Chapter 16
Spike knew what was coming.
He had tried to prepare for his uncle’s meltdown on the drive home.
The only problem with Spike’s preparations was that he very rarely thought of any solutions. Winging it was how he made a go of just about everything, and this particular debacle was no exception. Except, that he really wished he had thought of something more mature than stomping past him towards his bedroom, as if Rupert would magically forget everything if Spike walked fast enough.
“What did I tell you, Spike? What did I say the consequences would be if you broke my rules? And don’t you dare walk up those stairs.”
“I’m sorry!” Spike stopped his ascent on the second step and whirled around to face his uncle. “But I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“You stole my bloody car!”
“I borrowed it! And besides, I said I was going to as I walked out the door.”
“I was in the shower, and that doesn’t erase the fact that you—what happened to you?”
Rupert’s rage fizzled as he exhaled, he tilted his head to the side with his brows pinched upwards, and investigated the injury on his nephew’s lip.
“Nothing.” Spike looked away and wiped his mouth with the side of his hand, which in turn revealed the damage to his knuckles from punching the dashboard over and over. He hastily put his hand in his pocket, but his uncle caught it before he could hide the evidence from view.
Rupert was not concerned any longer, and that rage returned, tugging his mouth into an angry frown. “What did you do?”
Spike wouldn’t answer him, too busy clamping his jaw shut and looking at the bookshelves on the opposite wall. Perhaps if he stood perfectly still, he would blend in with the furniture.
“You got in a fight? Dammit, Spike!”
Rupert stomped forward, his eyes fierce with a brewing punishment that Spike already knew he was going to receive. All he had left to lose at this point was his anger, so he held onto it with a vice-like grip.
“I didn’t do anything,” he said evenly, staring right at his uncle with equal intensity. “Went to see Buffy, Angel showed, I tried to leave and he clocked me. The end. Now please, back the fuck off!”
“You expect me to believe that you didn’t do anything wrong? That you let him hit you and you simply walked away?” Rupert took a step back and shook his head in shame. “Why would you lie to me? After all we’ve been through, after all these years apart…I thought we’d finally…”
“What? You thought we’d what?”
Spike advanced this time, daring his uncle to look him in the eyes. He needed to hear him say it, needed his uncle to admit the progress they’d made together so that he could shit all over it with the truth. Spike’s emotions were still turbulent from what transpired at Buffy’s, and Rupert was taking too dangerous a turn down memory lane for Spike to let it go.
“I thought things were back to the way they used to be between us, that you were starting to grow up, but it appears that I was wrong. You stole my car and assaulted someone in a little less than two hours!”
“Who the fuck do you think taught me how to do half the shit I’ve done?” Spike said, following after his uncle who started retreating towards the kitchen.
Rupert slammed the cabinet door shut beneath the sink and unscrewed the lid to the bottle he pulled out.
“That’s right. Drink your fucking scotch,” Spike said, snorting in disgust. “Used to be great at doing that weren’t you?”
Rupert sighed in irritation, a gesture that appeared to calm him down a notch, and he set the bottle on the counter. “Bite your tongue. I’ve done quite well for myself here in Los Angeles.”
“Wouldn’t know a thing about it, would I? Haven’t seen or heard from you in years!”
Rupert’s eyes focused on something in the sink, his chin twitching, fingers clutching the edge of the counter. Spike could see that he was angry, that he was restraining himself, which only made him push even further.
“You’re so sure of me, so sure that I went over there and kicked his ass. Well, I didn’t! I’m a bloody coward now, I can’t do anything right, and it doesn’t fucking matter what I say because you’re already set on me being a failure.”
“Spike, that’s not—”
“Well, fuck you! You’re the one who made me this way! You’re the one who left! All I’ve done is look up to you. All I’ve done is try. And it’s never good enough!”
This was not how the conversation was supposed to go. Rupert was supposed to be the furious one, so angry that he’d snap, and Spike would be the one standing victorious with the last word.
Instead, he was crying in the kitchen, drywall whitening his fist with ash and the crumbling bits falling, drifting down toward the linoleum floor. He didn’t even realize he punched a hole in the wall until he tried to wipe his traitorously wet eyes and felt a burning sensation in his knuckles.
When Rupert put his hand on his nephew’s shoulder, Spike flinched and pulled away harshly.
“Spike, I’m sorry,” he said softly, perhaps shaky with tears, but Spike felt too affronted to take notice. “Why do you think I left London?”
Spike sniffled, daring a quick glance at him, just enough to see that he was being sincere before he looked at the floor again.
“Do you really believe I don’t care about you? Why do you think I pulled so many strings to have you here with me, to give you another chance?”
“Guilty conscience,” he said pathetically, shrugging a little.
Rupert exhaled a tiny laugh, but soon his demeanor turned serious. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. I’ve made a lot of great choices, too. But the hardest choice I have ever made was leaving you behind.”
