Chapter 6: Family
The door to the bathroom opened and Buffy emerged to face an anxious Dawn. Wrapped in her robe Buffy combed the length of her damp hair. Behind her, clad in his jeans and having finished flossing his teeth, Spike walked past a concerned looking teenager.
“You two better not have been doing anything ew-y in there.” Dawn’s voice reminded Buffy of her mom.
Buffy drew the comb through her hair. “We were showering, Dawn. Individually, I might add.” It was true, but Dawn’s look of weary skepticism betrayed her feelings.
“Yeah, right. You two have been going at it like possessed hamsters, I swear.” Dawn entered the bathroom and picked up her toothbrush. She proceeded to squeeze out some toothpaste. “There are lots of other animals you could emulate. You don’t have to copy the sex maniacs.”
“Dawn–“
“What about penguins?” Dawn continued speaking, her mouth foamy with toothpaste. She seemed awfully pleased with this example of animal restraint. “They’re civilized.” Dawn bent over and spat into the sink. “Why don’t you two embrace your inner penguin? They’re calm and quiet and orderly and they walk in single file…and — bonus points — they’re dressed for success.” She stabbed her toothbrush for emphasis, thoroughly pleased with her speech thus far. “And you never see them hooching it up on those nature documentaries. They always look like they’re on their way to the opera or something really boring like that. So yeah, calmness, single file, wait your turn, politeness and…Where was I going with this?”
“Off the deep end?” Buffy suggested.
“Yeah-ha, very funny. Can you at least wait and perv out in front of Giles? You can burn up his retinas for a change.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We’ve got to get ready, Giles is sending a car.”
Buffy looked perplexed. “What?”
“Buffy, Giles invited us to his country place for the day, so get cracking!”
“And you were going to tell me this…when?”
“Didn’t I tell you yesterday?” Dawn furrowed her brow. Information error. That was a new one for Dawn. She prided herself on being attentive to all aspects of social planning. “I could have sworn I did. Maybe you don’t remember on account of playing mystery date at the club last night or your not so nice interlude with Dame Edna.”
“Dawn!” Buffy sighed instead of engaging in a verbal fracas with her sister. She forced herself to calm. “Fine, I’ll call Giles and get the details.” Dawn shut the bathroom door and immediately started singing loudly. The squeal of the shower did not overpower her enthusiastic rendition of a medley of hip-hop tunes. Spike pressed his lips together wearily at the state of what passed for music these days.
Buffy found her cell and dialed Giles’ number. She walked to the window and peeked out. Overcast was a kind description. The clear sunrise had given way to clouds and a punishing rain now fell. Buffy smiled out the window as she talked briefly with Giles. Yes, they were invited. Spike too. He was sending a car. They were to check out of the hotel and take all their belongings with them. Giles would drive them to Heathrow later that evening.
A Sunday flight back to Rome. Buffy had blocked that eventuality out of her mind, but weekends don’t last forever. Sometimes real life bites you in the butt.
She ended the call to Giles and turned to see Spike pulling on his socks and boots. He traveled light, with just the clothes on his back and his trusty duster. Buffy walked over and sat down on his lap.
“What’s he say?” “We’re all invited for the day.”
“Rupert actually said that? ‘Spike’ and ‘invited’ in the same sentence?” Buffy flared her eyebrows and smiled.
“Only, it’s getting close to biblical outside.”
“Oh yeah? Plagues of locust?”
“Rain. It’s kind of horizontal.”
“Hmm, sounds wonderful.” Spike stroked her damp hair. When she rose and started getting dressed and organizing her suitcase, he remained silent.
Spike had a highly specialized ability to compartmentalize information. Packing suitcases meant leaving the hotel and probably a date with an international flight. He kept his mouth shut, lest the charm of the past two days burst like a bubble in his sights. He’d take her lead and see what she had in mind.
His own thoughts on the matter were clear. One place was as good as another, and any place with Buffy was the best of all. He’d done his time with Angel and found some closure in that department.
Spike never needed to kowtow to Angel again. They were more like true brothers now. Something he’d secretly wanted but Angelus’ monstrous ego always got in the way. The Angel ego was no less monstrous in size but his temperament was more predictable.
