Chapter Twenty-Six
“Hey, man. Nice digs,” Xander said, impressed. “Kinda, empty, though,” he observed. The only furniture in the living room was the tv, which was standing on the black, pedestal entertainment center that came with it. It was currently tuned into the Speed channel on cable, a replay of the race from Sunday being shown.
“Yeah. Waiting on the rest of the furniture to show up. Should be in the next couple of days,” Spike explained, standing and pulling a red t-shirt over his head. He had been laying, sprawled out on the floor, two big pillows underneath him. “Wanna beer?”
“Sure.” Xander followed him into the kitchen, letting out a low whistle at the expanse of it. “Do you even KNOW how to cook?” Spike snorted, and pulled open the refrigerator.
“Yes, I know how to cook. Kinda had to learn if I didn’t want to exist on fast food,” he answered, plucking two beers from behind the milk. Xander took the one held out to him and twisted off the cap, expertly landing it in the trash can. Spike leaned against the counter and did the same, his cap bouncing off the rim, before landing in the trash. “Can’t wait for the rest of the stuff to get here. Kind of rough on the old back laying the floor to watch telly.”
“I dunno, I kinda like it. Simplistic, yet tasteful.” The blonde rolled his eyes, and took a long swallow of his beer.
“Simplistic? Yeah, but not homey.” The brunette’s eyes shot up at that, and he let out a chuckle.
“Homey, huh? Looking to put up chintz curtains, and lace doilies?” Spike growled at that.
“Hardly.” *Unless that’s what Buffy wants* He scowled at the bottle in his hand at that thought. *Ponce.*
“Uh, huh. That’s what I said, once upon a time. Then I got married.”
“How’re you two doing, anyway? I guess by the smile, that Cordy forgave your sorry ass.”
“Yeah. Threatened to cut off my parts if I left again.” Spike grimaced and laughed at the same time. “She’s making me go to a support group.”
“Good. You need one.” Xander shot him a glare, but didn’t disagree.
“What about you and the Buffster? She’s not here, so am I to assume that you’ve gotten shot down again?” A wicked smile curled Xander’s face, and he just snorted at the middle finger Spike held up.
“Told you once, my friend. The ones you gotta work for are the ones that are worth it.”
“Uh, huh. I didn’t have to work for Cordy,” the other man reminded him, drinking his beer.
“No, she had to knock you over the head with a sledge hammer to get your head out of your arse,” Spike shot back, annoyed. It was true, that since the night they went to the mall, Buffy was doing a good job at making herself scarce. For the last three days, whenever he called the house, she was in the bathroom, according to Dawn. Whenever he stopped by, she was conveniently at the store. Dawn would always give him the same, half sympathetic, half smug look, before closing the door. He couldn’t even begin to fathom what was going through her mind, but at this point, he was ready to show up at her work, haul her over his shoulder, and drag her back here to remind her, repeatedly, why they should be together. And it wasn’t even the sex. Which was incredible. It was the way she made him feel, like he could conquer the world.
“She’s scared,” Xander told him, studying the miserable face of his friend.
“Wha?” Spike’s eyes met his, the scarred eyebrow up in question. The brunette sighed, and settled himself more comfortably against the counter.
“You left her once. What’s to stop you from doing it again?”
“You left Cordy,” Spike pointed out.
“Yeah, and let me tell you, I’m paying for it. She’s had me doing any and every menial task she can think of. My ‘Honey Do’ lists are so long, I won’t have a free weekend until Jazz graduates from college.”
“So what? She’s making me pay?” Xander rolled his eyes, but felt a surge of delight at finally being able to give Spike advice on women.
“In a way. It’s not the racing anymore. It still scares her, but that’s not it. You walked away from her to pursue your career. Then again after the funeral.” Xander was the only one that Spike had told about that. “So, what if you decide to do it again?”
