Author’s Note: This is the last of the “Wind” chapters. You probably knew this was coming, though…

Side note: In the previous chapter, I know I have Young William say “cookie” instead of “biscuit”. I was deliberately attempting to be clever and harken back to Willow’s engagement spell and failed. Sorry.

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.

Betaed by Phuriedae and Science

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Credits: This chapter contains dialogue from the episode “Lies My Parents Told Me” written by David Fury and Drew Goddard



Chapter 59
The North Wind (Part II)

When I look up I realize that at some point the ball disappeared. We're standing in a hallway. Through a tall set of windows I can see the gardens. It looks like we're back at William's house.

It's quiet. Very quiet.

Too quiet.

Somewhere a clock is ticking like something out of an Edgar Allen Poe story. William is standing a few feet away, fidgeting slightly with the need to move. He clearly wants to pace, but pacing is probably impolite or something, so instead he's standing as still as he can. The door in front of him is closed, but he's staring at it as if he could see through it, if he tried hard enough. A muscle in his jaw flexes. It takes me a minute to realize that he's older. Maybe mid to late twenties. He looks a lot like he does now.

Well, if you bleached his hair, got rid of the glasses and dressed him like a rock-star biker from hell.

He ought to be chain smoking, as nervous as he looks.

When the door opens, we both jump a little. Only Anne stays still and silent next to me. A tall man in a brown suit steps out of the room. He's carrying a big black bag. Wrinkles line his face, and his hair is mostly gray, but he doesn't actually seem all that old. He shuts the door carefully, then motions William further down the hall, closer to us.

"Is it...?" William asks, nervous and worried.

The man nods. "I'm so very sorry, Mr. Pratt. It's as we expected. Consumption. I've left some medicines for her to try, but there's not much we can do other than make her comfortable and try to keep her calm and rested."

William swallows, nods, then swallows again. When he speaks his voice is hoarse. "Is there... is there nothing else we might do? Perhaps Bath... or... or London?"

The doctor, because he definitely acts like a doctor, nods a little. "The trip would be difficult for her, but the disease is still in the early stages, yet. If you were willing to take her to London, perhaps you might find a physician there with more experience with the disease than I have. She'd be closer to the hospitals, as well. Bath is another excellent option. The sooner you travel, the better. I'm sorry. I wish there was more that I could do."

"No, I—I understand, Doctor," William says, glancing back at the door. "Is she in much pain?"

"Not yet," he says. "There's laudanum, if the coughing fits increase. There will be blood, when she coughs. It's usual, with the disease, as it progresses. If it's only a little, there's no immediate danger, but I thought you should be prepared. Some people are... squeamish, and it would be better if you were calm and able to put her at ease."

"I understand. Blood doesn't bother me. I'll arrange for us to move to London immediately," William says. "I may have to go into town to find a suitable house to rent. Would you mind, terribly, checking on her regularly whilst I'm gone?"

"Not at all."

"Is there... is there anything else I can do?" William says. "I... I dislike feeling so useless. Surely there's..."

"I'm sorry," the doctor says. "It's a hard road to travel, and harder still when we're forced into idleness when we'd most like to help. Keep her calm, and comfortable, as happy as she can be."

William nods, then, "How long?" It's almost a whisper.

"A few months, perhaps," the doctor says, not quite meeting his eyes. "A year, maybe, if she's strong enough to fight it."

William swallows so hard the knotted tie at his throat bobs up and down.

"I see," he says, his shoulders slumping. He rakes a hand through his hair. "I... I thank you, Doctor. If I... have any questions...later, that is... ?"

"Call on me at any time," the doctor says.

"Thank you," William says. I can't tell if he really means it. The doctor says his goodbyes and leaves. William, in the meantime stops at the hall mirror, and stares at his reflection in it for a long moment. Then, carefully he adjusts his collar, his vest and jacket, his hair. With a pained look, he shuts his eyes very tight, his jaw clenching.

When he opens them again, he deliberately smiles at himself and straightens his shoulders. When he goes into the room, he leaves the door open. I follow, almost unable to stop myself now.

