Two hours had passed since his pseudo interview, and he had absolutely nothing to do except wait and see if they would call him back to finish it up. Two hours had passed since he had seen Buffy, since he had helped her with her son.
She had a son.
He laughed to himself bitterly. She had a SON. She had a son with someone else.
Someone who wasn’t him.
He reached his hand over to the nightstand and picked up the envelope that had dropped out of her purse and landed on the floor. It was a plain white business envelope, nothing special about it. It had been opened; the edge torn and jagged, presumably by her. He hadn’t dared to look at its contents, but knew that she would probably want it back.
He sighed, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He reached over and grabbed his duster, standing up and putting it on. Reaching inside his pocket, he grabbed his car keys and headed out of the hotel.
He swung himself inside of the black convertible and put the keys into the ignition. Starting up the car, he buckled his seatbelt and grabbed onto the steering wheel, tearing it out of the parking lot.
---
Buffy stirred William’s chicken soup, turning the back burner down to ‘simmer’. She turned around at the sound of a small sniffle and a quiet, “Mommy?”
“William, sweetie, you should be in bed. What are you doing up?”
Her baby shrugged, before padding over to her and nuzzling into her jean clad leg. Buffy leaned down and picked him up from under his armpits. Settling him on her hip, he snuggled into her neck, sniffling every once in a while. Buffy turned off the burner, picked up the ladle and spooned the soup into a bowl before grabbing a spoon and setting the soup and her son down at the table. She picked up the spoon and was just beginning to feed it to William when the doorbell rang. She looked up and then swung the dishcloth in her hand over her shoulder and walking to the door. Opening it, she was greeting with a slightly shocking sight.
“Spike…”
---
Spike pulled into the familiar driveway, shutting off the ignition. He sat in the car for a few seconds before opening the door and climbing out. Walking up to the door, he took a few moments to gather himself together before ringing the bell.
He stood on the stoop for about 10 seconds before the knob turned and he came face to face with Buffy.
Her eyes widened slightly in shock as she registered his presence with a mumbled, “Spike…”
He waved his hand. “Hi. Can I uh…” he gestured to the inside of the house. She looked behind her shoulder for a second before turning around. She wiped her hands on her jeans nervously before saying, “Yeah, c’mon in.”
He walked inside, glancing around the interior. After surveying it for a few minutes he said, “Nice place.”
She glanced up at him, “Thanks. Listen,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder and into the kitchen. “my son…”
“Oh, right. I just wanted to give you this.” He reached into his pocket and took out the plain envelope and held it out to her. “You uh, left it in my car. Earlier, when…” he gestured to the kitchen with the envelope. “your son…”
She took it out of his hands, frowning at it. Turning it over, she reached inside and took out a piece of hard paper. “Oh,” she said, her eyes widening. “It’s just the invitation to my step-brother’s wedding.” She held it up to his face, “See?”
He took it from her, and sure enough it read:
He glanced up at her. “Your uh, step-brother?”
She nodded, beginning to walk into the kitchen. “Yeah. The person I was on the phone with yesterday when you walked in. He’s kind of like you.” Turning around, she saw his raised eyebrow and said, “He’s British.”
He frowned, the memory of three days before flashing before his eyes.
“William’s not the one who did this.”
“Who was then?”
“Your friend. Hope or whatever. I explained to her that I couldn’t be with her, never mind not want to be, because I’m engaged. She got slightly angry and tied all my hair up. Keep her away from me until the wedding, understand?”
“Gotcha. No more Faith until two weeks from now.”
He started laughing, full blown laughter that was ripped from his throat. Looking up, he stopped his laughter when he realized that she was staring at him as if he was quite insane. “Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s just…was he at the mall with you three days ago?”
She raised an eyebrow, slightly on edge from his crazy behavior. “Yeah…Why…?”
“No reason,” he said, feeling slightly better than he had three days ago. “So uh,” he gestured to the kitchen again. “How’s your boy?”
She shrugged, heading into the kitchen, Spike trailing behind her. “The same he was two hours ago.”
“Right,” he said, glancing around her kitchen. His eyes stopped on the picture that was mounted on the wall. Narrowing his eyes, he said, “Where did you get that?”
“Get what?”
“That picture.”
She glanced up at the picture in question and paled slightly. “You really don’t remember, do you?”
He shook his head, eyes still fixed on the picture of him with the girl he had gone on a fixed date with. He was wearing a tuxedo, and she was wearing a black dress that cut off at her knees, and had a low neckline. Her hair was piled up, with a few stray tendrils brushing against her neck. “I don’t. But how did you get this?”
She walked over to the picture, her index finger resting on the girl. “That’s me.”
He turned to her and said, “THAT is YOU?”
She nodded, and opened her mouth to speak when they were interrupted by the small, “Mommy?”
They turned, and Spike found himself lost in the bright blue eyes that matched his own.
And he knew.
---
Buffy knew that she was in trouble when his eyes went wide, his face pale, and his irises dark and dangerous. “William, honey, eat your soup. Mommy has to talk to her friend.” When he nodded, she grabbed Spike by the hand and took him up the stairs and into her bedroom.
As soon as the door was closed, she turned and inhaled sharply to find Spike standing dangerously close to her, nostrils flaring slightly. “Were you going to tell me?” he asked.
“Tell you…tell you what?” she asked, turning her head away from him.
“Tell me that…look at me, dammit, look at me!” He grabbed her chin and forced her to stare him in the eyes. “Were you ever going to tell me about him?”
Her features hardened and she retaliated with, “Were you ever planning on NOT abandoning a 19 year old after you slept with her? Were you ever going to even call her to apologize?”
“This isn’t about me, dammit!”
“That’s where you’re wrong!” She wrenched her chin out of his grip and crossed over to the other side of the room. “This is ALL about you, Spike! You slept with me, left me there without so much as a ‘good-bye’, or a note or ANYTHING! You slept with me, left me in the morning and I found out that I was pregnant!”
“Well you should have called me or something!”
“What makes you think I didn’t TRY?!” she struck back. “I did, several times in fact. But some she-bitch named Cecelia or Cecil or something told me NOT to call back ever again! My friends all tried to get me to try again, my step-brother’s fiancée tried to get me to do it yesterday, but you know what? I did. So many times, but apparently agents don’t like it when teenaged girls call up and say that their client got them pregnant.” During her rant, she had taken slow steps towards him, and was currently staring him down. “So don’t even TRY to pin this on me, you self centered son of a bitch.”
His nostrils flared even more, and he looked as though he was going to say something but stopped. She was startled when his eyes began to tear up, and he sat on her bed, head buried in his hands.
“You’re right,” he whispered. “Oh, God, you’re right…”