CHAPTER FIVE - Late Night Wanderings
After dragging her into the room, Angel had left her standing there as he practically stormed into the bathroom. At the sound of the shower being turned on, Buffy sighed and faced the luggage that had been neatly stacked in the corner of the room. For the next few hours, she busied herself putting her belongings in all their rightful new places. When she was satisfied that the cream, bare room looked remotely like someone lived in it, she sat down on the edge of the monstrous four-poster, watching Angel intently as he worked through a stack of papers. Always with the papers. Buffy decided she had let the inevitable conversation alone long enough.
“Angel, why didn’t you tell me you had a brother?” She enquired quietly.
Angel closed his eyes, not wanting to deal with this right now. “Because he might as well have been dead for all we knew.” He was getting huffy with her already. But she was not going to let this be yet another reason for him to silently brood himself into oblivion.
“What happened?”
“Look, Spike was and still is an irresponsible brat. He enjoys seeing others in pain. Carnage and chaos trail behind him wherever he goes. He used to steal from the kitchen and make a mockery of the way my father and I ran our lives. The day came when my father decided not to put up with his antics any longer and Spike threw a fit and left.” That vein in Angel’s forehead began to protrude yet again. “I don’t like the idea of you being in the same house as him, he’s dangerous.”
Buffy rolled her eyes at his overprotective habit and belief she couldn‘t take care of herself. “Where did he go?” Buffy was a little more forceful with her words than before.
“If you’re so interested in Spike, why don’t you ask him!? He’s his own favorite person!” Angel bellowed.
Buffy winced, before turning cold. This whole part of his life he’d left her in the dark about and the last thing she was going to do is stand there and let him take out his frustration on her.
“Maybe I will,” she shot back as she climbed into bed and turned off the light.
_______________________________________
The grumbling of Buffy’s stomach roused the blonde from her fitful sleep. They had arrived at the mansion past lunch and with the excitement of Angel’s estranged little brother, everyone had gone to bed early and with an empty stomach. The party had seemed too upset to feel the need for sustenance. Not wanting to bother anyone, Buffy thought it best to venture into the unknown territory of the kitchen and help herself.
Padding down the carpeted stairs in her sushi pj’s, she gazed at the light spilling out of her destination. Inside the room she heard hushed voices in mid-conversation. In an attempt to eavesdrop, she quieted her steps until she got close enough for the words to become clear.
“But he looked good, didn’t he?” a woman’s voice remarked.
“He sure turned out to be a handsome boy! He looks just like his mother,” gushed another.
“He sure didn’t get those cheekbones from his father!”
“If he wasn’t Master William, and I were ten years younger!”
“Ten!? You mean twenty!” A few more voices laughed. Hidden away from sight, Buffy smiled at their mirth -- a happiness that until then had been lacking inside the mansion. And she did have to smile at their topic -- the man did have the most lickable cheekbones. Buffy’s lips pursed at the thought she had just let herself have. Closing her eyes and quickly clearing her head, she inched closer around the corner, squeezing herself against the wall as she entered the dining room. To the left was some swinging wooden door that entered into the kitchen where the women were conjugated. One door was propped open.
“He filled out so nicely! He was a gaunt twenty-one year old boy when he left.” More voices joined the conversation.
“He sure came back a man!” A slew of schoolgirl giggles followed.
“Girls, I swear, when I answered that door it took all that I had not to throw my arms around him in happiness.”
“I’ve prayed he was alright every night since he day he left.”
As the conversation progressed, Buffy continued toward the kitchen until she hid behind the closed door, next to a pinewood table with a tall vase overstocked with stretching flowers. Realizing her unnecessary James Bond-like stealth to overhear a conversation not meant for her ears made her feel like an idiot -- like Mrs. Edwin, the Sunnydale town gossip -- so she relaxed. Though her newfound relief proved short lived as that same vase she had so carefully situated herself next to chose to betray her and react to her hip that had bumped its table. Buffy made mad grasps in the air to right it as it teetered around on its base. She eventually was successful, but not without making a good share of noise. Suddenly, the voices stopped.
“Shhhhh! Someone’s coming!”
Feeling bad for breaking up the conversation, especially since she was getting personally interested, Buffy sighed and entered the kitchen, smiling guiltily. Gathered around the steel counter was a group of maids and cooks, some Buffy had seen during her arrival. In between them was a bowl of chips that some of them were munching on. Buffy realized she had interrupted their late night girl-talk. This must be the only time they ever get to talk openly without someone hearing them.
“I’m sorry, I was starving and I just thought I’d come down and get something . . .” A pleasantly plump woman with bright eyes and a motherly disposition interrupted her.
“Oh, Ms. Summers, anytime. We’ll be happy to help. What would you like?”
Although Buffy was having an intense craving for a sandwich with all the fixings, she didn’t want to busy them so late at night -- what was probably their off hours. She wanted to keep her order simple. “Do you have any hot chocolate?”