“She knows why I left.” Spike surged away from the counter, and started to pace the length of the kitchen. “I couldn’t change who I was, not for her, not for my father. Not for anybody. Anymore than I would want her to change for me.” Anger thrummed through his body, and it electrified the air.
“I know. And she DOES understand that. But logic doesn’t work when it comes to emotions. Trust me, I know.” Xander watched him as he moved, thinking the blonde resembled a tiger in a cage.
“So, what the bloody hell am I supposed to do? And how the hell do you know all this?” Spike demanded, coming to a stop in front of his friend.
“Who am I married to?”
“Cordelia.”
“Who is she best friends with?” Spike rolled his eyes.
“Buffy and Willow.”
“Exactly. The way they talk, you best believe that they all know the size of our equipment, and how well it works.” The two shared a horrified look before Xander continued. “As to what you’re supposed to do, I don’t know. Women are a mystery to me.” Spike nodded in agreement, staring off at a point past Xander’s head, his mind spinning. The other man tilted back the bottle and drained it. “Well, I’ve got to get outta here. Cordy’s expecting me.”
“Whipped.” Spike shook himself out of his thoughts to tease.
“Yep. And so are you. Good luck. See ya Friday.”
“Yeah. Give Jazz a kiss for me.”
“Will do,” Xander called as he left the apartment. Spike walked back into the living room, and settled himself back on the floor. He lit a cigarette and looked at the race on the tv, not really seeing it. He had to try to figure out a way to get Buffy to trust him again. Unfortunately, he was coming up blank. Scowling, he finished his beer, then took a drag off his cigarette, staring at the screen as if it held the answers to the universe.
*There had to be something,* he thought, idly rolling the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. Maybe he needed to talk to his dad. Rupert always seemed to know what to do in a sticky situation. Nodding to himself, he got up from the floor and went to find his boots. His father should have been home from the gallery an hour ago, and would be settling in for his night of reading. Now was as good a time as any.
Turning off the tv, Spike grabbed his keys and headed out of the apartment, the door slamming in his wake.
~*~*~
“So, how long are you going to torture him?” Dawn asked, tilting her head to the side. She watched as her sister carefully stirred the spaghetti sauce, then dipped a piece of bread in to check it.
“Who?” The teenager rolled her eyes and rested her chin on her fist.
“Spike, of course. He’s been trying to get hold of you for three days now. Did anything happen the other night?” Buffy closed her eyes as memories rushed over her, making her dizzy. Boy, did something happen, she thought. That’s why she had been avoiding him. One touch, a look, and she was panting like a dog. It was not conducive to thinking things through, and she desperately needed to think, before she fell into bed with him.
“I’m not torturing him,” she finally said, turning to sit at the table.
“Oh, yeah. That’s why you won’t talk to him when he calls, and when he shows up you hide in the bathroom and have me tell him you’re out. Definitely doesn’t sound like torture to me,” Dawn said sarcasm dripping from her voice. Buffy glared at the younger woman.
“It’s complicated.” Dawn rolled her eyes again, and plucked a tomato out of the salad.
“Yeah. Real complicated. You love him, he loves you. The situation is just wrought with complications.”
“And just when did you become Dr. Phil?” Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, and eyeballed the girl across from her. Dawn just wrinkled her nose.
“Look, I might be new to this whole boy/girl thing. But I knew at eleven that you guys should be together. No matter what I wanted. It was always you. I can only hope to find that.” Tears pricked the back of Buffy’s eyes at the sadness that touched her sister’s face. Spike would forever and always be Dawn’s first love.
“Connor seems to be on the right track.”
“Yeah. He does.” A large smile split the girl’s face as the image of her unexpected boyfriend popped into her mind. “Oh, that reminds me. Angel’s in town. Do you mind if Connor comes to Mark’s party? He’s so not into family bonding.” Buffy had to chuckle at that.
“I don’t care. But call Willow first. Don’t want to mess up her hors d’oeuvres count.”
