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CHAPTER 2 -- The Circumstances

A/N: This chapter (like many chapters to come) is half present day and half flashback. I didn’t do the flashback in italics because I thought it might be too distracting. The transition from present day to flashback is going to be signaled by this -> . . . . . (a bunch of dots).

A/N: Oh, btw -- I know nothing about the newspapers in Los Angeles. I tried to do research to find out what the leading L.A. paper was, but couldn’t find anything. So let’s just pretend that The L.A. Times is the biggest, hugest newspaper ever! :)


"Spike Giles -- Copyeditor" The fancy nameplate gleamed back at him from it’s place on his mahogany desk. "The Los Angeles Times -- California’s #1 Newspaper" was written in equally fancy script underneath. But the man in the Armani suit behind the desk made no acknowledgment of the writing. He was hunched over in his leather seat, his bleached head in his hands, seemingly zoned out.

“Winter Wonderland” filtered through his open office door. The chirpy Christmas carol was being blared from the next office over. Probably Harmony Kendall, the secretary, was to blame. It was a month until the bloody holiday and it had already started -- the songs, the shopping, the stale television specials. Under normal circumstances he would have probably started thinking about what to send home to the family in his place. But this year would undoubtedly be different.

“Spike,” a voice came from the doorway, causing him to jump.

“Oh, hey, Charlie.” Charles Gunn stood at the opening to his office.

“Hey, man, sorry to hear about your mom.”

“Thanks, mate,” he replied.

Gunn pushed the door mostly shut behind him, “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Spike shook his head, “No, it’s okay. She was hit by a drunk driver on her way home from the library.”

Gunn gave his co-worker his sympathy, “That’s tough. Especially before he holidays. Were you two close?”

Spike contemplated the question before answering. He thought back to the past eight years and the mere handful of times he had been home to visit. He contrasted that with the countless memories of Jenny reading to him as a child, going to the zoo, the constant hugs and kisses.

“We used to be,” he answered finally.

“Going home for the funeral I take it?”

Spike nodded, “I leave at the end of the week. I’ll tie up whatever lose ends there may be and be back in the office before Christmas.”

Gunn shrugged, “Why don’t you just take the month and stay home for Christmas? You’ve worked your ass off since day one and haven’t taken one vacation day. Angel won’t mind. I’m sure it’s going to be pretty hard for your dad.”

Spike brought Gunn’s suggestion to a halt, “No, I’d rather be back here. There’s too much going on.” He said with such conviction that Gunn didn’t fight any further. He wished him a safe trip home and left the office.

Spike ran his fingers through his hair, trying to wrangle his thoughts.

It wasn’t just his mother’s funeral that had him shaken. It was going back -- there. Back to her. Was she even living there anymore? Yeah, he assume so. Every couple months, one or both of his parents would offhandedly mention her in some form or another. Whether she was at a picnic they had attended or she had come to visit them. It was their not so subtle way of reminding him of her. Like he needed reminding.

Spike sighed, picking up his forgotten lunch from his desk as he shuffled through papers. Glancing at what he had in his hand, he dropped the sandwich as if it had burned him.

Spike sat there, staring at his lunch . . . .



Will sat alone at the outside lunch table, staring at the empty place in front of him where the lunch his mother had packed him should be.

He was in a weird place with a strange way of speaking and he didn’t have any friends. And he wanted to go home. Or at least back to his new home to see his mommy. He didn’t mind it in Sunnydale so much when he was with her. She always had him doing something fun.

Yesterday they had painted. When his dad had come home from work, William had accidentally gotten paint on his new work shirt. William had thought his dad was going to yell at him, but him mom had just laughed, taking her brush and painting a huge yellow daisy on his father’s shirt. She had then turned on Will, placing a big red dot on his nose. Then he and his father had taken up their own paintbrushes and they’d chased each other around the new house, getting paint everywhere.

It was times like that when he didn’t mind being in Sunnydale.

“Did those guys take your lunch again?” a voice asked, approaching quietly.

William whipped around. It was the girl from a couple days before. Buffy, he thought her name was. Funny name. She was approaching him warily. He just sniffed and nodded in response, not even bothering to hide the evident tears.

Buffy nodded in sympathy. Looking at the ground for a moment in contemplation, she soon perked up. Reaching into her own My Little Pony lunchbox, she pulled out the ham and cheese sandwich her mom had prepared for her that morning. Ripping it in half, she held one section out to William.

“Here,” she offered, “You can share mine.”

William jerked his head away, creating distance to analyze her offer. But his eyes instantly softened when he saw that it wasn’t a cruel joke -- that she wouldn’t throw his half of the sandwich down the grassy hill of the playground and tell him to “go fetch.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, taking the offered half and biting into it.

“Maybe,” she started, hesitating slightly. “Maybe tomorrow you can eat with us,” she gestured towards her group of friends sitting on a bench together, anxiously watching their exchange.

William smiled at the funny little girl next to him -- the first time he had ever smiled while in his new school. “Okay,” he agreed.

TBC





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