Anne lays in bed; except for her hair being up, and her robe being different, she looks pretty much like she does now—as a ghost. She's maybe a little less thin, a little less fragile looking. I think I remember someone saying consumption was what they used to call tuberculosis, but I don't really know anything else about it.

I blink, and for just a second it's not Anne in the bed.

It's my mother.

"How are you feeling?" William asks, and it's Anne again. She smiles. Sitting up, propped against so many pillows, she looks tiny in the bed.

"I think I should like some tea," she says softly.

"I'll ring for some," William says, pulling on a cord beside the bed. He clears his throat.

"The doctor told me, dear," she says softly. "He thought I should know."

William nods jerkily. "We'll go to London," he says. "There are... doctors there. Educated men. Perhaps... perhaps we'll find a miracle."

She nods. "I don't suppose there's any harm in going to London," she says. "Perhaps we could take in some of the amusements, while we're there? The theater... I haven't been in so long."

"Whatever you want, Mother," William says. "You know you need only say the word and I'll fetch you the moon." He smiles as he sits at her bedside.

"My poet," she says, fondly. "I don't need the moon; I have you." She thinks for a moment. "It will be the season, you know. I shouldn't like it if you stayed locked away with me the entire time. It will be a good opportunity for you to attend a few balls, dances. Perhaps find a girl..."

"There is time, for that," he says. "I'd prefer to concentrate on making you well, Mother."

"Not enough," Anne says. "There is never enough time."

Tears burn in my eyes, and Spike's words seem to echo in my head, even though I only read them and never heard him say it aloud.

Didn't tell her about my mum, though I probably should have.

Should've told her that I know what it's like to watch someone you love die by inches. To want more than anything to save them, even when you know you can't. To feel helpless, useless.

Time ripples and shifts, leaving the room empty, the fireplace in the grate cold. Anne's ghost drifts past me, lingering beside the bed.

"We saw The Merchant of Venice," she says. "Have you ever seen it?"

"We read it," I say. "Uh... I forget when, but, in school. We read it. I liked the girl. The one who pretends to be the lawyer, or whatever."

"Portia," she says. "Yes, William liked her, too."

"She was the one with the... challenge, right? To win her hand? I liked that. Seemed a great way to pick a decent guy, you know?" I say. "The first guy picks the gold chest, because he's all about wanting, and the second guy, he picks the silver chest because he... thinks he should get what he deserves."

"And the third man risks it all, his heart, his money, his life, on a casket made of lead," she murmurs, then smiles. "Which chest do you think William would pick?"

"The lead one," I say, without any doubt. For a moment I think about Riley and Angel. Riley would have gone for the gold, I think. Angel, for the silver. Spike is a gambler, though. He'd risk it all on nothing more than a crumb of hope.

Maybe even less than that.

"He was always a dreamer, my William," she says. "Always reaching for those things he thought he shouldn't have. He never saw them as unattainable; I think you should know that. He honestly believes that if you try hard enough, you can touch the sun. I believe that's what made it so hard for him. He so wanted to believe that he would find me a miracle. That he could save me, if he tried."

I swallow hard, blinking back tears. "I know how that feels," I say.

She smiles, kindly. "You would have fought to the end, for your mother, would you not?"

"In a heartbeat," I say, meaning it.

"Then perhaps you will understand what you must see," she says seriously. "But first, one more thing."

She leads me out of the room and down the hall.

Once more the world seems to shift as we walk, until we're in some other house, some other place, some other time. William and his mother step into the hall after climbing a flight of stairs from the foyer down below. He holds her elbow, supporting her.

"Are you certain of this, mother?" he asks. "If you're not feeling well..."

"I feel quite well," she assures him, although she looks very pale and fragile. "It's not as if it's a ball, we merely had dinner. Now, you leave me to visit and go enjoy some port or whatever it is men do after dinner these days. You may come back up with the rest of them."

He looks concerned, and a little like the thought of going down there and playing at being pals with the other guys is the last thing he wants to do. But he nods, anyway.

"As you wish," he says. "Please, don't overtax yourself. If you feel even the slightest bit ill..."

"William," she says, softly, touching his face. "I'm dying. We know this, the doctors can only confirm it. I should like to live out the rest of my days, limited as they are, as normally as possible. Please, don't treat me as an invalid, it will only serve to make me feel like one. Strength, true strength, lies in here." She touches his chest and his forehead. "I need to be strong. I need you to be strong. Please William, let us just..."