“I guess not. She might never recover.” They both snickered, thinking of the redhead’s insistence on precision. “So, what are you going to do about Spike? You can’t avoid him forever.”
“I know that. And I’m not planning on it. It’s just, I don’t know. I didn’t expect this. I figured, when he left, that was it. No second chance. I cherished the memories and moved on.”
“No you didn’t. You know it, I know, hell, even Riley knew it.”
“Language.” Dawn rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I know all that. I don’t know what’s holding me back. It really hurt when he left. I don’t know if I could handle it again.”
“What makes you think he’s going to leave?”
“Nothing, really.” Buffy admitted, getting up to turn the sauce off. She then dumped the noodles and started to pile food on plates.
“What do Cordy and Willow say?”
“I can’t tell you and keep it PG.” Dawn laughed at that, thinking along the same lines as the other girls.
“So, do it. It’ll make you happy.”
“For how long?” the blonde asked quietly, putting a plate in front of Dawn and sitting down. The younger Summers pinned her sister with her suddenly adult eyes.
“However long you let it.” With that, Dawn picked up her fork and dug in, leaving her sister to sit in silence, idly twirling noodles on her fork.
~*~*~
“Dad?” Spike called, walking through the door of his father’s apartment. He smiled when he saw the boxes marked ‘Will’s stuff’ sitting on the couch. “Real subtle old man,” he chuckled, moving towards the kitchen when he didn’t see Rupert. His brows drew together in confusion when he didn’t see him in there either. His father’s car was out front, so he knew that he was home. But it was too early for him to be in bed, and there was no light on in the bathroom.
Walking down the hall, Spike glanced in his old room, smirking at how empty it was now. He stopped in front of Rupert’s door, and leaned in, listening for the sound of movement. When he heard a faint rustling, he raised his hand, and gave a sharp knock.
“Dad?” he called again, curling his hand around the knob. He heard a voice, too garbled to make out. He twisted the knob and started to push it open. “Dad? You alright?” When the door swung the full way open, he stood, stunned, taking in the scene before him. There, in his father’s bed, was the pretty, young blonde who worked at the gallery. The fact that she was in here in the first place was enough to put Spike to sputtering. The fact that she was naked, clutching a sheet had him nearly pass out.
“Will.” Two sets of blue eyes locked and Spike found himself stunned again to see Rupert, who was obviously nude under the robe he had wrapped around himself walking towards him.
“Uhm, uh. Sorry. I knocked, and, and. . .nobody answered. Didn’t mean to interrupt. Carry on,” he stammered, turning on his booted heel and darting down the hall.
“Will,” Giles called, following him. Panic had his heart racing as he tried to catch up to his son. He hadn’t meant for the boy to find out this way. Hell, he hadn’t meant to wind up here, like this. “Will!”
Spike either didn’t hear him, or was ignoring him as he stalked through the apartment and towards the door.
“William!” Finally, the blond turned and faced his father, anger and hurt written plainly across the sharp planes of his face.
“What?” The word was sharp, the eyes blazing as he looked at his father.
“I’m sorry you had to find out this way. . .”
“Please, don’t,” Spike said, holding up a hand to stay his father’s words. “I can’t, right now.” Giles looked as if he was going to try again, but the look on his child’s face had him thinking better of it. Spike was asking for time, and Rupert felt that it was best to give it to him. He nodded, his eyes begging Spike to understand. The other man’s jaw tensed, and tears glistened in his eyes while he looked at the man that gave him life. So many things were swirling through him, and he had to get out. Without another word, he turned and left the apartment, the soft click of the door reverberating through Rupert’s head.
“You should have told him.” Anya’s quiet voice drifted to him, the words suffused with sympathy. “I know. I just didn’t know how.” Giles turned back to her, smiling a bit at the tousled hair and flushed skin of the woman before him. “He never properly grieved for his mother. I was afraid,” he admitted, walking back over to her. She slid her arms around his neck, her fingers stroking through his hair, soothing him.