It struck Spike as a good thing that the old animosity had leveled off. Angel was always going to be great fodder for amusement, but Spike no longer felt that homicidal compulsion toward Angel. The past year had worn those old resentments away. Sort of.
Pummeling Angel within an inch of being staked was the best medicine Spike had in a long time. Maybe ever. And the recent dragon related unpleasantness? It wiped the slate clean, or cleaner. Spike felt ripe for a new beginning. Something he could explore honestly and openly.
Besides, Angel had Nina and she was a nice, stable girl. Even as a wolf Spike thought her quite fetching. She and Angel clicked in a way that intrigued Spike. Nina didn’t stand for Angel’s pompous on high declarations; in fact, she mostly diffused them with humor. She wanted a real relationship and she was ready, willing and able to start him on his schooling. Nina 101 seemed an awful lot like Real Life 101 to Spike and it was high time Angel got enrolled in that program.
The way Charlie explained it they all had a chance for something different. The dimensional connection had sealed with Marcus’ death. There were still reams of demons to deal with but they were of the so-called normal variety: vampires, mucus men, trolls and all manner of clawed, tentacled, multiple limbed and mystically motivated little guys.
The big guns were benched for the time being. The first string team of the First, the Senior Partners and the Old Ones had their turn at bat. Now was the time for the other guys, the denizens of the sandlot, the neighborhood kids. It was their turn at bat.
There would be a sandlot full of opportunistic demons and their willing human accomplices in any place he could think of going. Rome had its drawbacks, to be sure. There were a few unresolved issues to contend with, but this time the brass ring was visible and within reach. It looked suspiciously like a young Californian girl who was still finding her legs and testing her wings, but Spike knew this one was going to soar.
Buffy pulled on her underwear, bra and socks, jeans and a thick cable knit cream sweater. She wondered briefly if Spike was going to be cold with just his tee shirt on under his coat. A smile spread across her face at the error in her thinking.
Spike looked up from the chair and saw her staring in a daze while mindlessly caressing the spot he had bitten not two hours before. He approached her from behind and hugged her closely.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. I–” She stumbled over the words in her mind: I thought you’d be cold. “I was just–“
Spike bent his head and brushed a kiss over the spot. It was a single pierce on the left side of her neck. Now little more than a mosquito bite. Unobtrusive, but the pull still had force. His lips brushed her skin and she felt the shiver tingle straight down her spine to the tympani between her legs. The strength of that pull stunned her. It was a tiny puncture to be sure, but its power was greater even than Angel’s bite had been. The meaning was wholly different.
Connected. There was no other word for it. The one thing Buffy feared and yearned for, the thing she’d lectured Spike on before the end in Sunnydale, the one thing she kept to herself in those last fiery moments; that’s what she felt. Connected.
She’d been connected to Spike every day of the past year. Each man she’d met had to measure up to the Spike standard. Each new place she experienced was tempered with the thought, ‘I wonder if Spike ever saw this’. Each night she dreamed of fantastic vistas she’d climb with Spike: a home, a future, something tangible, something sublime. It was a nightly torture she never wanted to end.
Often in her dreams she was pregnant with his child. That was her most secret fantasy of all. Something that was never meant to be, but still it didn’t seem so far fetched to her in her dreamscape. Spike would be a loving father; granted, a nighttime father, but loving and protective and nurturing.
A connection. That’s what those baby dreams were, a physical manifestation of connection in Buffy’s mind.
“You can tell me,” Spike smoothed his palms over her cheeks. Blood pooled under her cheeks as the emotion flowed.
“I feel happy,” Buffy whispered and gasped a half laugh while tears rolled down her cheeks. Happy wasn’t a big enough word. She’d been on a pre, during, and post coital buzz for over forty hours. Never before had she been inundated with such a flood of good energy and life affirming voltage. Happy would have to suffice. That’s what she was, a happy cookie. Baked, cooled and served to a grateful recipient.
Herself.
*
“Hurry up, Dawn.” Buffy sighed as she stood in the doorway of the hotel room.
“Just a second!” Dawn whirled about the small space checking every conceivable nook and cranny. “I have to make sure I’ve got everything.”