Spike couldn’t figure out where the tears were suddenly coming from, or why he couldn’t stop them. He grabbed a paper towel from the rack on the counter, tearing one off with a hard yank as if conceding defeat to his emotions. In all the eighteen years of his life, Spike had never cried like this before. He’d been misty-eyed, choked up, so mad his eyes watered, but never had he cried so hard that he couldn’t breathe through his nose. If he were of sound mind, he might be embarrassed for showing vulnerability in front of the man he’d spent the past five years hating. As it was, Spike didn’t really care too much about reeling it in.
“You were the only person who…” Spike inhaled, but it didn’t help. “Fuck it.” He looked at Rupert, because really, no point in hiding that he was crying any longer.
“You were the only person who understood me, the only good person in my life and when you left, everything changed. Marcus was…well, he was a mean bastard.”
Rupert’s cheeks were red, his eyes shining and regretful. Though Spike had never quite let it all out like this before, he could see the benefit of doing such a thing. He felt the burden lifting with every word, and seeing his uncle in a similar state of distress was a bit comforting. This conversation went from reprimand to digging deep in their past so quickly that Spike barely had time to register how much he was revealing.
“You were like a father to me. My real father didn’t want me. Mum’s husbands all hated me. She was too fucked up half the time to care, but you were always there. Always. Even if you were drunk, you gave a shit about me. But then you left without a goodbye or a see you later, or anything. Just showed up at Christmas with a stick up your ass and that’s the last I saw of you.”
“You know that my sister and you mean the world to me. I did everything I could to help, but she was dragging me down with her, and I couldn’t get better unless I was on my own. I didn’t plan for things to happen this way, Spike. But I had to take care of myself. I had to get my life together. You can understand that, can’t you?”
Spike couldn’t reply, because in retrospect, he did understand this and had for a long while. Rupert had been a great influence in his life, but Spike knew that he wasn’t always the best one. Rupert had an affinity to single malts and ladies alike, had a sort of fuck it attitude about everything, and while Spike once thought his uncle to be the coolest thing on legs, he could see now that Rupert hadn’t ever been truly happy. After Marcus came into the picture, Spike didn’t have much time for common sense and analyzing the meanings of things. It was easier to hold a grudge against his uncle all these years for leaving than it was to take care of himself without him around.
“Can we just…not talk about this any more?”
Rupert looked at him, sad and guilty, but then he nodded in agreement. “I just want you to know that I didn’t leave you behind. You were so important to—are important to me, and you deserved a better uncle than the one you got. I’m trying to make up for it now.”
“I understand,” he said, smiling a bit.
Spike ran both hands through his hair and sighed, leaning against the counter. The well of tears finally dried up, his uncle looked pensive, and his head started to throb. Every muscle in his body cried in protest, as if he’d run a marathon. He couldn’t talk of this any longer, had nothing more to expunge from his list of failures, and the prospect of sleeping for the rest of his life sounded like a great fucking plan.
“This day…”
Well, this day was fucking awful.
“I was stupid today,” he continued.
Calmly, Rupert replied, “Yes, you were, but—”
“I told her I loved her,” he quickly blurted out.
Rupert blinked once, his shoulders slumped and then he shook his head playfully. “Well, I’m glad you gave her the space she needed.”
“I couldn’t help it! I was shaving.”
“Right.”
“And thinking things over, and I just, you know…”
“Had to steal your uncle’s car and beat the devil out of her boyfriend?”
“I told you,” he said, clenching his teeth to ward off another shouting match, “I didn’t—”
“Oh, yes, yes, I remember.” Rupert gave him a teasing smile. “You didn’t do anything wrong. So how did you injure your knuckles? Angel didn’t hit your hands with his face, did he?”
“Ha ha,” Spike said, his eyes narrowed without a spot of humor, though secretly, he was grateful for the change of subject, even if it might lead to some sort of brutal punishment. Anything was better than crying and having heart-to-hearts like a couple of girls.
“He hit me, and I deserved it.”
Rupert seemed to be taken aback by this. In fact, his mouth flapped open and shut like a poorly dubbed martial arts film before his words finally caught up to his lips. “I am afraid you’re going to have to explain.”
“Well, had he come over any earlier than he did, I might be dead right now,” Spike said, laughing, his eyebrows almost touching his hairline as he hinted with his eyes just what he was implying.
“I need to sit down.”
This was a very good idea.
* * *
Rupert couldn’t believe his ears.
His nephew was supremely stupid. Emotional and hopelessly romantic, yes, but also very stupid.
“Whatever chance you might have had with that girl, you probably blew it now.”
“She was starting to change her tune by the end there.” Spike raised a brow. “Trust me.”
“Please, spare the details,” Rupert said, his face wrinkled in offense. “My point is that she told you the two of you were better than that. She stressed to you that the last thing she wants to be is her mother.”
Spike started to sink in his chair, and Rupert knew the boy’s earlier actions were sagging with realization as well.