“He’ll be alright. It’s a bit of a shock catching your parents doing things that they’re not supposed to know about.” Rupert had to smile at that.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course I am. Now, come on.” He took one last look at the door, distress at hurting his son flowing through him, before letting Anya draw him back into the bedroom.
~*~*~
“Hi, Spike,” Dawn said, after she opened the door. Her smile faded at the look in his eyes. “What’s the matter?” She took a step forward, worry marring her brow.
“Nibblet, where’s big sis? And if you tell me at the store, I’m going to rip this house apart until I find her,” he warned. Dawn’s eyes widened at the hard edge to his voice, and opened her mouth to answer.
“I’m right here, Spike. What’s wrong?” Buffy stepped from behind the door, frowning at the look of pain on his face.
“I need to talk to you. Would you come out here, please?” It sounded more like a demand than a request, and the sisters shared a surprised look before Buffy slipped outside.
“Don’t sit on the phone. You need to finish your homework,” she warned Dawn before shutting the door. She turned and looked at Spike, wondering about the rigid line of his back. He had already settled himself on the top step, a cigarette smoldering in his hand. He was taking rapid puffs, like a crack addict trying to hurry the rush. Gingerly, she sat next to him, and turned to study his stony profile. “Spike, what’s the matter?” His eyes darted to hers, then back to the empty street.
“I’m trying to be mature, and not blow my frigging cork. Afterall, who am I to say what he does. He’s bloody well over eighteen, isn’t he? S’not like it’s my business what he does.” Two tawny brows drew together at his diatribe, wondering just what in the hell he was talking about.
“Spike?” she tried again, resting a hand on his knee.
“Sorry, luv. I’m a little. . .okay, a lot freaked out.” He lit another cigarette off the butt of the one in his hand, before tossing the remnants away.
“I can tell by your chain smoking. Now, what caused this desire to promote lung cancer?” she teased, hoping to get him to talk. Spike took several deep breaths, as if he was gearing himself to tell her something devastating.
“Ijustfoundmyfatherinbedwithawoman.” The words came out so fast, and so close together, that Buffy wasn’t sure she had caught them.
“Be kind, rewind,” she quipped, trying to lighten the mood to something less oppressive. He turned to look at her then, blue eyes torn between anger and hurt. Instinctively, she reached up and cupped his face, running her thumb along his cheek to soothe him.
“I just found my father in bed with a woman,” he repeated, enunciating each word. “I just found my father in bed with a woman.” Once more, and it finally seemed to be sinking in. Buffy’s eyes had widened comically, the idea of Rupert and sex not computing. She struggled to keep in the ‘ew’ that was dying to push its way out of her mouth. The image that popped into her head making her face flame. It wasn’t that she didn’t think that Giles should have that in his life. It was just no child wants to admit that their parents even knew what sex was, much less actually catch them doing it. Suddenly, an image of Spike’s face at the moment that realization had settled ran through her mind, and she had to stifle a chuckle. She didn’t think that he would appreciate her seeing the humor just yet.
“Okay,” she started, not sure what to say. “I’m assuming it was Anya?” She reared back at the fury that blazed into his eyes.
“You knew?” His voice was low and dangerous.
“Cordy might have mentioned that Anya liked him. But I swear I didn’t know anything other than that. As far as I know, they haven’t even been out on a date yet.”
“Wonderful. Dad’s just hopping into bed with anyone now.”
“I don’t think that’s fair,” Buffy stated calmly. The look he gave her was anything but calm.
“Really, why?” He didn’t seem as curious to know as the question indicated. Sighing, Buffy settled in and prepared for the blow up that was sure to come.
“Your father has been alone for a long time. He deserves some happiness.”
“Oh, and a quick toss in the sheets with some chippy is going to do that?” he snapped. His accent was starting to smooth out, and lose the edge that it had normally. Whenever he got angry, he sounded so much like his father it was scary.
“Maybe. And who’s to say that’s all it is?”
