As Ethan got up from the bed, Spike found himself taking a step back – an act of pure reflex – and hated himself for it. He hated the fact that – even though years had passed – a part of him would always become half paralyzed with fear at the sight of the hated man now standing in front of him. A part of him wanted nothing more than to just keep backing out of the room, and run. A part of him was terrified.
But another part of him was furious. Ethan had no right to do this, no right to just show up like this whenever he wanted, obviously intending to keep controlling his life. For a brief moment, Spike couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if he hadn’t kept silent for all these years; if he had told someone, anyone, about what was really going on at his house. Would things have turned out differently? Would anyone have even believed him?
Then he quickly dismissed that thought, deciding that it didn’t matter. Because he had kept silent, had allowed Ethan to keep so much power over him, even when he had long since left, not only the house, but the bleeding country. I’m pathetic, Spike thought, bitterly. I know it, and he knows it. No wonder he won’t leave me alone. I’ve sure as hell made it real easy for him over the years.
Suddenly he realized that minutes must have passed since he had found Ethan in his apartment, in his fucking bedroom, and he had yet to say a word. No, instead he was just standing there, waiting for his stepfather to make his next move. Just like he had always done in the past; huddling in the corner and waiting for his punishment without even daring to raise his voice, let alone a hand, to defend himself. Snapping out of it, Spike forced himself to take a step forward.
“You should’ve stayed in London,” he now stated, and was pleased to notice that he was able to look Ethan right in the eyes, and still sound perfectly calm. However, he found it very hard not to avert his eyes as the man started laughing.
“I’m very flattered,” Ethan admitted, “that you think I’d come all the way to the states just for you. I hate to break it to you, but you were never my first priority.”
He raised a brow in surprise. So, Buffy had been right, then. It had really been about Drusilla the whole time. Glancing at the bed, Spike shuddered at the memory of his mother’s cold, lifeless body, her glossy, unseeing eyes, the small, empty bottle of sleeping pills on the floor. The corpse of his mother, reduced to nothing more than an object for him to find and deal with the best he could. And he was fully convinced that she had never once stopped to think about what such a thing would do to him.
Spike supposed he had been right all along; his mother had never really cared about him at all. He had always suspected it, of course, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. He knew that Drusilla hadn’t been unable to love; she had declared her love for Ethan countless times over the years in front of him. She had just never been able to love him. What kind of mother couldn’t love her own child? Spike wished that he could hate her, just like he hated Ethan, but unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple. He didn’t love her, but he wasn’t sure he could really hate her, either. Because, no matter what she had done, Drusilla was the only mother he would ever have.
Now Ethan’s voice snapped him out of his depressing thoughts, just like the man had been reading his mind. “It was never just about her, either. However, she was the main reason I chose to come to Sunnydale of all places. Let’s just say I had my own reasons for wanting to leave the country for a while.”
Spike refused to take the bait and ask why. He had a feeling that whatever it was, it wouldn’t be of the good. Not to mention the fact that he was sick and tired of always playing by Ethan’s rules. Clenching his fists, he took another step forward, his eyes never leaving Ethan’s. “You really don’t have a bloody conscience at all, do you? Guess what? I’ve had enough. Time for you to pay for what you’ve done.”
Before he had even finished the sentence, and way before Ethan’s mind had registered what was about to happen, Spike pulled back his fist and punched Ethan in the face, hard enough to cause the older man to stumble back in surprise. Having not been prepared for the blow, Ethan’s hand went up to grasp at his bleeding nose and he stared at Spike, the shock evident on his face.
Buffy didn’t know how long she had been sitting there on the cold bathroom floor, but she felt like years had passed since she had left Spike’s apartment that morning. Wiping her eyes, she knew there was little she could do right now but pray that he was still at work and wouldn’t be home if – no, not if, when – Ethan showed up. This was all her fault, how could she be so damn stupid?! Coming here had clearly been a mistake; Ethan was out there somewhere with his evil plans and here she was, locked up in the bathroom with a huge bump – probably by the size of Canada – at the back of her head.
And the worst part was, she hadn’t even managed to get that confession out of him before he had attacked her. She still had the tape recorder in her pocket, but what good would that do now? It had all been for nothing; she wouldn’t be able to help Spike after all. And he would probably hate her now, for going behind his back like this. Not that she could really blame him; she didn’t like herself very much right now, either. She had been so sure this plan of hers would work, but it had turned out to be a complete disaster.
She should never have come here by herself – what the hell had she been thinking? Of course, she knew Ethan was dangerous, but she had been naïve enough to believe that he wouldn’t actually hurt her. So, she had decided to play hero. Buffy let out a miserable snort. Some hero she had turned out to be. But she had just, so desperately, wanted to help. Instead she had managed to make things even worse.
While she was sitting there, beating herself up and feeling worse by the minute, she suddenly thought she heard something and her head snapped up. Was that the sound of someone knocking on the door out in the corridor? Jumping up from the floor, she was quiet for a moment, listening. Maybe she had just been imagining things. Or, maybe someone was really out there. If she would call out as loud as she could, was it possible that whoever it was – assuming there was someone out there – would be able to hear her?
Only one way to find out, she thought. Now she heard the knocking again, only louder this time. She started pounding her fists on the door again, all the while yelling at the top of her lungs. A moment later, she almost wept in relief at the sound of someone crashing through the other door. Someone had just entered the motel room.
TBC