“This is my life, Spike.” Buffy offered a tired smile. “Holding a door for Dawn to walk through.” A thought passed through Buffy’s mind: that’s what Joyce had done for her. Exactly that. Hurry up Buffy, we’re going to be late. Rushing about, scampering to and fro like a yearling full of timeless carefree beauty.
Taking turns. That was one thing Joyce concentrated on. Share with your sister. Be nice. One day you’ll be glad you have her. Mom was right. Buffy was glad. Dawn deserved her turn just as much as Joyce and Buffy. Dawn deserved a little timelessness. Something precious for a rainy day.
Patience, however, was wearing thin. “Okay, I’m counting to three–” That always got a reaction.
“God Buffy, counting to three?! Who do you think you are? Mary Poppins?” Dawn appeared at the door ready to go dressed in brown corduroy jeans, a tight white fitted blouse and her jean jacket.
“Mary Poppins didn’t need to count to three, Bit.” Spike spoke up trying to be helpful. “Those brats minded her.” Both Buffy and Dawn stilled at the thought of William the Bloody watching ‘Mary Poppins’.
“What?” Spike looked completely perplexed at their faces.
“You’ve watched ‘Mary Poppins’? I think that’s the single most disturbing image of you I’ve ever thought about,” Buffy spoke seriously but couldn’t hide her smirk.
“I bet you know all the songs too!” Dawn didn’t even try to hide her look of delight. “Great, now we have something to do in the car to Giles’. We can sing songs from ‘Mary Poppins’!” Dawn set off animatedly down the corridor dragging her suitcase on wheels.
“See what you’ve done Spike?” Buffy rolled her eyes.
“She’s just joking, right? Right, love?”
“She must have seen Mary Poppins a thousand times on video, Spike. She wore out three tapes.” Buffy held up three fingers and mouthed the words ‘three tapes’ for punctuation.
An odd thought flashed through Buffy’s mind just then. The ‘Mary Poppins’ fervor was a carefully constructed detail from a non-existent past. Those monks were oddly eclectic in their creation. She could only hope her New Kids on The Block phase was somehow part of those elaborate mystically reconstructed memories as well.
“Bloody hell.”
“She likes ‘Chim Chim Cheree’, but she’ll make you sing all the other boy songs.”
“Buffy, I don’t know the bleedin’ songs.” It was a movie Drusilla liked. She knew the words to the songs.
“Well, there’s no time like the present and no teacher like Julie Andrews’ biggest fan, Dawn Summers. Forget it Spike, if she starts ‘Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’ you’ll be singing. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be singing.” Buffy flashed him a gleeful grin, closed the room door and picked up the rest of the luggage. They met up with Dawn at the elevators.
*
The lyrical sounds of singing voices had not yet dissipated from the back of the sedan when Dawn spoke up.
“Spike, that was awesome! When did you learn to sing harmony?”
“I’ll tell you Nibblet, but you have to promise not to divulge my secret.”
“I promise.” Spike held Dawn’s rapt attention.
“I did a little recreational harmonizing with Charlie. He was partial to Gilbert and Sullivan at the time and I was too drunk to resist.” Spike smiled at the goofy memory.
“I’d forgotten what a nice voice you have.” Dawn turned her head and checked out the passing countryside. “England is extremely green.” She never let an opportunity pass to state the incredibly obvious, “and moist.” Buffy attributed this newly acquired trait to too much buddy time with Andrew. “Are we there, yet?” Yep, definitely too much Andrew.
The car eventually turned onto a long tree lined drive. They passed fields and bowers and a small trickling stream. Dawn caught a glimpse of some horses running across a picturesque expanse with what looked like a castle in the background.
“Buffy!” Dawn squeaked with excitement. “I think the Queen is Giles’ neighbor.”
Spike looked out from the darkly tinted rear windows and inspected the vision looming before them.
“Hang on a minute…”
“Oh Buffy! That’s Giles’ house!” Dawn leapt animatedly in her seat.
“Nibblet, calm down. Rupert owns two jackets…and they’re both embarrassingly out of fashion…that is NOT his house. Buffy?”
“He lives in Masterpiece Theater!”
“Dawn,” Buffy’s voice of reason sounded. “This can’t be Giles’ house. He’s– He lived in a shoebox in Sunnydale. The driver got it wrong. This is not his house.” As a saucy response to Buffy’s declaration the car stopped in front of a set of palatial front doors.
