seal with a stylized 'W' and a few sticks of brown sealing wax--the same sort, she noticed, as had been used to seal closed the envelope containing his Sarah's hair.

And thus endeth the lessons of Spike's writing box, thought Buffy. I'm sorry, Giles, but William the Bloody kept no psychotic trophies in his writing box, and there's no journal telling about his decades of death and destruction. All he kept were a few simple mementoes over the years that are more human than vampire, just like Spike himself was.

Giles will be disappointed. Maybe I can show him the Oscar Wilde theatre program?

Taking up one of the dip pens, she examined it. Spike actually wrote with this? When did they start making fountain pens?

She opened one of the ink wells to discover it held black ink. The other held brown.

Did Spike still write like this when he lived in Sunnydale? He had to, if the ink in these isn't all dried up. I remember seeing his handwriting on Dawn's homework. What did he write with this?

Placing a sheet of Spike's parchment before her, she lifted one of the inkwells free and pushed Spike's things safely out of the way. Taking up the dip pen, Buffy thought, I don't have the slightest idea what I'm doing. Not only that, Spike was left-handed and I'm not. Is that going to make a difference?

She dipped the pen carefully into the ink and ventured to see how well she could write with the primitive setup. The nib scraped across the paper and the ink bled. Frustrated, Buffy rinsed the first nib and tried others until she found a nib she could sort-of use and sort-of got the hang of how much ink was required, how light a touch was necessary. Having ruined the first piece of paper, she took up a fresh one and began in earnest.

Dear Spike,

I've never used a dip pen before. I'm sorry for the blotches and the mistakes. This kind of writing is really a lost art, isn't it? I remember your saying that they beat you as a child when you messed up your copybook. I'll beat myself up when I mess this up.

It's all so different--the sound of the pen scratching against the paper, and the skittering and staining if I push too hard. If I get too much ink, it blotches. If I get too little, the ink fades after only a couple of words. Having to stop and get more ink all of the time really forces you to slow down, doesn't it, so why were you in a hurry all of the time?

I'm sure, if you were here, you'd tell me anything that slows me down is a good thing. Even if you never really slowed down unless you were forced by Glory or the First Evil or--something eviler than you were, anyway.

I guess it's not such a bad thing to slow down and think of what I would say to you now that you're gone. We never really talked, you and me, even if you were always saying, "We need to talk."

I promised that we would once the whole First Evil/hellmouth thing was over. But you died and--oh God, Spike, I miss you so much. You died and I'll never hear your voice again. I can write all these words to you, but you'll never see them or know anything about how I feel about you. It's all my fault, and I left it too late, didn't I?

