As soon as Angel had left to get back to his convention, Buffy grabbed Spike’s arm and made him look at her. He could barely look at her.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“I’m thinking I’m going to see Alicia,” he stated, dropping some bills on the table after insisting he pick up the tab for lunch.
“Are you okay?”
“Honestly, Buffy? No, I’m not.”
“Do you want to – talk?”
“Not right now. Now I want to see my daughter.”
Buffy nodded, “Okay.”
He stood, a man on a mission. He looked down at her, her eyes wide with concern. “Buffy, luv.”
“Yeah?”
“Will you come back? To my house, I mean?”
Her gaze softened and she nodded, “I will.”
“Do you need some help getting back?”
“No, I can manage. I’m just going to wait until Angel’s convention lets out and –“
“Buffy, if you need help getting back, I can do it. You don’t need Angel to do it,” he said, his tone tense.
“No, I want to tell him where I’m going, that’s all.”
He nodded, “Okay. See you at the house then.” And he fumbled with his keys, taking the house key off his set and handing it to her.
“Spike?”
“Yeah?”
“Love you,” she said and smiled tentatively, almost as if she wasn’t sure if she should.
He looked at her sadly, “Thank you, pet. I love you, too.”
She stood quickly, giving him a quick hug and he squeezed her into him tightly. “See you later, “he whispered huskily and took off.
Spike drove at almost breakneck speed to get to his daughter, the need to see her near overwhelming.
He couldn’t get Angel’s voice out of his head telling him how his niece had pictures of him all over her room and how her name was the same as his beloved daughter.
It had hit him with the force of not a punch, but a two by four, in the gut hearing that.
His mind had gone from thinking how some fresh-faced girl adored him to thinking of his daughter. Thinking of her liking some actor, some guy like him that was. . . that was that guy. That would seduce and charm her, fuck her, and then leave her. Or keep her around for a while to stroke his ego, and then get tired of her and move on to the next, leaving her wondering what she’d done wrong to make him leave her.
What if his daughter became some of those needy one’s he’d taken up with who clearly needed love and attention as much he did, only they thought love was given only in the form of sex. He’d dismissed those, thinking them annoyingly clingy and much too needy for him – but my God, he was the same as them. What if Alicia found it difficult to communicate with men because of him? What if he totally fucked her up to be one of those needy girls who was looking for love in all the wrong places because all she really wanted, was the love of and attention of her Daddy.
It made him want to throw up. Made him think of all the other fathers of all the girls he’d taken up with. Did they hate him? Or did they overlook his age and his behavior because of his celebrity status? And what about after when he’d hurt them? Did they hate him then? Or still excuse his behavior because of his celebrity status?
If someone like him came sniffing around Alicia, he’d cripple the wanker.
There were girls out there that loved him for the image he presented on TV. The guy that would go to bat for the girl he loved, the guy that was a stand-up loyal and romantic guy. Was he any of those things? No. But those girls wanted him because of that ideal and when he met some of them. . . he acted like a stupid sod that couldn’t keep it in his pants.
How many hearts had he broken? And how many times had he given them a second thought after? How many had given themselves to him, some of them all innocence and purity, and he’d just taken them, taken what they had to offer and then never gave anything back.
What if that happened to Alicia? He was the very same guy he couldn’t stomach the thought of Alicia ever coming home with.
He had to fix things with his daughter and what better time to start than the present?
Pulling into the driveway, Spike pulled up behind Ryan’s SUV, cut the engine and hopped out. He jogged up to the door and rapped on it, plastering a wide smile on his face.
The door opened after Alicia had peered through the screen door and spotted him. She looked up at him, confused. “Dad?”
“That’s right, I am your Dad. Can I come in?”
She looked at him skeptically and stood aside to let him in. Reaching out, he ruffled her hair with one hand and took off his sunglasses with the other.