Dawn pressed her nose to the glass and saw the entrance. Two majestic wooden doors laden with carved lion heads and book ended by the largest iron urns Dawn had ever seen. It was a surreal version of lifestyles of the rich and famous. Dawn blinked with astonishment. In the state they were in, Spike and Buffy were never going to resist the pull of those doors. They were the most beautiful things Dawn had ever seen.
“Buffy, control yourself, but look at Giles’ front door.” Buffy hazarded a glance and saw the most incongruous image she’d ever seen. Giles stood in the doorway with a pleasant expression on his face. He wore jeans and a black turtleneck sweater, looking particularly to the manor born. Buffy balked.
“What the f–“
“Bloody aristocracy!” Spike spoke up forcefully. “Just when you think they’re extinct…This explains a lot actually. Poor sod never had a bloody chance, what with this horror to deal with.”
Buffy gurgled, trying to form a rational thought. Dawn burst from the car and bounded into Giles’ arms.
“Are those horses I saw yours, Giles?” Dawn’s excitement knew no bounds.
“Why yes they are, Dawn.”
“Okay, you are officially cool.”
Buffy and Spike exited the vehicle and dashed under the portico.
“What’s up Rupert, did the Bank of England roger your granny or something?”
“Hello to you too, Spike.”
“Is this your real house?” Buffy couldn’t alter the complete look of shock on her face.
“This is my mother’s family estate, Eastbrook. It’s a National Trust property now, but I still have a private apartment.”
“And that means?” Buffy would not relinquish her dumbfounded expression.
Spike spoke up. “It means the Bank of England rogered his great, great, great granny. Repeatedly. Now the government hires the help and pays the bills.”
Giles’ blinked tersely but maintained a pleasant enough façade. A sly smile spread across his face. “You know, this house was in the running to be Brideshead but we lost out in the end.”
“That must surely rankle, Rupert.”
“I don’t know what that means.” Buffy looked from Spike to Giles, completely baffled.
“His house lost the audition to star in a mini series.” Spike spoke softly into Buffy’s ear.
“Oh, cool. I don’t know anyone whose house was a movie star.” Buffy smiled at Giles.
“Well, the exterior did have a fairly substantial presence in ‘A Room with A View’, have you seen that one Buffy?” Giles raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“Is Adam Sandler in that one?”
“Oh, good lord, Buffy. Come in you lot. A little highbrow culture would do you good you know, both of you girls.”
“Oh Giles,” Dawn sighed and walked into the foyer, “try as I might, I can’t get the California out of my sister.”
“Hey, I know culture! I have three semesters of college credits.” Giles motioned to the driver to bring in their luggage. “I know I dropped out of Modern Poetry, but I read those poems. Most of them.” Buffy crossed her arms and wondered if a well placed pout would suffice. She followed Giles and Dawn through the front door with some tugging from Spike.
“WOW!” Dawn’s explosion of genuine awe stopped Buffy’s train of thought. Dawn, Buffy and Spike stared in fascination at the ornate architectural details of the front hallway and curving stairs.
“Geez Giles, I used to feel bad for the salary you got as a high school librarian and then, you know, the whole unemployed Watcher thing. I mean, you had patches on your elbows!” Dawn let the sumptuous interior take hold of her imagination.
“England’s chock full of eccentrics, Dawn. It’s what the aristocracy turned to after the empire went down the loo.” Spike couldn’t help a little self satisfied smirk for good measure.
“For the record, I am not an eccentric and my elbow patches were quite fashionable, I’ll have you know.”
“Yeah, Giles. Tweed vests, you the dawg.” Dawn giggled with ebullient good humor.
“Be kind Bit, tweed’s like a fungus the British can’t eradicate.”
“Excuse me William? It says Boise on your birth certificate now, does it?” Giles countered with a pointed glare.
“No worries Rupert. I’m a limey, through and through. Just, I done my tweed time…got over it about a century ago in fact.”
Spike surveyed what rooms he could see in a rather diabolical manner. “I’ll tell you, this brings me back. These big country manors were the best! Great eating and no one noticed when a scullery maid or two went missing–“
“SPIKE!” That was not an anecdote Buffy ever wanted to hear.