The woman smiled warmly, “Of course. You just sit yourself right down on this stool here and we’ll fix you up. I’ll make you a sandwich too.” The woman winked knowingly at her. Five woman scurried quickly around the kitchen. They were so effortless in their movements, Buffy let herself feel happy about the food addition. In their presence, the nerves that had been attacking her all day, quickly eased. All the women had a maternal aura around them -- an aura Buffy had not felt in months. Funny, the only place she felt comfortable in the huge home was in the kitchen.
“Thank you,” she breathed, being thankful for more than the hot chocolate. “And, please, call me Buffy.” This reminded Buffy of all those nights she spent staying up with her mom, sitting around the kitchen counter, talking about nothing and everything.
The smile never left her face, “Alright, Buffy. I’m Marge, by the way.” She looked around the kitchen. “The rest of the girls are Sue, Laura, Janet, and Sarah.” The women looked to be all past the age of forty. Some had short gray hair spilling out of their white, traditional caps. The old-fashioned hired help mirrored the seemingly old-fashioned ideas of the Giles family.
Laura, the youngest of the five, looked to Buffy, “Poor thing, you must be starved. Seems the whole house shut down after Will . . .” She was quickly hushed by four pairs of dagger eyes pointed in her direction. Buffy saw where this conversation was headed and wanted nothing more than to get the whole story -- plus a few juicy gossips that the women seemed to be so fond of.
“What happened? Why did he leave?” Buffy thought she may have sounded a bit too forceful and quick, but she was desperate for information.
The five women’s talkative, happy attitudes quickly gave way to glances of doubt. They were either debating whether it was their place to talk or how much they should reveal. Sue made up her mind first, and started off the discussion innocently, addressing the other domestics more so than Buffy.
“How different this house was when William and Liam were just tots, running around the house with their toy trucks. They use to make themselves quite the nuisance in the kitchen.” Buffy smiled at the image of a skinny, curly (pre-bleach) haired boy sneaking into the very room she sat in now to dab his finger in cake frosting, and scurrying out the door before anyone could stop him.
Buffy was reminded of Angel’s current view of his brother, “You mean they used to get along?”
“Get along!? Ha! What led you to believe that, child! Those two have never gotten along. They used to drive their poor mother crazy, God rest her soul.”
Buffy perked at the mention of Angel’s mother. He had never hinted at anything past her one-time existence before. “Their mother?”
Janet turned, pouring the hot chocolate into a mug in front of her. “Oh yes, Anne was quite a woman. Spike is her carbon copy, I swear it. Angel was blessed with the misfortune of taking after his father, excuse me for saying it. I believe everyone wishes Angel had at least a hint of his mother in him -- that is, everyone except his father. Liam was born the perfect son in Rupert Giles’s eyes -- he was obedient, even tempered, and thought only through well-proven fact, earning him his alias. Six years later, William was born, and my did Anne dote on that one. He was sensitive, emotional, and creative. He used to write the most magnificent poetry, I’ve kept every word he’s ever written. When she died and he threw all his work away, I used to shift through the trash and piece them all back together.” The women smiled reminiscently at each other.
“When did she die?”
“Five years ago in May. Just like everything else, the boys handled her death very differently. Liam faced it much like his father did, her death was like a business transaction -- the funeral was paid for and they moved on. To see everyone around him act as if nothing had happened, tore poor William apart -- he rebelled.”
“Got involved with that dreadful woman. What was her name? Do you remember, Sarah? Pru? Sue? It was short for something else.”
“Drusilla. I was never happier than the day she dump him. She treated him awful.”
“Too bad his father was blind to William’s blatant cry for help.”
“But we all knew better,” Janet motioned to the five of them. “We knew he was just trying to cover up the pain of losing his mother. I don’t think he ever fully recovered. I can still see it in his eyes.”
“He holds on to that accent like he does his mother’s memory.” Silence fell over the group as each grew thoughtful over the man and his tragic loss.
“My mother died too,” Buffy broke the calm. The women gave her understanding smiles. Buffy gave a slight upturn of her mouth and shrugged. “I know how he feels.” Buffy took a moment to reflect on her childhood home she had put up for sale, silently wishing no one would buy it.
“Well, I just . . .”
Everybody paused as they heard someone descending the stairs. Whoever it was, he or she did not try to make a secret of their late-night wanderings. Buffy’s brow furrowed at the women’s excitement. They were giving each other hopeful glances and almost bursting smiles. She didn’t understand until a man with sleep-mussed hair rounded the corner wearing nothing but blue drawstring sweatpants. Buffy wandered if he would have been modest enough to throw on a shirt had he heard the women’s slight lustings earlier. She doubted it.
“William!” The older group gushed. “We weren’t sure if you were coming!”
“I couldn’t go without saying hello to my girls, could I?” Not noting Buffy’s presence, he walked into his school of admirers, who all took turns giving and returning tight hugs. Spike smiled genuinely at each and every one of them.
“Bet everything here’s been one big droll what with me not livening up the place.” The women laughed in truthfulness.