“Dad,” she whined, “You’re messing up my hair.” Reaching up she tried to smooth her now tousled locks while she gave him a dirty look.
“Since when do you care about your hair?” he asked, frowning.
“Since she turned nine,” Sam said, coming into the kitchen, arms folded.
Alicia froze, “You guys aren’t gonna fight again, are you?”
Fuck, Spike thought. “No, baby, we’re not going to fight again.”
“What are you doing here?” Sam asked. “Something happen?”
“No, nothing’s happened.” Except that my life is a fucking mess. “I just came by to find out if I could take Alicia out for dinner.”
“On a week day?” Alicia asked, “You never come by on a week day.”
That hurt, and it hurt because it was true. “I know, baby. But I’m here now and I want to take you out. As long as it’s okay with your mom here.”
“I can’t go now, Daddy.”
“Why not?”
“Hey, Leesha, you ready, pumpkin?” Ryan came jogging in, looking freshly showered and relaxed in his jogging pants and t-shirt. He couldn’t be any more different from Spike in appearance if he tried. The guy was tall and bulky—mostly all muscle. Sam had once described him as a ‘teddy bear’. He was dark haired and had kind warm brown eyes and olive skin. He smiled welcomingly at Spike “Hey, buddy, how are you?”
“Good,” Spike said tightly. He turned his attention back to Alicia. “Why can’t we go to dinner?”
“Because Ryan is taking me to the store to get some stuff,” she told him, almost exasperated as if he should know.
Spike stared at her, “What stuff?”
Alicia looked over at Sam, uncomfortable.
“William, it’s not a good time right now,” Sam said calmly, which surprised Spike. She was even being . . . nice. “Ryan promised to take her out to get some things for summer camp tomorrow.”
“I can take her out to get ‘stuff’--,” Spike said, his smile and joviality completely forced. He was sinking, sinking fast.
“Daddy, I can’t do it!” Alicia exclaimed, obviously frustrated. “You can’t help me get the ‘stuff.’”
Buffy’s voice came back, unbidden in his mind: “I don’t want her to gloss over you to get to Ryan.”
His boat was filling with water and no one was throwing him a bucket or a life jacket to get out of it. He felt like a right arse standing there. What did he expect? That he could swoop in just like that and everything would be ‘okay’. That he could take his daughter out for dinner and somehow that would align the universe again, heal all wounds, and suddenly be closer to her than ever?
No, she had ‘stuff’ to get. With Ryan.
He nodded, “Okay, I see.”
“I just need to get my shoes on Dad—I mean, Ryan,” Alicia said and ran up to her room.
Spike stood there, reeling.
“Sometimes she calls him that, it just comes out,” Sam said softly and looked up at her husband.
Ryan cleared his throat, “Well, uh, I’ll leave you guys alone,” and he left the room.
Spike looked at Sam, expressionless. “What kind of ‘stuff’ is she getting?”
“A card for her friend Josh. It’s his birthday tomorrow. What’s going on?” Sam asked. “Buffy put you up to this impromptu visit?”
“No. . . well . . . No.”
“Right, anyway, if you want to see Alicia during the week, I think it’d be best if you called first.”
“She’s ten and she has a busy schedule already?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, she does. She has Brownies and dance class once a week and, since your daughter is popular like you, she has friends that ask her to come over throughout the week. Plus, she seems interested in playing some baseball for the summer. She has things to do. If you call first and arrange—“
“I get it Samantha,” he snapped, “Don’t patronize me.”
“Then don’t just assume you can come over here and do whatever you want. The world does not bend to your will like you think it does.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to yell at her, to scream “I hate you, you nasty bitch”, but he didn’t. He said nothing. Instead, he spun on heel and pushed the door open, slamming it behind him.
He always prided himself on not being a crier. He was a man, a macho man that didn’t cry. Not even on TV, on TV, he was given eye drops to give that illusion of crying. However, this was the second time that day that William “Spike” Giles had cried.