Title: Granddad
Author: Cyberwulf
Rating: Mild R, for sexual innuendo and strong language.
Category: Manchild/B:tVS crossover.
Pairing: Small hint of Buffy/Giles.
Disclaimer: None of it is mine. Not a thing. James belongs to the creator of Manchild (whose name I really, really should know by now), Rupert Giles belongs to Joss Whedon. I can't even take credit for the concept of Giles and James as twins. ;)
Spoilers: Takes place right after season 2 ep 6 of Manchild, and season 7, ep 17 of B:tVS.
Summary: The ending of last night's Manchild was so sad! It was heartbreaking when James went home after being told his daughter didn't want him near his grandchild, and it turned out he'd already set up a nursery. :'( And the less said about LMPTM (I utterly refuse to write out the whole title) the better. So here's this rather angsty fic. James gives Rupert a call.
Feedback: Feed the Wulf! cyberwulf_1andonly@yahoo.co.uk
Author's Note: This fic assumes that James and Rupert are twins. It may end up part of a series of vignettes like this – I've got another in the works, and lots more ideas – which compare the brothers' lives. This is told from James' point of view.
For the first time since I moved in, the apartment seems empty. Sterile. Not empty and sterile the way it was after Kitty had the builders trash the place… this is different.
I go into what used to be the spare room. I stand there and look around at the stupid Disney wallpaper. I suppose it's going to have to come down now. The playpen will have to go back. I pick up the giant teddy bear. Might as well return him, too. No point in leaving everything the way it is. A roomful of baby stuff with no baby in it's just creepy.
The giant teddy is glaring at me with its glass eyes. Mocking me. //You bloody twit, did you really think one big gesture could make up for everything you've done? Years of not caring a damn for anyone but yourself, not even your own children? Too little, too late, so suck it up, wanker.//
I get a powerful urge to kick that fucking teddy till the stuffing comes out.
I drop it back into the playpen and wander out to the phone. I need to talk to someone. Terry and Patrick and Gary – they wouldn't understand. They'd think I ought to be relieved. Bloody hell, even *I* think I ought to be relieved… but I'm not. Elizabeth? She says she sees right through me. She'd never believe I could actually feel cut up about this. She doesn't credit men with any feelings beyond, "Ooh, pretty girl, big breasts, nice strong thighs to ride me with." Can't blame her, either. It's not like I've ever proved her wrong.
That leaves just one other person.
I pick up the receiver and start dialling, hoping his mobile isn't out of range. A sigh of relief as it starts ringing.
" Hello?"
" Rupert?"
" James?" I can hear him sitting up.
" Did – did I wake you?" I try to work out what time it is in California. Take off eight, carry the one… I give up.
" No, not at all," he assures me.
There's silence for a while.
" This is, is quite a good line," I manage lamely.
" I diverted my mobile onto the hotel phone."
" Oh."
I don't know how to say what I've got to say. How to talk around this big lump in my throat.
" James, why are y-"
" I'mgonnabeagranddad," I blurt out.
I imagine Rupert sitting forward, brow furrowed, sliding on his glasses.
" What?"
I swallow. " Annabelle's having a baby. In six weeks I'm… I'm going to be a granddad."
There's a chuckle on the other end of the line.
" Well don't sound so miserable," Rupert remarks. " That's good news, surely,"
I can't answer.
" James?"
Suddenly I'm pouring it all out.
" You know, I really hated the idea at first," I tell him. " I thought, 'Granddad? Don't say that word! Making me old…' But then it really started to grow on me. I mean, I didn't let on, of course…"
" Mm." I can picture Rupert nodding.
" After all, even Ozzy Osbourne's a granddad now…"
" Mm."
" And I thought, maybe, y'know, I've been a rotten father, I – I could be a better grandfather…"
I pause. Rupert just listens.
" She doesn't want me there."
" For what?" Rupert asks, puzzled.
" For the hospital visits, for the birth, any of it," I answer heavily. " I'd – I'd set myself up for this baby and now… it feels like I've been kicked in the stomach. All she wants is my chequebook. Not me."
Rupert gives a brief, mirthless laugh. " I know how that feels."
