* * *
My father has done many things in his life that have forever labeled our family as "eccentric." He would never buy me new clothes, insisting it was a waste of good money, and that second hand sweaters had more character, anyway. We didn't have a TV when I was growing up. I had to go to college before he'd let me buy one of my own. When other children were going on breaks to sunny islands in the Mediterranean, I was hauled off to Africa, while he did cultural studies.
I loved my father, and I understood and appreciated the hard work it must have been to raise me, a difficult boy, by himself. And he'd done it on the lousy salary of a university anthropology professor. But there were some things about him I just didn't get. There were some things, too, that made me wonder if he was experiencing some sort of senior dementia.
"You're doing what?!" I asked him as he threw several pairs of slacks into his threadbare suitcase. I was hoping I'd simply heard him wrong. There was no way he was flying across the bloody planet to meet some woman young enough to be his daughter.
"I'm flying to LA to meet Buffy," he said, making it sound like I was the one who'd gone daft.
"No, you're not." I told him, and started to take a shirt out of the suitcase.
He grabbed it and tugged it away from me, shoving it back in its place with great force. The entire bed shook. He turned to look at me, and I knew I'd made a grave error in judgment. Seventy years old or not, he was still my father, and that meant he could still yell at me whenever he felt like it.
"Yes, I AM." His voice rose to a fevered pitch, and I took a step backwards. "I know you think that since you're a grown man with your own life now that you know better than I do. But you don't, and I can still make my own decisions until you lock me in a home. So back off."
I took another step back. I'd pushed him to the boiling point. It was a game I liked to play when I was younger: see how much abuse dad'll take before he yells. His patience seemed to shorten as his years lengthened, though, and I hadn't even been trying. I was genuinely concerned for his safety. I had no idea how he'd met this woman, or who she was, or what he thought he was doing. But I knew my father well enough to know that nothing I could say now would stop him. So I did the only thing I knew to do: I got myself a ticket to LA.
* * *
It was a long and highly uneventful flight. Dad was still mad at me, and he spent the time alternately reading or sleeping. He snored so loudly that I was sure he was doing it just to spite me. If smoking had been allowed on the flight, I would have done it, just to get back at him. If I was acting childish, I'd only learned it from him.
I was restless. I tried to concentrate on the in flight movies, but watching the pictures made my stomach swim. I'd never been able to read in moving vehicles, either. Instead, I busied myself by tinkering with the light switches and seat adjustments, until the woman next to me cleared her throat and glared. While I was all for purposely annoying my father, I wasn't quite rude enough to do it to a perfect stranger. I spent the rest of the flight staring straight ahead, and wishing for sleep. I might have dozed off once or twice, but if I did, it was one of those instances where the mind can't quite discern the difference between sleep and wakefulness. By the time we touched down in LA, my legs were cramped, my contacts had glued themselves to my dry eyes, and I knew a killer case of jetlag was awaiting me.
Dad was still sleeping when the flight attendants announced it was safe to unbuckle and get our luggage. I had to poke him awake, and from the moment he opened his eyes, he was chipper. It wasn't fair. I was the son, and he was the father. Rightfully, he should be the one feeling like an old man. I guessed meeting his ladylove had put some spring back into his step.
The airport was blindingly bright. I covered my eyes with my hand as we walked into the gate. The sun was directly in my eyes, and I didn't even see the woman before she'd launched herself at my father.
"Giles!" she squeaked at him as she hugged. From my vantage point, it looked like she was going to break every one of his ribs if she didn't let him go. He, however, didn't seem to mind.
I looked around, not wanting to witness the public display of affection. My eyes met those of a girl who looked just as uncomfortable as I felt. I still hadn't gotten a very clear look at the blur I assumed to be the Buffy creature, but it was clear at a glance that this girl must be her sister.
Both women shared hair the color that was sometimes rudely referred to as dishwater blonde. They both had a small frame, almost dainty, like one would expect a southern belle to be. The younger girl was slightly taller, I noticed. Her eyes were blue, and wide, and the look they wore made her look happy, and confused, and very, very young.
She held her hand out to me. "Hi," she said. "I'm Dawn, Buffy's sister."
I took the hand she offered and shook it. She really was a tiny little thing. My hand must have been twice the size of hers. Though she was clearly nervous, her palms were dry, and she had a firm grip. I liked her immediately.
"William," I said, and gave her a modified version of my lady killer smile. It wasn't my style to seduce little girls.
I could see my father and Buffy still having their hugfest out of the corner of my eye. I inclined my head towards them. "Want to ditch the lovebirds and go find our suitcases?"
