Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fan Fiction ❯ Old Friends ❯ The Joys of Family Bonding ( Chapter 6 )

 

 

 

Chapter #6: The Joys of Family Bonding

 

Giles walked into his kitchen the next morning to find Spike sitting at the kitchen table with his head pillowed in his arms. “Oh. Good morning,” He still wasn't quite sure how to react to Spike's attack last night, so he'd decided to just ignore it for the moment.

Not looking up, Spike gave a short grunt of acknowledgment.

“I take it that you are feeling better?” Giles asked, referring to last night's anger and busying himself with the teapot. At seven in the morning, he didn't have to be at The Magic Box until almost ten, when the store opened to customers.

Spike shifted, lifting his head up slightly to rest his chin on his arms and give Giles a narrow look. Eyes bloodshot and hair free of his usual gel, he looked horrible. He'd gotten back at almost 3 in the morning after having spent the night down at the local dive, Willy's Bar, binge drinking and starting one or two bar fights. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten to turn off his alarm clock before passing out on his bed and the bloody thing had woken him up at six in the morning. Unable to go back to sleep after this, but definitely feeling the effects of the night before, he'd called into work sick, stumbled into the kitchen to take some aspirin, and hadn't moved since.

Still messing with the teapot, Giles continued to prepare his breakfast, oblivious of his nephew's less than stellar condition. “Have you had breakfast yet? I could make you some porridge if you'd like.”

A sound of disgust at the thought of eating any of that mush, and Spike went back to hiding his head in the confines of his arms.

“How about tea?”

A grumbled, “Nuh . . .”

The kitchen descended into silence for a few moments, the atmosphere between the uncomfortable with subtle tension as Giles took a seat across from Spike, tea in hand and breakfast before him on the table. Another uncomfortable moment passing as Giles ate quietly.

His eyes inevitably drawn to Spike's hunched over form, Giles found himself watching the other in both worry and curiosity. More than any other difference shown in the past few weeks, last night had made the distance between his nephew William and the young man Spike only far too clear. William was a sweet little boy from England. This Spike was a complete stranger, one willing to beat up an acquaintance's boyfriend at a look and with a whole life out there which Giles knew nothing about. Eight years as a runaway and almost twelve years since Giles had been forced out of his life. He'd known that was a long time, but up till now he hadn't quite realized just how much could have happened during it. The questions that had occasionally come to bother him over Spike's short stay were re-presenting themselves, and this time they were stronger than before and Giles was paying them more than a passing nod.

Just why had William run away? What exactly could have happened between the boy and his father? What could he have spent his time doing as a runaway? What had he done for food, clothing, and lodgings? What could have inspired such anger? How had he gotten to the States? To California? How had he found Giles' whereabouts?

“If yer jus' goin' t' keep staring at me, I'm goin' t' leave.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Giles looked down into his cup of tea, slightly embarrassed. He hadn't realized he had been staring for so long.

“Yeah sure . . .” Spike grumbled and ran a hand through his hair, sitting up in his seat. The aspirin was finally beginning to set in and he was feeling marginally better, enough to chance the light of the kitchen.

“Good heavens,” Giles said, looking up from his tea and getting his first glance at Spike's appearance that morning, “Are you okay?”

Spike shook his head gingerly, testing his boundaries, and explained shortly, “Hangover.”

“Oh. Yes. Right,” Giles nodded, this answer reminding him again of last night's events and he looked to Spike in question. “About that. I'd been meaning to ask you about last night and your . . . well . . . rather strong reaction to - to Buffy's guest.”

Propping an elbow up on the table, Spike rested his head in a palm and let the question run through his somewhat muddled head. “Angel.”

“Yes.”

A pause as Spike seemed to consider this. “Jus' wot do y' want t' know?”

“Well . . .” Giles trailed off. He didn't know what he wanted know. Or he didn't know how to ask about what he wanted to know. Finally he just decided to start with a broad question and work his way down to the specifics when he could better figure which line of questioning would not set Spike off. “Who is he?”

“He's Angel,” Spike answered, looking back at Giles with a bit of a smirk, figuring it only fair that he have to work for his answers.

For a moment there was an expectant silence, the two just looking at each other, until Giles finally realized that Spike would not be adding any more to that answer. “Yes. Fine. That question was a tad broad, wasn't it? I think what I really meant to ask was, well . . . who is he to you? How did you know him?”

A casual shrug and Spike settled back easily in his chair. “We met up in London, didn't we? Went t' a club or two together.”