“What? I was a growing boy.”
“You were turned as an adult.”
“I always had a healthy appetite.”
“Ahem, yes,” Giles interrupted and resisted polishing his glasses with Herculean resolve. “Thank you Spike, for that unnecessary and disturbing trip down memory lane. Would you girls like a tour? Shall we go into the drawing room?”
Dawn nodded like a lunatic. “A drawing room! Buffy, did you hear that? There’s a drawing room.” Buffy nodded, happy that Dawn was so enthusiastic. “Don’t worry if we lose Buffy and Spike on the tour Giles, they’ve been all over each other since the, ah, incident in your office.”
“How’s the Waterford crystal by the way?” Spike asked nonchalantly.
“It was touch and go for a while there, but I think it’ll pull through.” Playful sarcasm from Giles? Buffy knew that meant he held no lasting resentments regarding the office sex.
“This house is just like Pemberly,” Dawn pronounced, taking hold of Giles’ arm in a formal manner. “I’ve been reading ‘Pride and Prejudice’, Giles. Have you read it? I’d recommend it highly, a bit girly but you’d love it.”
“I’m sure you meant that in the best possible sense, Dawn,” Giles countered.
“A bit girly. That’s what she meant Rupert.”
“Spike,” Buffy poked him in the ribs. “Behave.”
“Just stick with me Giles,” Dawn reasoned. “Trust me, the Buffy-Spike vibe is not a safe place for innocent bystanders.” She began to saunter down the hallway with a solemn cadence. “I will answer to ‘Miss Elizabeth Bennet’ for the remainder of the day.” Dawn’s affected accent echoed through the storied halls of Giles’ family estate.
“I think that eccentric thing may be catching.” Buffy snuggled under Spike’s arm and set off to find out more tidbits about Giles that she hadn’t known before.
*
After a whirlwind tour the foursome made their way to Giles’ personal apartment. It was a small separate ground floor set of rooms that appeared to have walls made out of books.
Giles led his guests into a cozy sitting room and knelt briefly at the hearth to start the fire. “A bit of a sorry day for your visit, I’m afraid. We have quite a famous garden here and of course, the stables. Willow rather liked the gardens,” he smiled fondly as he repositioned the fire screen to his liking. “There, that will warm things up. Now, what about lunch, who’s hungry?”
To Buffy’s surprise Giles brought out trays of finger foods and arranged them on a side table. He’d done a lot of work or contacted some caterers or something. It was a splendid feast. Dawn jumped up and immediately filled a plate with one of everything. Buffy and Spike also filled plates. Spike noted with satisfaction that Giles had obtained a close facsimile of a blooming onion.
Buffy spoke up as they ate their meals. “This is kinda weird, Giles. You know, the whole picnic-y thing with nothing horrible looming on the horizon. Oh God, I’ve jinxed it. There’s something horrible, isn’t there Giles?”
“Apparently not, no.” Giles wiped his mouth with a cloth table napkin. “It’s the oddest thing Buffy, there’s been a distinct reduction of supernatural activity since…”
“Since I saved the world…again.” Spike didn’t even look up from the chewy delicacies on his plate.
“Well erm, yes, since that. Althenea informs me that the radiant energy of the earth is — how did she put it — a sort of mossy green hue.”
“And mossy green means good?” Buffy asked.
“Mossy green means the energies of this dimension are more or less balanced. No trans-dimensional entities, gods or other powers beyond the natural scheme of things.”
“So just the normal variety of creepy and crawly?”
“Just mad dogs and Englishmen in the noon day sun, right Rupert?” Spike looked up and smiled.
“Um, yes, that’s one way of putting it. That Old One you spoke of Spike, Illyria? Even that has been neutralized.”
“Yeah, but that was before the fireworks. She’s a good egg all ’round now. High maintenance though, likes to bash, good with her fists and she’s quite partial to a fawning audience. Reminded me a bit of you, love.” Spike pulsed his eyebrow at Buffy.
“See Spike. See Spike’s nose. See Spike’s nose go boom.”
Giles ignored that interjection. “And Angel plans to continue the good fight?” His voice was neutral.