He clasps her hand in his and presses a kiss to her knuckles. "Of course," he says. "I promise. I shan't hover any more."

"Good," she says, smiling. "You were beginning to remind me of a mother hen. Hardly an attractive trait for a man looking for a wife."

He smiles at the teasing. "Point taken. Now go, enjoy your evening. I shall be up later, provided the other fellows don't murder me at billiards."

He bows slightly, then goes back down the stairs. Anne, both Annes, watch him fondly.

Time ripples, changes. It's not as surprising, when I'm with Anne, for some reason. The transitions are gentler. Or maybe it's just that we're moving from room to room within houses and not jumping across continents and decades.

This time it settles on a room in another house, and William and Anne are just coming in. They're wearing the same clothes from before, so I guess it's the same night, only later. Maybe this is their place in London? Anne looks tired, but happy, and William has a strange little sparkle in his eye.

"I feel like writing," he announces, as they come into the room. "I'm not at all tired, yet. But..." he hesitates, looking at his mother, clearly torn on whether or not to baby her or behave normally.

"I think I should like to sit up a while longer as well," she says. "The Adams' girl, Cecily, played so beautifully tonight, do you not agree?"

"She did," William says and he blushes a little. "She's quite accomplished."

"And she sang so beautifully and knew a few of the old songs," she says. "One would think she'd heard them when they were first written, the way she sang them."

"She has an old soul, perhaps," William says. "There was something about her face..." He trails off dreamily and I have to squash the impulse to go hunt down the long dead Cecily and punch her in the face.

"Did we bring my folio?" Anne asks, moving toward the little piano sitting in a corner of the room. I'm not really sure how she saw it back there. I've never seen a room so stuffed with furniture before. It looks like a department store threw up in here. The walls are crammed with paintings, all the tables are covered in multiple tablecloths and lacy things, and then topped with lamps and figurines and picture frames. I'm surprised they can move without knocking things over.

"Of course," he says. "It's on the rack, I believe. Would it bother you, if I wrote in here?"

"Not at all," she says. She sits at the piano bench and flips through the sheet music in a leather binder, then smiles. It only takes her a minute to put the papers in place, and then her fingers trickle over the keys. Within minutes she's in her own world, her eyes closed as she plays from memory. William sinks into a chair beside a tiny little writing desk and takes out some pieces of paper and an old fashioned pen. For a few minutes they both are lost in their own dreams, then William starts to write, and Anne starts to sing.

"You may esteem him
a child for his might;
or you may deem him
A coward from his flight;
but if she whom love doth honour
be conceal’d from the day,
set a thousand guards upon her,
love will find out the way.

Some think to lose him
by having him confined;
and some do suppose him,
poor thing, to be blind;
but if ne'er so close ye wall him,
do the best that ye may,
blind love, if so ye call him,
will find out his way.

You may train the eagle
to stoop to your fist;
or you may inveigle
the phoenix of the East,
the lioness, ye may move her
to give o'er her prey;
but you'll ne'er stop a lover:
he will find out his way."

"Pretty," I murmur, smiling a little.

"Consider it my gift, to you," Anne tells me. "It was one of my favorites. Not my very favorite, but... that one is a bit ruined, I think. I do not know if it will help you, but... it's all I have to give."

I smile. "Thank you," I tell her.

"There is one last thing you must see, and I admit I'm reluctant to watch it myself. But I shouldn't prolong this more than I have," she says, her eyes serious. "If you would find him, you must look, child."

"I understand," I tell her. "I've come this far. I'm not turning back now."

***

Time moves, speeding past us now, though very little in the room changes. When things settle, it's still night, and the house is very quiet. Somewhere in the distance a door opens, voices murmur, the first sounding excited though I can't make out the words. Then there's a thud, and a choked off scream.

Vamp tingles are racing up and down my back.

Spike's home, and he brought his girlfriend home to meet his mother, I think.

Sure enough, the two of them waltz through the door. Spike's wearing something very like the clothes I remember him wearing when he dug himself out of his grave. So is Drusilla. It can't be more than a few days later. They're grinning and laughing like teenagers, drunk for the first time.