Dawn nodded gratefully, and we headed towards the baggage claim.
I tried to make some kind of conversation as we walked. "So," I asked Dawn, "Are you in high school?"
She made a noise indicating I'd offended her somehow. "College, actually. And I'm a junior. I'm nineteen, but I graduated from high school early. Not like I'm a supergenius or anything; I just wanted out of there, so I took all the extra classes I could. High school's kind of like prison, I think, only the clothes are better."
I laughed. "Well, if anyone could make a orange jumper look good, it would be you."
Dawn blushed and smiled. I'd apparently made up for the high school faux pas.
"What about you?" she asked. "Do you follow your father around the world for a living?"
"Oh no, my life is much more mundane than that. I'm a reporter."
She seemed impressed. "I wanted to be a writer for a while. Then I discovered psychology. I'd always been interested in it, because of Buffy, but I never understood anything. When I took my first class, though, I was hooked. The mind is just so fascinating." Dawn bubbled. It was refreshing to see someone so in love with her studies.
I assumed that Buffy must be a psychologist as well, and I asked Dawn.
She looked at me curiously. "You don't know anything about Buffy, or why you're here, do you?"
"My father wasn't exactly forthcoming, no." I admitted. "Why, do you know what's going on?"
From the look on her face, I knew that she did, but she clammed up then. "I don't think I should say anything, if you don't know. I don't want Buffy to get mad at me."
There wasn't much to say after that. I didn't want to press Dawn. We got to the carousal. Dawn sat down on a chair, and started swinging her legs. The action made her look even younger, but I didn't say anything.
We were surrounded by people who had been on my flight. The baggage hadn't come yet, and everyone was milling around, trying to get a good spot, so they wouldn't have to lunge across three people and a stroller to grab their suitcase. I just stood by Dawn, preferring to wait until everyone else had gone. There was really no point in hurrying, anyway. My father and the elder Summers had not yet made it to baggage claim.
I had the urge to put my hand on Dawn's shoulder, to comfort her. I didn't know what was wrong, or if she would accept it from a stranger, but the urge was there anyway. I felt like I knew this girl, like we were old friends, and that it was my duty to look out for her. It was very strange, and made me more curious than ever as to what the hell was going on.
My initial thought had been that my dad had got himself a girlfriend. He'd been spending a lot of time doing research on the internet, and I thought he might have met someone in a chat room. I didn't exactly disapprove of him having a love life; my mother had been dead since I was four years old, and he'd hardly dated anyone that I could remember. He sometimes still spoke of her as though she were alive, sometimes saying that Jenny liked a certain song, so we should listen to it at dinner.
I stared off into space. I might have fallen asleep standing up, if that's possible, because I remember seeing a mad dash to get luggage, and then I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, it was just Dawn and me. Still no Dad or Buffy. I started to get paranoid that maybe she'd kidnapped him.
"Sure is taking them a long time," said Dawn, echoing my thoughts.
I sat down next to her; I was tired of standing.
We waited in silence for several more minutes, and then I heard a voice say, "Dawn! There you are! You didn't tell me where you were going, and I got nervous!"
Dawn sounded annoyed. "Oh, please, Buffy. You were being all glompy with the old guy, and you didn't even see I was there. I just got bored, and William was with me the whole time. Besides, it's not like I'm the one who may be wanted by the police."
The police? There was definitely more going on here, and I wanted to know what. I stood up, and turned around.
Dawn was standing, hands on her hips, glaring at Buffy. She also looked like she was about to cry. My father was standing with his hand on Buffy's back, taking everything in silently. Buffy stood by his side, looking at her sister. She turned to look at me, as I had made my presence known.
The look on her face, which had been somewhere between relief and fear changed instantly to shock and recognition. It confused me, because I was sure I'd never seen her before in my life. I was right in thinking there was a strong family resemblance between Buffy and Dawn. Buffy's facial structure was so similar that some things had to be familial traits. The eyes were different, though. Buffy's were wide and green, and right now, they were filling with tears. She looked so hurt and beautiful that it broke my heart. I'd never been accused of being a romantic before in my life, but I swear I fell in love with Buffy Summers that very instant.
Her lips moved, like she was trying to say something, but couldn't get the muscles to obey her. A tear fell from her eye, and her tongue darted out to catch it. Silence once again filling the airport, enclosing us all in its awkward bubble. I would have said something, but I didn't know what I should say. It probably wasn't the best moment to propose marriage, especially given the fact she may well have been involved with my father.
She shifted her eyes slightly, and then she was looking directly into my soul. "Spike?" she said.