“Oh, so you think that he might want to marry the little chit? Jesus, Buffy, she doesn’t look any older than me. Am I supposed to call her mum?” The distaste that crossed his features let her know just what he thought of THAT idea.
“Spike, don’t jump the gun. I’m going to assume, from the way you’re acting, you didn’t stop to ask questions.” He shook his head, and threw his cigarette away.
“Kinda had to get out of there before I heaved.” Taking a deep breath, Buffy laced her fingers through his, and looked up into his eyes.
“I remember the first date my mother went on after the divorce. It pissed me off, and I made her life miserable for the entire week beforehand, and a couple of days after for good measure. Finally, she just blew up at me. Told me it wasn’t my place to tell her what she could and couldn’t do. Their marriage was over, and nothing was going to change that.” Tears brightened his eyes as he listened to her, Rosemary’s face floating through his memory. He blinked to keep them at bay, his entire body strung tight with tension.
“I understand all that,” he said after a couple of minutes, his voice thick. “But. . .” he couldn’t finish, the tears welling up again. He fought desperately to control them, his fingers nearly crushing Buffy’s.
“It still hurts,” she finished for him. He nodded, looking down at her. Her heart broke at the look of utter anguish in his eyes, the color nearly darkened to black. “Oh, baby. Let it out. You can’t keep it all in like this. Trust me, I know. After you left, the day after the funeral, I just broke. It all came out. Everything I’d had bottled up inside just poured down my face. After it was over, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted. Cry for her, baby. It’s okay. She would want your father to be happy. And she wouldn’t want you to be hurting like this. Let go.” Buffy had maneuvered herself as close to him as she could, her fingers in constant motion on his face, her other hand taking the abuse his fingers were doling out. Spike sucked in a shuddering breath, pressing his lips in a tight line to keep that wall from breaking within. He was afraid if he let go, that Rosemary would fade. He had to keep the pain of losing her fresh, so her image would always be clear. If he let her go, he was afraid it would be complete.
Buffy just continued to talk to him, her soothing touch, and gentle words going a long way towards cracking his resolve. She felt him shaking, and scooted closer, wrapping her arm around his neck, and stroking his back.
“Don’t be afraid, baby. She’ll live in your heart. Nothing will take that away.” When he broke, it was with the fury of the waves in a hurricane. He released her hand to haul her into his lap, his arms banding so tight around her she had to struggle to breathe. She didn’t complain, just kept stroking him, and whispering, while he soaked her shirt with his tears, his hoarse, rasping sobs filling the air around them. Tears poured down her face in response to his, as well as her own lingering grief at losing her mother.
Buffy didn’t know how long they stayed like that, with their arms around each other, while six years of pent up grief drained out of him. Dawn had opened the door at one point, her young face worried. Buffy had just shook her head, telling her not now. That was the only interruption they got, neither one caring if the neighbors were looking outside to see what all the noise was about. Spike seemed unaware of anything around him. He just held onto her like a life preserver, while his soul screamed what had been taken from him.
As the minutes, or hours, Buffy couldn’t be sure, ticked past, she felt his shudders start to ease. She kept up her whispering and light touching, reacquainting herself with his body as she did so. One hand tangled in the soft white curls, while the other drifted over his shoulders and back. His breathing became less ragged as the sobs decreased.
A few minutes later, he pulled back to look up at her, his eyes red rimmed, but still beautiful. She smiled down at him, and traced her thumb over his scar.
“Feel better?” Another deep, shuddering breath was her answer, as well as a nod.
“A little,” he admitted, his words husky. He never lessened his grip on her, afraid if he did, she might slip away. “Sorry about leaking all over your shirt.” She just shrugged, and continued to stare down at him. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For being here.” She smiled again, leaning into his touch when he cupped her cheek.
“Anytime.” Those were the last words they said to each other. The night sounds drifted around them, enclosing them in their own little world, as they stayed on the steps, just holding each other.