Abruptly the tears come, this heavy sadness I've been feeling since I left Elizabeth's place finally flooding out. I'm crying and I'm cursing myself for doing it, because I don't have the right to feel this way – shut out and disappointed and empty. I'm the one who broke up the family, I'm the one who couldn't keep my trousers fastened, I'm the one who treated my marriage vows with contempt right from the start. I don't deserve to have my kids like me, and I don't deserve to hold my grandson or granddaughter in my arms, no matter how much I want to.
Gradually I realise that Rupert's shushing me and murmuring " It's all right," over the phone. If he were here now, he'd have his arm around my shoulder. I wipe my eyes and try to pull myself together.
" Sorry," I mumble. " I don't know what got into me. It – it never used to matter before… except sometimes in the middle of the night… whether I'm alone or not, would you believe…"
" It's because you're getting older," Rupert explains gently. " After all, you'll be fifty next February." The way he says 'you' and not 'we' sends a chill down my spine. " You can't keep chasing after and bedding young women forever. Your, your face and body are going to go sooner rather than later, and , and…"
" And then what," I finish miserably.
We sit in silence for a while. Long enough to make me start thinking about things I don't want to think about. Who's going to take care of me when I'm old? What *am* I gonna have when my looks are gone? Money? What use will that be? It can't buy back the family I threw away, the one I never wanted back so much as I do now.
Damn Rupert and his insight and his big Watcher brain.
" How are things on your end?" I ask eventually.
" We're getting off the subject."
" It's my bloody phone bill," I insist. " How are things on your end?"
He heaves a sigh.
" Not well," he says. There's a pause. " She hates me."
In six and a half years, in all his letters and calls, there's only ever been one 'she'.
" I don't know… how things are going to turn out this time…"
He trails off. I wait. Neither of us is very good at talking about our emotions. It's about the only thing we have in common any more.
" Your phone bill's going to be huge."
" Now who's getting off the subject?" I joke half-heartedly.
" Will you do me a favour, James?"
" Yes?" I ask apprehensively.
" Make up with your kids."
I start to shake my head. " It's too late, I bollocksed it all up –"
" Remember Dad and Granddad?" Rupert interrupts. " They didn't speak for sixteen years. But they made amends. Eventually."
" Granddad was a sadistic bastard," I answer.
" Yes, and if he managed to reconcile his differences with his children, then you can too," Rupert declares.
" How?" I want to know. " They hate me, Rupe, and I don't blame them. How am I supposed to, to make up with them when they won't even return my calls?"
Rupert makes an impatient noise.
" Beg, grovel, show them you mean it this time. Just bloody try, will you?!"
I wince as his voice rises. " No need to fucking shout at me."
His next words are quieter. " Please, James. I – I need to know that one of us will die surrounded by weeping children and grandchildren."
My skin crawls. Oh God, I didn't need to hear that, not when I know why he's in California.
" Rupert?"
No answer. There's no dial tone, though. He's still there.
" Rupert?"
I wait for any response. There isn't one.
" Listen, I'll try," I tell him. " With the kids. And you – you tell Buffy what she really means to you. Deal?"
Silence. I'm about ready to start shaking the phone and cursing a blue streak about BT when he finally speaks.
" I always thought that she'd have figured it out by now," Rupert says bitterly. "After all, I've known for a long time just what I mean to her." A deep breath, let out slowly. " Things are so far gone, I don't think it matters anyway."
All of a sudden I don't want to talk about this any more. Rupert's going to die, I know it, and all I can think of is that I've wasted my life and he would've made such a better go of everything, if it wasn't for the sodding Council and Watchers and vampires and him being the older twin by just a few hours. This isn't fair. He should have a family of his own, with a son or daughter who's got a baby on the way. We should both be new granddads, making plans, buying toys, seeing if our grandchildren can tell us apart. Instead…
I desperately want to hang up.
" Well, I… I suppose I should… you've… probably got things to do…"
" There *are* a few texts that I want to…"
Rupert trails off.
" See you later, then?"
Oh, I wish that hadn't come out as a question.
" Goodbye, James."
He won't even pretend that there'll be a 'later'.
The line goes dead.
" 'Bye, Rupert."
I hang up.
-^)--)~