“A club or two . . . ?” Giles asked, trailing off expectantly, and then let out a sigh when Spike once again refrained from expanding upon a thought. “Of course. Then, if you don't mind, if you two were nothing more than mere acquaintances, as it sounds, just what was it that so upset you last night?”

“Well, he cheated me at poker, didn't he?”

Giles frowned, taking in Spike's completely straight face. As though that was actually what had happened and Giles had no reason to think otherwise. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. 200 pounds, the wanker,” Spike even managed to sound offended by it.

“Wil - Spike . . .” Giles started then looked down into his ignored cup of tea, trying to find the words, “Look . . . I . . . I understand that we haven't seen each other in awhile and . . . and that things may - may be different for you now, but . . .”

And Spike had an idea of where this was going to go. “Oh fuck no . . .”

“. . . that doesn't mean that I'm not here, or -or that I won't listen. And . . . and I'll admit that yesterday was something of an eye-opener for me. It was . . . It made me realize just h - how much I . . . well, how much I simply don't know about you anymore. And . . . .” and here Giles took a deep breath, “And how much I want to.”

Silence.

Then: “No.”

“I'm sorry?” Giles asked, getting up the courage to look up from his cup.

“I said no,” Spike repeated, expression hardening and he glared at Giles, “You don't . . . you don't get that. I don't . . .” he shook his head, “No. Just no.”

“Will—

“Shut up,” he snapped. Still dealing with a hangover and the confrontation with Angel, Spike's temper was running even shorter than usual and he was now suddenly infuriated, “You can't just . . . just say things like - like . . . and god, you were,” turning away, he cut himself off before he could say anything more incriminating and clenched his hands into fists, “. . . you fuck.”

“I . . .” Giles drew back in his seat, at a loss as to what he had said to make Spike this angry.

“You . . . y' fuckin' bloody `lil—” cutting himself off again, Spike climbed to his feet, “Look. Let's jus' get this straight `ere, yeah? I didn't come `ere to renew any of the old family bonds,” the word spat in disgust, “I'm `ere fer th' bloody money. Nothing else.”

“I don't—

“Don't. Just don't,” Spike interrupted, “Don't y' bloody even try. I don't want anything t' do wit' that, yeah?” turning to quickly leave the room and house, “Keep me out o' yer bloody disgustin' little fantasies.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Giles sitting alone in the kitchen. A moment taken to stare after Spike's retreating back, Giles then gave a tired sigh and looked back down into his cup of tea. “Well that certainly could've gone better.”

 

 

After leaving the house, Spike had wanted to get some more to drink. But, besides the fact that the only bar open at this time of day was Willy's, he knew that he couldn't afford to have a second round of binge drinking. So, having nothing else to do, he had eventually ended up on a park bench, slouched irritably with his legs splayed open and a fag in hand, wearing an expression of extreme hate.

Over his hangover, he looked much better than that morning but his hair was still gel-free, he having stormed out of the house without putting it in, meaning that he now looked like a complete idiot. This had only made him angrier when he had realized it, and after everything else in his day, he had not needed anything else.

First his uncle's attempt at family bonding and deep conversation, then leaving in a blind attempt to get away only to rediscover the complete lack of anything to do in Sunnydale, and then the lovely reminder of the fact that he was dead broke and any money he did make couldn't be used for himself so even if there had been something to do or drink he wouldn't have been able to afford it. And he was now being forced to sit still and do nothing, refusing to go return to Giles' place and resigning himself to a bad hair day.

He hated this town more than ever.

Now that he'd come to discover that Angel (of all the people on this bloody planet, Angel) was not only horribly alive and healthy, but also in town and doing good for himself. In Spike's opinion that discovery had plunged this godawful town to the level of Hell on Earth. Thankfully less hot than the fiery pits but also much more boring.

He wouldn't have minded so much if Angel had done the half-decent thing and lived in the sewers eating rats. But no, of course not, the blighter simply had to live the life of luxury, a pretty chit at his side, a nice place to live, more than enough food on his plate, and a very expensive and utterly useless higher education.

That last one was what bothered him the most. Because really, what had he been thinking? Yes, let's throw this 30,000 dollars at those ponces over there in the black robes. That's a good idea. Go ahead, just shower them in money. God knows one can't doodle without that special piece of paper. The horror.