I'm sorry, but I need to take a break now. I'm crying and see, it's splotching your good paper. I'm sorry, I'll be back later.

~~~



Okay, it's later and I'm back.

Dawn misses you badly, but she's doing well in a prep school in Rome. They're pushing her so hard that she should graduate on time. After that, I don't know what happens. She wants to go to college and Giles said the Council will pay, but if they're going to try and tie her to them I don't think it's a good idea. So that needs to be negotiated, and you know how much I'm not negotiation girl. I hate that we have to beg for money from Giles and the new Council too. You'd have things to say about that I know.

I guess you can tell that Giles gave me your writing box. The things you left inside make me feel closer to you and, at the same time, they make me miss you even more.

I'll probably make copies of the pictures of you and Dawn in the photo booth and give the originals to her. I wish you two had shared them with me. I knew you two were close, but--you really did love Dawn like she was your little sister, didn't you?

I was in Rome for awhile but am in Bath now to help Giles start his new Slayer school. I didn't want to, but Faith went to Cleveland and the Slayerettes can't teach anybody anything yet. They're scattered all over the world, trying to apply what you and I taught them. So I'm "the one" again and am teaching newbies whether I want to or not.

I miss having you at my side so much. I never thought you'd be the one who left. You were immortal, like a cat with nine lives, like the cat out of that song I learned as a kid--"'The cat came back, he just couldn't stay away...."

If I keep talking about this, I'll cry again and mess up the paper some more, so let's talk about something else, okay?

Your card was in the box, and it has what I guess is your old address. I wish what I sent to you could really reach you at Queen's Gate Terrace. But if it did, I guess William would be the one to get this letter back in 1880, and it wouldn't make any sense to him. I wish you could get this and write back to me, because that would mean you were still alive and we could talk about...what I never would talk about before.

If I were writing William, what would I say? Don't walk down any dark alleys? Don't go near any weird woman who talks about burning baby fishes swimming around your head?

But if I did that you wouldn't be turned and we wouldn't have met and...That's just too terrible to think about, at least from my selfish point of view. You'd probably have had a really happy life if Dru hadn't turned you, right?

I know you didn't believe me down in the hellmouth when I told you that I love you. I can't blame you for that because of the way I treated you, but I still miss you so much. It hurts. Every minute and every time I breathe, it hurts so much that you're gone. I miss you like I miss Mom, only worse.

How is that even possible? Maybe it's because I sort of had time to prepare for her leaving, but you left so abruptly, we didn't even get the chance to say good-bye. Mom left abruptly too, but we'd talked about her going after she came home from the hospital, before she went back for the operation. So I was sort of ready.

I wish you could know how I feel now. How much I love you, and how much I miss you. You didn't believe me when I told you I love you. Stupid vampire.

Love, Buffy



Swiping at her tears, she blew on the ink to dry it, then folded the paper and stuck it inside one of the envelopes. On impulse and as if it were a real letter, she address it to W. Ward at 16 Queen's Gate Terrace, Kensington, and then stared dubiously at the sealing wax and its accompanying brass seal.

"Oh, why not?" Buffy muttered.

Retrieving a box of matches from the kitchen, she set about learning how to drip wax onto an envelope and pressed the seal into it.

"What do I do with you now?" she asked the envelope. "It's not as if I can send you off Royal Mail."

Sighing, Buffy cleaned the pen and put all of Spike's things back into the writing box. The last thing she did was put her letter to Spike on top of the writing surface. Closing the box, she locked and carried it into her bedroom for safekeeping. Setting it on the table next to her bed, she caressed the rosewood, took a deep breath, and went on with her day.

~ ~ ~

She couldn't resist opening Spike's box again after getting ready for bed that night.

I need to see his calling card again, she told herself. I want to see him happy and goofy with Dawn again in that photo booth.

Unlocking the box, she triggered the hidden drawer mechanism to pop them open. It was then that she noticed her letter from earlier in the day wasn't where she'd put it, atop the writing surface.

"Where did it go?"

Frowning, she unfolded the surface to check beneath it. She next checked the drawers, even going so far as to tip out the contents and sort through them. The blank parchment and envelopes were there. Her letter was not.

"Are you a magic writing box? Is any letter I put in here going to be transported magically to Spike?" She stared at the box, which didn't answer. "This is too weird."

She closed the drawers. She closed the top and was all set to lock it when her Slayer instincts started twitching. You need to look at this, it was saying, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Shivering, she scratched her neck.

"This is silly."

It was silly enough for her to get another sheet of paper, open the writing surface, and ready herself to do battle with Spike's nibbed pen once more.



Spike. Or William. Um...Whoever?

Something weird has happened. The letter I wrote to you earlier has disappeared out of your writing box. It could just be me being empty-headed and distracted--so maybe the explanation is as mundane as my leaving the letter in the kitchen--but it could also be that something mystical is at work. If you've somehow gotten my letter, that is?

The way I see it, I have nothing to lose by writing you again. If this letter disappears, I'll know that something's up. Maybe you are able to read what I write, even if you can't write back. I mean, if these are reaching you in hell--but you saved the world, so I hope you're not in hell. If you're reading these in hell, let me know somehow and I'll find some way to get you out.

So send me word if you can when you get this? Let me know if you're okay or hurting or--anything. If you can. If this reaches you.

God, I feel like an idiot. But I still love you and always will.

Love, Buffy

PS. If you're William, write back anyway, and I'll try to explain what's going on, okay? Thanks.

She managed to not spill wax on the coverlet while sealing the second letter. Placing the letter inside the box, she closed and locked it. She managed to wait two minutes.

"Please, oh please..." she whispered, not sure if she was praying and, if she was, to which deity, as she turned the lock once more and lifted the top enough peer within.

Her second letter was gone.