Buffy noticed how different this was than his evening entrance. Gone was the hate, sarcasm, and snaps of anger behind those beautiful blue eyes. He seemed purely happy to be in the women’s presence once more. When the excitement died down and a few tears of joy were shed, Marge was the first to speak.
“Would you like some coco, William?”
“Only if you have the kind with the little marshmallows.”
She nodded knowingly, “Of course. You go sit down next to Buffy and we’ll fix you right up.” Marge smiled at Buffy, who was a little nervous to sit next to the man who had been spiting fire hours earlier.
He nodded at Buffy before sliding into the stool next to hers. They exchanged small smiles, Buffy quickly turning away from his demanding eyes -- eyes that made you spill your deepest and darkest wants and desires. Probably made you act on them if you stared at them long enough. She was glad when Sue placed the sandwich in front of her.
“William’s been coming down for late-night kitchen confidentials since he was a boy. We weren’t sure whether the man still enjoyed spending time with us old-timers.”
“Always,” he replied. Then was playfully smacked when he did nothing to deny they were reaching their latter years. Buffy couldn’t help but smile at the warmth radiating around the room. The five women ceased talking as they enjoyed the activity of taking care of their favorite boy. This left Spike and Buffy sitting relatively alone.
“So,” he ventured slowly, not letting awkward silence overtake them, “how’d a nice chit like you end up with a dote like my brother?”
“How do you know I’m a ‘nice chit’?”
“I trust my girls’ judge of character. If they didn’t like you, they would’ve kicked you out of their little kitchen sanctuary already.” A group of scoffs followed this comment, and he smiled. They set his cup of marshmallows with hot chocolate in front of him.
Buffy didn’t feel right talking about her relationship with Angel, but his persistent eyes kept her vaguely talking. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while, and then my mom died and he asked me to move in here. I was alone in the house, so I said yes. I’m selling it now, there’s just no point in keeping it.”
“No! You shouldn’t do that! Keep the house.” Buffy was taken aback by his outburst, but she tilted her head and shifted her body to face his, silently urging him to explain himself.
“I mean, she’s so much part of you. Your life’s in that house, your dreams.” Spike’s features softened as he gazed into his cup, which sat on his lap. He twisted smoothly back and forth in the swivel stool, his knees gazing Buffy’s every once in a while. “I bet you can still feel her when you walk through that house. She still talks to you, too. When you dress in the morning, she’s the one that tells you to take your jacket. When you’re ordering at the deli, you order one of those bloody salads, because your vegetable intake hasn’t met her standards.” Buffy was enraptured as his voice made her recall her morning packing -- she had taken a sweater, just in case the house was breezy. She remembered her mad scramble to remember all her pleases and thanks you’s at her introductions that morning. Meeting their gazes again, they recognized the pain and the void. To take the seriousness off his words, he leaned into her close, keeping his eyes trained on hers the entire time. For a split second, Buffy allowed herself to leave his eyes and gaze at his lips. But he winked at her before plucking a pickle off her plate and popping in into his mouth. She smiled at him, she couldn’t help herself.
On the other side of the kitchen, the five women were going unnoticed. Each of them happier than the other to leave the pair to their talk. Marge raised her eyebrows and nodded her head discretely in the direction of the young couple sitting close on the stools. They faced each other, leaning in and talking softly. Laura’s eyes widened in shock at what Marge was suggesting. Sue made jerky pointing motions to the ceiling, indicating Angel’s bedroom, the man that slept in it, and the girl that was supposed to be. Marge smiled knowingly, then proceeded to lead the rest of them out the other door, to bed.
“What did you do before Prince Magnificent Poof whisked you away to his castle?” Spike was comfortably sharing Buffy’s pretzels.
“I was a high school guidance counselor.”
Spike smiled at that, “You don’t seem the type.”
“And you don’t seem the lawyer type.”
He smiled and nodded, sipping his hot chocolate. “Fair enough.”
“I’d love to go into art restoration and museum work like my mother.”
“Why don’t you?”
Buffy shrugged, and yet again turned the conversation back to him. Neither had any interest in divulging too much about themselves, yet they found themselves fighting an urge to open up to each other. “Why come back to claim something that you hate so much? Do you really want the firm, or just annoy your brother?”
Her poking and prodding questions didn’t bother him like they did when others questioned his motives. He gave her question a moments thought, “A little bit of both, I guess.”
She smiled at his mischievous smirk. They fell into silence, but a comfortable one. Spike glanced at the clock on the wall, drained his mug, and stood up. Buffy looked at him, slightly alarmed. “Well, if I’m going to be on my snarky game tomorrow, and continue my goal of driving the lot of them into the nuthouse, better get some sleep.” Her eyes followed him to the doorway. He turned around and looked at her poignantly, his eyes telling her he had much more on his mind and tongue than a bid goodnight. But that’s what he went with.
“Goodnight, Buffy,” he spoke softly. His voice met her like an innocent kiss, leaving her with the phantom imprint. He turned and left the room.
Buffy gazed to where he had stood, a small smile played at her lips. She sighed and swiveled, returning to her sandwich.
TBC
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