Bastard

And then his uncle. Things had been going just fine on that front. He had a place to sleep and food on the table, suffer through that one Sunday meeting and that was pretty much the extent of his contact with the man. Why did he have to choose now to suddenly get all touchy-feely?

Oh. Right. That had been Angel's fault too. Spike goes on a bit of a rampage one night and suddenly Giles wants to know everything about him. Great.

How the hell had Angel even gotten here? And what were the chances that he'd not only choose this town out of all the others, but that he'd also choose Buffy out all of the girls?

Maybe Spike had actually died and this was the real Hell. That would make more sense.

“Hey.”

Startled out of his increasingly negative thoughts, Spike was surprised to find that at some time Xander had appeared and was sitting on the opposite side of his bench.

“Wot're you doing `ere?”

“Was just taking a walk and thought I'd come over and say `Hey',” Xander said, looking around the area curiously.

“Which you've done.” A clear dismissal. Spike was still a little pissed at Xander for stopping him last night and didn't want the kid around. He would get over it though.

“Yeah, I did, huh?” Xander smiled at him inanely then went back to examining the surroundings, “I think I like this bench. Good view. Solid workmanship.” He smiled down at the bench and gave it an approving pat.

Hearing this, Spike narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Wot do y' want?”

“Nothing,” Xander looked surprised at the suspicion, “Why? Should I be wanting something?”

“Yer here fer sumthin. Wot is it?”

Xander gave him a dirty look. “God, rude much?”

Spike said nothing, turning away to take a drag from his fag, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he watched a mother go by with a buggy. After spending enough time with the boy, he'd discovered that if a person was quiet enough for long enough Harris would probably answer anything.

And finally, after a long silence, deliberately made as uncomfortable as possible, his patience was rewarded. “Oh fine. Whatever.” Xander rolled his eyes and shifted irritably on the bench. “Giles sent me.”

“Giles sent you,” Spike repeated to make sure he'd gotten that correctly, looking over at the boy suspiciously.

Xander nodded. “Yeah.”

“How?” Spike asked, “He doesn't know where I am.”

“Well, okay. Not really sent, as in sent,” Xander allowed, “He just kinda called me up and said that if I happened to see you around town that I should stop and see if you were alright,” he said, looking over at Spike, “Said you guys had a fight, and he seems to be under some delusion that you'd actually share your feelings with me.” Xander shook his head at the craziness.

“Bloody `ell,” Spike muttered, ignoring the last bit of the explanation, “He didn' tell y' wot it was about too, did `e?”

“Not really. He just said that you seemed upset.”

Spike's expression darkened. “Of course, he did.”

Noticing the anger there, Xander attempted a save. “He's just worried about you.”

“Worried . . .” And that just seemed to set Spike off even more. Xander didn't understand it.

“Yeah. Worried. I don't know about in England, but here in America that's a good thing,” Xander said, giving Spike a weird look, “It means a person cares whether you live or die.”

And that didn't seem to make Spike any less angry. “Chose a good time to start showing it,” grumbled before Spike could even realize he'd thought it. And that was just great. He might as well have broadcast it. Let everyone know what a complete nancy boy he was. Hastily returning his fag to his mouth, Spike tried to act as though he hadn't said anything and hoped the boy had missed his accidental admission.

Unfortunately, Xander had done no such thing and was actually looking shocked by the slip-up. It made sense though, Xander figured, what with the whole runaway thing.

“Well, in all fairness to the G-man, I don't think he could do the caring-thing with you around to see it when you weren't, you know, around to see it.”

A derisive snort, Spike, not trusting himself to not spill more if he opened his mouth, kept his attention focused on the path in front of him and smoking furiously.

“And hey, at least he's trying, right?” Xander continued, “That's gotta get some points.” And, yeah, there might've been some bitterness in there. He quickly pasted on a goofy grin in defiance of it.

Spike glanced in Xander's direction at the hint of something like depth to the smiling idiot, found himself looking at only a smiling idiot, and turned his attention back to the path in front of him. “If y' say so.”

“And I do.” Xander nodded decisively, the two lapsing into an only slightly uncomfortable silence.

Finally Spike just had to ask, wanting Xander to go away and leave him alone, “Don't y' have t' somewhere else t' be, right now?”

And here, Xander looked a bit sheepish. “Sadly, no. I really don't.”

“No job?” Spike raised a brow meaningfully.

Xander smiled at him, a little embarrassed. “Got fired again.”

A moment as Spike digested this and then turned away, muttering to himself in disgust. “Of course you did.”