In William's case, it might actually be true.

Vampires usually kill their families, first. Isn't that something Giles once told me? Once they change they tend to slaughter their families. Angel did. I remember reading about that. My stomach clenches.

"Ooh, such a pretty house you have, sweet Willy. Smells of daffodils and viscera," Drusilla croons, looking around. William wraps his arm around her, pleased.

"Don't get too attached, now," he tells her. "Won't be here for long, luv."

"Well then," Drusilla says, doing as much of a hip wiggle as she can in full on Victorian under armor. She sinks down onto one of the couches and gives him a little pout that I'm sure is supposed to be seductive. Beside me Anne sniffs with disdain."Shall we give it a proper goodbye?"

"You're a saucy one, aren't you?" William growls, stalking toward her. He pulls her into his lap and they start to make out. I grit my teeth and force myself to watch, even though I'd really like nothing better than to stake Dru right about now. Or maybe pull out all of her hair. She so doesn't deserve h—

Wait a second.

I'm jealous of Drusilla.

The two of them start talking around all the smoochies. I stare, not really hearing them.

I'm jealous of Drusilla.

I'm not sure why it's taken me this long to figure it out, but I totally am.

And... I want him. Not just because he's a strong fighter, or because he's still got so much of William left in him, or because Mr. Gordo was a friend to me.

I want Spike.

Bad ass, cranky, all attitude and swagger, and soft hidden under-William, Spike.

Anne gives me a funny look, "Are you paying attention?"

"Sorry, kinda had an epiphany moment there," I say. She nods as if that's totally expected. I try to tune back in to what's going on.

"...ravage this city together, my pet," William says, totally into it. "Lay waste to all of Europe. The three of us will teach the snobs and elitists with their falderal just what—"

"Three?" Drusilla says with a frown.

"You, me and Mother. We'll open their veins and bathe in their blood as they scream our names across the—" He catches her look. "What?" he asks, confused by her frown.

"You want to bring your mother with us?" she asks, sounding put out.

"Well, yes," he says. When she doesn't seem thrilled he adds, "you'll like her."

"To eat, you mean?" she asks.

A noise from the hallway catches their attention. Anne, real Anne, stands in the doorway, and now I can only tell them apart because real Anne's hair is up. Otherwise...

Oh. God. I can't watch him kill her.

Only I know I have to.

"William?" she says, peering into the room. William hops off the couch, looking a little guilty.

Wait. Guilty? Guilt really isn't a vampire thing.

"Mother," he says.

"Where have you been? I've been beside myself with worry for days..." she says, glancing at his messy clothes.

She was right to worry, I think.

William saunters toward her. "You needn't have worried, Mother," he says. "You never have to worry about anything again. Something has happened. I've changed."

"What have you been doing? I don't—," she glances over at Drusilla, that tiny frown creasing her brow. "Who... Who is this woman?"

Drusilla stands up, looking smug and creepy. "I'm the other that gave birth to your son," she informs her, like that makes any sort of sense.

"I beg your pardon?" Anne says, not getting it either.

"It's true, Mother," William tells her, edging a little closer. "Drusilla... she... she's made me what I am. I'm no longer bound to this mortal coil. I have become a creature of the night. A vampire."

"Are you drunk?" Anne asks.

"Little bit," he admits. "Think of it. No more sickness. No more dying. You'll never age another day. Let me do this for you."

He reaches for her, but she's sensing something wrong. I hope. Instead she pulls back. "What are you talking about? Why are you acting so strange...?"

"It's alright, Mother," he says, taking her by the arms and leaning close. "It's only me. Your William. We'll be together forever," he promises her. He slips into game face over her shoulder, where she can't see. "It only hurts for a moment," he tells her.

And then he sinks his fangs into her throat.

I watch helplessly as he drains her. As he opens his wrist and presses the bleeding gash to her mouth. As she swallows just a mouthful. Maybe not even that. Her eyes close, and she's gone.

Gently he picks her up and carries her over to the sofa, arranging her on it lovingly. He even covers her with a blanket, as if she might get cold.

I should hate him, for this.

But I know why he did it.