“But she wasn’t exactly shoving me out the door,” Spike said softly, not really feeling the words but saying them all the same.
“Perhaps she’s afflicted with acting on impulse and doesn’t realize the weight of her actions until much later, like someone else I know,” Rupert said, smiling slyly.
Spike’s mouth twisted and his mood darkened. He looked as if he might be pouting, but Rupert was too tired to point it out this time.
“So now I’ve just made her feel worse. And she’s probably having a party telling Angel all about it,” he said sarcastically. “I just…I get so… Fuck! Why can’t I think before I act?”
“I’ve wondered the same thing for years, Spike.”
“What do I do?” Spike rose from his seat, his fingers drumming his pocket, anxious for a smoke. “How do I fix it?”
Rupert sighed in resignation, taking pity on his nephew’s cravings. “Let’s talk outside.”
“Don’t worry about it, I’m out.”
“Well I’ll run you to the service station and you can get another pack.”
Rupert had already made his way to the front door, and to his surprise, Spike remained glued to the same spot in the room, a frightened look on his face.
He slid one arm into the sleeve of his overcoat, eyeing his nephew quizzically. “What is it?”
Spike swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple pulsed. “Uh… Know what? I don’t need smokes.” Spike started to walk to the couch.
Rupert laughed, zipping up his overcoat. “Don’t tell me you’ve quit all of a sudden.”
“Yeah, that’s it,” he said, nodding frantically, putting his hands on his hips like an action figure. “Turning a new page in my…book of life. So, take your coat off. No need to drive anywhere.”
It was the toothy grin and the one curled eyebrow that gave his nephew away.
Rupert slowly closed his eyes.
“What did you do to the car?”
“Awfully tired, think I might nap,” he said, stretching his arms over his head and fake yawning, backing up to the stairs. “Nice chatting with you.”
“Spike…”
He bit his lip as if bracing himself. “Remember how much you love your nephew?”
Rupert glared at him, his patience teetering on the edge of forgetting.
Spike called out when Rupert turned to leave and investigate it himself. “It was a moment of passion! I’ll pay for it to get fixed!”
When he opened the driver’s door and hunched forward to look inside, exactly three seconds passed, three seconds filled with images of his nephew as a baby, squeezing his finger, all the sweet and tender moments he forced himself to think about so that he didn’t murder the eighteen-year-old whining uselessly behind him.
He was almost impressed, and probably would have been had it not been his precious Volkswagen’s dashboard. Had it not been his beloved AM/FM radio with the tuning knobs hanging limp to the side because their casing was smashed to bits, Rupert might have nodded in awe. But it was his car, and his dashboard, and his radio, and Spike’s seemingly superhuman strength that destroyed it held no good impression on the older man.
“It’s not that bad,” Spike said, suddenly opposite him inside the car, fiddling with the knobs with an awkward smile wiggling over his cheeks. “See? Pushes right back inside the—oh, that’s not good.” The knob fell to the floor and rolled beneath the seat.
Rupert stood up straight. Closed the door. Took his glasses off and tucked them into the breast pocket of his overcoat.
“Are you mad?” he heard Spike say.
“Because I swear I’ll pay to fix it!” he was still saying.
Rupert was busy counting to five trillion.
“Just, please don’t send me back there. Please, Uncle Rupert. I’m really trying, and it was an accident. I’m really, really sorry.”
Rupert opened his eyes and finally took in the image of his nephew. He had guilt all over his face, but worse, was his own disappointment with himself. It was hard enough hearing him cry back there in the kitchen because Rupert had abandoned him. Hard, but necessary. Rupert’s guilt plagued him for too many years, and the only way he could rationalize leaving London to come to California was that he was changing for the better. He was no good to Spike back home, but it seemed that the way he’d left things, abrupt and without warning, did more damage to his nephew than he’d ever considered. Hearing it, seeing Spike crumble before him, toss in the towel and show nothing but the humanity in him, and the damage that had been done, almost did him in.
At this very moment, however, the look on Spike’s face was enough to remind him how much he loved this kid, how much progress he’d made these past couple of weeks, and just how much more he could make if Rupert gave him another chance. Damn the boy and his trembling chin.
“All right,” he said, sighing long and heavy, pursing his lips at the ridiculousness of it all. “I suppose you have suffered enough for one day.”
Spike exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”
“But you are paying for the damag—” Rupert winced in a mixture of pain and surprise when Spike suddenly pulled him into a bear hug and slapped him hard on the shoulder blades before squeezing him once more. This would be the second time that Rupert embraced his nephew since he came to live with him, and it filled him with a creeping awareness that perhaps he needed his nephew as much as Spike needed him. After all, if it hadn’t been for the sake of Spike’s well-being, Rupert never would have left London, never would have become the man he was today.
He would have to remind himself of this moment when he drove the damaged VW to work the following morning.