22By: Lynn
Disclaimer: I own nothing, please don't sue.
Rating: I'm not sure yet… probably PG-13 or R. I'll let you know.
Summary: AU around season 6, before Spike and Buffy are together. One day, a very confused Spike and William change places. How? Why? And how are they going to get back to their own times?
Author's Note: Sorry this is so short. I just came up with the idea today and just wanted to get something down. I'm not sure on the years that William lived, so if anyone wants to help out or correct me, that's fine.
Please review!
Prologue
In the center of the dark room, a small candle flickered, valiantly trying to light the desk on which it sat. The only sounds in the room were the scratchings of a quill and the mumblings of the writer. Pausing, he looked over what he had written, then quickly and furiously drew a line through it. Putting the quill down, he rested his head on his forearms and sighed deeply.
"Ah, Cecily…"
After a few minutes, he sat up straight. Taking a breath, he picked up the quill and a fresh piece of parchment.
"I will prove my love. She has to understand…"
Later that night, after he had poured his heart onto the paper, he finally blew out the candle and stumbled over to his bed. Flinging himself onto it, he didn't even bother to take off his clothes. Instead, he just surrendered to the sleep that had been threatening to overtake him for a long time. He drifted off into dreams of his love, as usual.
In much too short of a time, he groaned himself awake. Before even opening his eyes, he felt that something was wrong. But he just couldn't place it. Rolling over onto his side, he gasped in pain. Where was he sleeping? His bed was not this hard…did he fall onto the floor during the night?
Quickly opening his eyes, William sat bolt upright, gasping in fear. He was in some strange building. He had been sleeping on a slab of stone. In front of him was what looked like a black box with a glass surface. Where was he? Where was his bedroom, his belongings? More importantly, why was he here? Was he kidnapped? Yes, Father was wealthy, but not THAT wealthy.
Determined to leave this place and get some answers, especially before the person that brought him there returned, he jumped off the stone slab and headed toward the door. Throwing it open, he walked out into the sunlight and found himself in a cemetery.
"Strange…" Not quite sure where the entrance to the cemetery was, he just kept walking in a straight line out from the crypt he woke up in. Finally, he saw the gate and began to walk faster, but stopped suddenly when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.
Turning slowly, he stared at the tiny gravestone. There was nothing strange or particularly interesting about it…why did it make him pause? Then, he looked closer.
"Anna Richards. Beloved Wife and Mother. 1920-1995?" That was NOT right. Scared, he looked at the gravestone next to it, and the one next to that and so on until he was spinning in circles looking at all of the dates. Some were older than others, but ALL of them were in the future for him.
"No…no… What is going on?"
No longer able to take it, he turned back toward the gate and began to run. Right out of the cemetery…only to jump back as a machine raced toward him, blaring a loud horn. Gasping in fear, he looked back and forth as he saw more machines coming toward him from both directions.
Then, he did something his father would be deeply ashamed of – he fainted dead away.
The graveyard was relatively quiet that night – except for the sound of Spike grumbling as he stormed toward his crypt.
"Bloody chit!" Spike took a long drag on his cigarette and kicked at a rock. Why couldn't she understand that he loved her? She loved him, too. He knew it. He could see it in her eyes. She was just too afraid.
"All the poofter's fault, too. If he hadn't been such a git of a boyfriend, maybe she would see that I'm not half bad."
Realistically, Spike knew it had nothing to do with Angel. He just desperately wanted someone else to blame besides himself. He knew she wouldn't be with him because of what he was, but also because of who he was. And he knew it was wrong, too. But he couldn't help how he felt. He never could. Always in love with the wrong woman at the wrong time.
Slamming the door to his crypt open, he shut it behind him and went over to his sarcophagus. Laying down on it, he quietly finished his cigarette. Closing his eyes, he drifted off to sleep to dream of Buffy. She loved him in his dreams, at least.
Mere hours later, he woke to a painful feeling in his arm. Looking down groggily, he saw his arm burst into flames. Screaming, he flung himself away from the sunlight. Only after he hit the carpeted ground did he realize he was on a large bed, not his sarcophagus and certainly not in his crypt. After patting out the flames, he turned to look at the room with wide eyes. It was a room he hadn't seen for a very long time, but it was one he would never forget. HIS room. Or, more accurately, William's.
"Bloody hell?"