If I had the power to keep my mother from dying, to keep her with me forever, I'd have done it, too. Even if it was wrong.

Love, I think, is a selfish thing. It's hard to let someone you love go.

What's surprising is that, even though he's a vampire now, he still loves her. Loves her enough to try to save her in the only way he can. Loves her enough to want her with him.

Drusilla wanders off, probably to kill the servants or something, but William sinks down on a footstool beside the couch, holding Anne's hand as if she's merely sick, not dead. My eyes burn with tears, but I'm not sure if I'm happy or sad, or angry or ... I don't know.

I just know I can't hate him. Not for this.

Time shifts, moving forward. The couch is empty, the footstool has moved. The room is pretty dark, mostly lit by the fire in the tiny fireplace. William comes wandering in through the door, looking like he'd probably gone out for a bite to eat. He seems surprised that the body is gone.

"Mother?" he says.

Somewhere a music box plays, a soft lilting, happy sort of song. Anne steps out of the shadows. "Hello, William," she says.

Her hair is down. Looking between her and Ghost Anne beside me... It's like looking at twins. Or a reflection for the mirror challenged.

William smiles to see her walking so steadily, looking healthier. "Look at you," he murmurs.

"Mmm," she says. "Yes, all better."

There's something off.

"You're glowing," he says.

"Am I?" she says, tilting her head a little to the side in a total Spike mannerism. "I suppose I have you to thank for that, don't I? How ever will I repay you?"

There's something really off. Creepy off. I glance between Real Anne and Ghost Anne, trying to figure out what it is. I want to tell Spike to stop. Tell William to back off. There's something really, really wrong here.

"Seeing you like this is payment enough," he says, smiling at her, not sensing the creepy.

"Ah, William," she says, coming closer. "You're so... tender."

She's looking at him like he's food. That's what's wrong. Only, he's a vampire... I don't get it.

"This is as it should be, Mother. You and I, together. All of London laid out before us," William says.

"Ah, yes. Us," she says. She closes the music box, stopping the pretty music that has started to sound like the score to a horror movie.

"First we'll feast. And then the night is yours. The theatre perhaps. Dancing... Tell me, what's your pleasure?" he says, clearly wanting to give her a taste of all the things she's missed since she got sick.

But there's something really wrong with Anne. "My pleasure? To take my leave of you, of course," she says. She might as well have slapped him. Pain flashes across his face. He shakes his head, not understanding it. A twisted, nasty smile hovers over Real Anne's mouth. "'The lark hath spake from twixt its wee beak.' You honestly thought I could bear an eternity listening to that twaddle?" He reels backward as if from a blow.

"I do feel extraordinary," she says, moving around the room. "It's as though I've been given new eyes. I see everything. Understand...everything." She looks back at him, evil crawling behind her eyes.

"Mother—," he says, a little desperately.

"I hate to be cruel...," she pauses, then smiles. "No. I used to hate to be cruel, in life. Now I find it quite freeing. Nothing less will pry your greedy little fingers from my apron strings, will it?"

"Stop," he says, "please."

"The way you've clung since the day you first slithered from me, like a parasite," she says, ignoring him. "Had I known, I would have dashed your brains out the moment I saw you. Spared myself a lifetime of tedium. God, how I prayed you'd find a woman to release me. But you scarcely showed an interest. Who could compare to your doddering, housebound mum? A captive audience for your witless prattle?"

She backs him toward the fireplace, and he goes, horrified at this. If I'd wanted to, I couldn't stop watching now.

This is wrong, so very, very wrong.

"Whatever I was, that's not what I am anymore," William tells her.

"Darling, it's who you'll always be," she promises him. "A limp, sentimental fool."

He swallows hard, and all I can see in his face is pain. "You want to run, don't you?" she says. "Scamper off and cry to your new little trollop. You think you'll be able to love her? You think you'll be able to touch her without feeling me? All you ever wanted was to be back inside. And you finally got your wish, didn't you? Sank your teeth into me, an eternal kiss." She picks up her walking stick, where it leans by the fireplace.

"No," William swears. "I only wanted to make you well."

"You wanted your hands on me. Perhaps you'd like to finish what you started?" she asks, and the creature that's stalking William now isn't his mother. It can't possibly be his mother. "Come on, Willy. Have a go before we part. One to remember me by."