“I suppose.” Spike shrugged. He wasn’t Angel’s secretary by any stretch, but he figured the Shanshu was still on the back burner somewhere in the concrete colossus of Angel’s cranium. “You know Angel, he’s all about the righteous clobber these days. We didn’t really have too much of a mushy send off at the airport. He had plans.”
“Can I go see the horses?” Dawn swallowed the last of her juice and looked to Giles with hope.
“Yes, Dawn, if you’d like.” Dawn jumped up and started clearing away her dishes.
“Slow down Dawn,” Buffy called after her. “We’re not finished here.”
“That’s okay, I’ve got a few chapters to go with Mr. Darcy. I think I’ll find a lovely window and read for a bit.”
“Okay, but no touching the breakables.” Dawn turned and threw an annoyed look at Buffy.
“God, Buffy, I can control myself.” With that said Dawn left the room.
Giles poured the tea and the three adults sat deep in thought. Buffy was bowled over by the congeniality of the scene. Spike and Giles weren’t at each other’s throats. It was a different dynamic. Wonderful but weird. At least if they were spewing vitriol at each other she’d know what was happening. This apparent coziness was weird. There was that word again. Cozy. And it described the vibe between a vampire and the head Watcher.
At last Giles stood and spoke. “Spike, there’s something I need to say.”
“Oh please don’t Giles,” Buffy spoke up quickly, not wanting the ease of their togetherness to end. She didn’t want any negative lectures or innuendoes about slayers and vampires to spoil their lovely stormy day.
“Buffy–” Spike’s interjection was stifled by another from Buffy.
“If it’s bad then I don’t want to hear it. I really can’t take that from you.”
“Buffy, let the man speak.” Spike was ready for anything. Giles was, for all intents and purposes, Buffy’s father. Anything he had to say, Spike was willing to hear. He may not like it, but he’d hear him out.
“I’ve lived a life of contemplation and study periodically accented by action,” Giles began slowly. “My ideas about things have been deeply ingrained from personal experience and research. The Watcher’s chronicles, as you both are well aware, were hardly the most reliable or comprehensive of texts–” Buffy snorted loudly and then reddened quickly, embarrassed by her outburst.
Giles continued. “I’ve been accused of being a stick in the mud and a bit of a fogy and rightly so I’m afraid, but I do know that life is change. The new council, our army of slayers, this is a reality I never anticipated, but one have come to embrace. I’ve even surprised myself in the past year…” Giles’ voice trailed off briefly only to return with conviction.
“You have surpassed my narrow assumptions, Spike. You are not what I feared. You alone have proven beyond measure that true and lasting change is possible. You’ve shown to be a hero twice and I freely acknowledge it and thank you sincerely for your efforts because I know they were not easy.”
“Giles–” Buffy’s voice choked on her emotion.
“The future is an uncertain place,” Giles spoke on. “If you two think you have a chance together, than I say go to it. Buffy, I will brook no opposition to your wishes. You have a life to live now, because of Spike, and you should live it however you choose.” He gave them his unqualified support and blessing in a few short sentences.
“Oh, Giles.” Buffy sprang to her feet and threw her arms around Giles’ neck. Spike stood and accepted Giles extended hand and shook it.
“Buffy…where’s my blue shoulder bag?” Dawn stopped in the doorway and stared. “There’s hugging? When did this happen? Why do I always miss out on the good stuff? I want hugging!” She scooted over to the group and was soon enveloped in an affectionate Buffy and Giles sandwich. Then with a hoot she jumped into Spike’s arms and hugged him again, like that first time just two days ago.
Dawn felt love in that room, among more books than she’d ever seen outside of a library. Love and gratitude and remembrance.
A little bit of Sunnydale lived on in these four beings: Dawn’s childhood, her school days, her best pal Janice; Anya and the Magic Box; Tara’s funny shapes pancakes. And Joyce. Treasured memories. Some fabricated, some factual. All beloved.
The hellmouth had swallowed so much of Dawn’s life: her home, her room, her pictures and journals. The porch swing. Grandma’s engagement ring. The letter Hank wrote to her after she was born. Even Joyce and Tara’s graves. That was the most hurtful blow of all. But the proof of their existence lived within Dawn’s heart and mind and also the minds of these three witnesses.
Her family.