My father has done many things in his life that have forever labeled our family as "eccentric." He would never buy me new clothes, insisting it was a waste of good money, and that second hand sweaters had more character, anyway. We didn't have a TV when I was growing up. I had to go to college before he'd let me buy one of my own. When other children were going on breaks to sunny islands in the Mediterranean, I was hauled off to Africa, while he did cultural studies.
I loved my father, and I understood and appreciated the hard work it must have been to raise me, a difficult boy, by himself. And he'd done it on the lousy salary of a university anthropology professor. But there were some things about him I just didn't get. There were some things, too, that made me wonder if he was experiencing some sort of senior dementia.
"You're doing what?!" I asked him as he threw several pairs of slacks into his threadbare suitcase. I was hoping I'd simply heard him wrong. There was no way he was flying across the bloody planet to meet some woman young enough to be his daughter.
"I'm flying to LA to meet Buffy," he said, making it sound like I was the one who'd gone daft.
"No, you're not." I told him, and started to take a shirt out of the suitcase.
He grabbed it and tugged it away from me, shoving it back in its place with great force. The entire bed shook. He turned to look at me, and I knew I'd made a grave error in judgment. Seventy years old or not, he was still my father, and that meant he could still yell at me whenever he felt like it.
"Yes, I AM." His voice rose to a fevered pitch, and I took a step backwards. "I know you think that since you're a grown man with your own life now that you know better than I do. But you don't, and I can still make my own decisions until you lock me in a home. So back off."
I took another step back. I'd pushed him to the boiling point. It was a game I liked to play when I was younger: see how much abuse dad'll take before he yells. His patience seemed to shorten as his years lengthened, though, and I hadn't even been trying. I was genuinely concerned for his safety. I had no idea how he'd met this woman, or who she was, or what he thought he was doing. But I knew my father well enough to know that nothing I could say now would stop him. So I did the only thing I knew to do: I got myself a ticket to LA.
* * *
It was a long and highly uneventful flight. Dad was still mad at me, and he spent the time alternately reading or sleeping. He snored so loudly that I was sure he was doing it just to spite me. If smoking had been allowed on the flight, I would have done it, just to get back at him. If I was acting childish, I'd only learned it from him.
I was restless. I tried to concentrate on the in flight movies, but watching the pictures made my stomach swim. I'd never been able to read in moving vehicles, either. Instead, I busied myself by tinkering with the light switches and seat adjustments, until the woman next to me cleared her throat and glared. While I was all for purposely annoying my father, I wasn't quite rude enough to do it to a perfect stranger. I spent the rest of the flight staring straight ahead, and wishing for sleep. I might have dozed off once or twice, but if I did, it was one of those instances where the mind can't quite discern the difference between sleep and wakefulness. By the time we touched down in LA, my legs were cramped, my contacts had glued themselves to my dry eyes, and I knew a killer case of jetlag was awaiting me.
Dad was still sleeping when the flight attendants announced it was safe to unbuckle and get our luggage. I had to poke him awake, and from the moment he opened his eyes, he was chipper. It wasn't fair. I was the son, and he was the father. Rightfully, he should be the one feeling like an old man. I guessed meeting his ladylove had put some spring back into his step.
The airport was blindingly bright. I covered my eyes with my hand as we walked into the gate. The sun was directly in my eyes, and I didn't even see the woman before she'd launched herself at my father.
"Giles!" she squeaked at him as she hugged. From my vantage point, it looked like she was going to break every one of his ribs if she didn't let him go. He, however, didn't seem to mind.
I looked around, not wanting to witness the public display of affection. My eyes met those of a girl who looked just as uncomfortable as I felt. I still hadn't gotten a very clear look at the blur I assumed to be the Buffy creature, but it was clear at a glance that this girl must be her sister.
Both women shared hair the color that was sometimes rudely referred to as dishwater blonde. They both had a small frame, almost dainty, like one would expect a southern belle to be. The younger girl was slightly taller, I noticed. Her eyes were blue, and wide, and the look they wore made her look happy, and confused, and very, very young.
She held her hand out to me. "Hi," she said. "I'm Dawn, Buffy's sister."
I took the hand she offered and shook it. She really was a tiny little thing. My hand must have been twice the size of hers. Though she was clearly nervous, her palms were dry, and she had a firm grip. I liked her immediately.
"William," I said, and gave her a modified version of my lady killer smile. It wasn't my style to seduce little girls.
I could see my father and Buffy still having their hugfest out of the corner of my eye. I inclined my head towards them. "Want to ditch the lovebirds and go find our suitcases?"