"I loved you," he says, crying. "I did. Not like this..."

"Just like this. This is what you wanted all along."

"Stop it," he says.

"Come on, do it. Who's my little dark prince?" Drusilla never sounded half this scary. I want to look at Ghost Anne, want to try to figure this out from her perspective, but I can't. I'm locked onto the scene and I can't look away.

"No!" he says shoving her away.

"Fine," she snarls. "Then gather up your tears and get out of my house."

"Mother—"

"Get out!" With a snarl, she lifts the cane and swings it at him. He catches it, blocks it and they struggle. Anne slips into vamp face, baring her fangs. "There, there, precious, it'll only hurt for a moment," she mocks. There's a snap as the cane hits the mantle and breaks in two.

"I'm sorry," William gasps through his tears.

And then he stakes her.

For a moment, she seems to linger. Her vamp face melts away, and what's left is... Anne. She smiles at him, not dark or cruel now. Just his mother. Then the dust drifts away.

William crumbles to the carpet, choking on his mother's dust, tears tracking down his face. "Oh, god," he says. "What... God, what did I do?" he stares at the dust blindly. "No," he says. "Not God." He laughs a little, hysterical. "Oh, mother. I'm so sorry. I thought... all I wanted was to save you."

He stays like that for a long time, kneeling in the dust, the fire casting his face half in light, half in shadow.

A vampire, with a man's heart, a man's pain and guilt. A man's ability to love wrapped in a vampire's need for eternity, blood, violence. Soulless, a monster but ... still human.

Poetic irony, I guess, of the worst sort.

"He was a good boy," Anne murmurs beside me. "A good man. I'd like to think that he was so good that the demon couldn't entirely remove it from him. He was my finest creation, the best of me. Will you tell him... will you tell him that I loved him?" She looks at me, pleading in her eyes. "Tell him, please, that I loved him more than life itself. That I'm proud of him, even now, after everything. Proud of who he is. Who he was. Who he's trying to become."

"So that... all of that," I say, gesturing at the fireplace. "That wasn't you?"

"No," she says. "I was never so good, nor so strong, to fight off the demon. If it was me, it was only in the smallest of senses. What I am now... this... I was already gone, and only the meanest sliver of myself remained."

"But he's not like that," I say, trying to wrap my head around it.

"No," she says. "He is not. There is more of William left than even he realizes."

"I see," I promise her. "I've seen. I just don't know what it means."

"That's for you to decide," she says. She looks at him fondly. "Will you tell him that I liked his poems? He wrote such lovely poetry, but I fear I'm the only one who ever appreciated them."

"I will. I promise. He wrote one, for me," I say. "I read it in his journal. He didn't finish it, but... what he wrote—it was really beautiful. No one ever wrote a poem for me, before."

She smiles at me. "He loves you," she says. "Above all things in this world, he loves you."

I know.

"Sort of scary," I admit. "He doesn't really do anything by halves, does he?"

"No," she says. "But love isn't about doing things by halves, is it? It isn't just about wanting, child. Or deserving, or needing. It's about risking. When you love someone, you risk it all, for them. To the rest of the world, what you're doing right now... it's a great risk."

"They don't know him like I do," I say, not quite ready to face the obvious implications.

"And they won't. Ever," she says. "You've seen him now. The best and worst of him. I am his mother, but I'm not so foolish as to think that he's not dangerous. He is a monster, and that is not something that can be changed. He is a warrior, and that is a role he chose for himself. But this... this is his heart..." She gestures at a still silently weeping William. "You've seen the darkest corners of his heart. If you go after him, he will be yours. Even should he go to the other end of the world, or switch sides again... it is your choice and that will bind you to him. Can you accept that?"

I look at William, and for a moment see him as he is now. Spike. Bleached, bad ass, a lethal killer leashed only by a piece of silicone the size of one of my fingernails.

And William.

"I can," I say. "I believe in him. I want him back."

Abruptly, the room around us fades, goes dark and dim.

"Bless you, child," she says, smiling. "For what it's worth, you go with my blessing. Please, save my son."

And then she's gone.

Everything's gone.

And I'm alone, in the dark.