Dawn nodded gratefully, and we headed towards the baggage claim.
I tried to make some kind of conversation as we walked. "So," I asked Dawn, "Are you in high school?"
She made a noise indicating I'd offended her somehow. "College, actually. And I'm a junior. I'm nineteen, but I graduated from high school early. Not like I'm a supergenius or anything; I just wanted out of there, so I took all the extra classes I could. High school's kind of like prison, I think, only the clothes are better."
I laughed. "Well, if anyone could make a orange jumper look good, it would be you."
Dawn blushed and smiled. I'd apparently made up for the high school faux pas.
"What about you?" she asked. "Do you follow your father around the world for a living?"
"Oh no, my life is much more mundane than that. I'm a reporter."
She seemed impressed. "I wanted to be a writer for a while. Then I discovered psychology. I'd always been interested in it, because of Buffy, but I never understood anything. When I took my first class, though, I was hooked. The mind is just so fascinating." Dawn bubbled. It was refreshing to see someone so in love with her studies.
I assumed that Buffy must be a psychologist as well, and I asked Dawn.
She looked at me curiously. "You don't know anything about Buffy, or why you're here, do you?"
"My father wasn't exactly forthcoming, no." I admitted. "Why, do you know what's going on?"
From the look on her face, I knew that she did, but she clammed up then. "I don't think I should say anything, if you don't know. I don't want Buffy to get mad at me."
There wasn't much to say after that. I didn't want to press Dawn. We got to the carousal. Dawn sat down on a chair, and started swinging her legs. The action made her look even younger, but I didn't say anything.
We were surrounded by people who had been on my flight. The baggage hadn't come yet, and everyone was milling around, trying to get a good spot, so they wouldn't have to lunge across three people and a stroller to grab their suitcase. I just stood by Dawn, preferring to wait until everyone else had gone. There was really no point in hurrying, anyway. My father and the elder Summers had not yet made it to baggage claim.
I had the urge to put my hand on Dawn's shoulder, to comfort her. I didn't know what was wrong, or if she would accept it from a stranger, but the urge was there anyway. I felt like I knew this girl, like we were old friends, and that it was my duty to look out for her. It was very strange, and made me more curious than ever as to what the hell was going on.
My initial thought had been that my dad had got himself a girlfriend. He'd been spending a lot of time doing research on the internet, and I thought he might have met someone in a chat room. I didn't exactly disapprove of him having a love life; my mother had been dead since I was four years old, and he'd hardly dated anyone that I could remember. He sometimes still spoke of her as though she were alive, sometimes saying that Jenny liked a certain song, so we should listen to it at dinner.
I stared off into space. I might have fallen asleep standing up, if that's possible, because I remember seeing a mad dash to get luggage, and then I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, it was just Dawn and me. Still no Dad or Buffy. I started to get paranoid that maybe she'd kidnapped him.
"Sure is taking them a long time," said Dawn, echoing my thoughts.
I sat down next to her; I was tired of standing.
We waited in silence for several more minutes, and then I heard a voice say, "Dawn! There you are! You didn't tell me where you were going, and I got nervous!"
Dawn sounded annoyed. "Oh, please, Buffy. You were being all glompy with the old guy, and you didn't even see I was there. I just got bored, and William was with me the whole time. Besides, it's not like I'm the one who may be wanted by the police."
The police? There was definitely more going on here, and I wanted to know what. I stood up, and turned around.
Dawn was standing, hands on her hips, glaring at Buffy. She also looked like she was about to cry. My father was standing with his hand on Buffy's back, taking everything in silently. Buffy stood by his side, looking at her sister. She turned to look at me, as I had made my presence known.
The look on her face, which had been somewhere between relief and fear changed instantly to shock and recognition. It confused me, because I was sure I'd never seen her before in my life. I was right in thinking there was a strong family resemblance between Buffy and Dawn. Buffy's facial structure was so similar that some things had to be familial traits. The eyes were different, though. Buffy's were wide and green, and right now, they were filling with tears. She looked so hurt and beautiful that it broke my heart. I'd never been accused of being a romantic before in my life, but I swear I fell in love with Buffy Summers that very instant.
Her lips moved, like she was trying to say something, but couldn't get the muscles to obey her. A tear fell from her eye, and her tongue darted out to catch it. Silence once again filling the airport, enclosing us all in its awkward bubble. I would have said something, but I didn't know what I should say. It probably wasn't the best moment to propose marriage, especially given the fact she may well have been involved with my father.
She shifted her eyes slightly, and then she was looking directly into my soul. "Spike?" she said.