Severed Ties

Chapter 25

House of Cards

June 4th, 2002

Evening

"Daddy?"

No sooner than the word left her mouth, distantly familiar arms engulfed Buffy.

"How's my Pumpkin?" Hank whispered in her ear and she nodded dumbly. The seconds ticked away and Buffy remained frozen in Hank Summers arms. How many times over the years, despite her anger and resentment, had she imagined this moment? Her Daddy, holding her like he used to when she was little. When he was so proud of her that she was crushed to his chest or when her little heart was broken from pain or the nasty words of her playmates and she would cry on his shoulder, all the while him wiping away her tears, stroking her hair, and telling her it would be all right.

Bits and pieces of her childhood danced through her near-catatonic mind and Buffy felt her arms loosen and slide around his waist.

"That's my girl," Hank said, and the first hint of tears appeared, stinging her eyes.

"Daddy…"

"Shhh, now, darling, Daddy's here. Everything's gonna be fine."

Buffy wanted to scream. She wanted to ask him where he had been all these years. How could he leave his two baby girls in the cold with no calls, no letters? How could you do that, Daddy, how could you? We needed you, more than you'll ever know and you left us. Left us without turning back.

Buffy wanted to yell that from the rafters but something held her back. It wasn't until she tasted her tears did she know why.

Despite all his lies and broken promises, the little girl still trapped in Buffy Summers wanted so bad to believe her father; she wanted so bad for everything to be all right.

Even if she knew it was a lie.

~~~

Future Time

He surveyed the room, his four remaining lieutenants before him, eyes hard, postures stiff. They were ready for battle. Frost, whose entire wardrobe was the purest white, just as the blade of the sword strapped to his back. His eyes, usually cool and emotionless burned crimson, telling a tale that Gabriel had no idea how it ended.

The two Zidiahni, M'ul Aut and D'bahn, did not bother to hide the glee at what awaited beyond the portal. The emerald light from the doorway slid across their razor fangs, highlighting the killing tools in some dire reverence. But their teeth wouldn't take lives; they were strapped with dozens of blades and several firearms, as if they were going into the teeth of hell, itself. And they were, for the mini-army they would face was more deadly than anything this world had to offer.

And then there was Morrigann. His sweet succubus. Her supple curves peeked out from under the translucent violet of her long skirt and matching blouse. Only her lower half was hidden away by a dark purple thong that matched her thigh high boots. Her multi-colored mane draped across her right shoulder, his most recent teeth marks hidden under the purple choker around her neck.

"You look wonderful," he said and cut the distance between them although he dared not touch her, lest his concentration was shattered.

"And I feel even better," she whispered, trailing her fingernails underneath the globes that were her breasts. Her tongue dashed out and traced her purple lips. "Of course, you know all about that, don't you?"

Gabriel forced himself to breathe but gave her a wane smile. "All in due time, my child, all in due time." Mind focused on the task at hand, he turned away from them and raised his hands, shouting words only heard in the hellish playground that was his home. Energy crackled from his raised palms and the vampire nearly toppled at the backlash. Steadying himself, he spoke louder, challenging the energies to defy him. After an initial surge against him, it acquiesced and the portal expanded until it took up the entire wall.

"Go," he shouted, "I cannot hold it much longer." He heard the quartet move past him, his narrowed eyes catching a glimpse of them as they passed. Frost stepped through first, swallowed by the green and black tempest of energy. M'ul Aut and D'bahn followed close behind. Last was Morrigann, and before she stepped through, she turned towards him.

"It will all be ready for you, lover." She smiled, her fangs elongating further than any vampire, before she too was gone.

He held on as much as he could, unfamiliar with the forces to bend time, until his body refused to go further. As soon as he collapsed, his face hitting the ground, the portal shimmered. The green faded, replaced by the blackness of a void like no other, before it exploded into nothingness.

But Gabriel saw none of this as the darkness had already claimed him.

~~~

He'd expected her to come gallivanting back into the kitchen, those sweet hips of hers sashaying back and forth, and tell him that it was no one important and that they could get back to the unfinished business of buggering his lady lover.

Doubt she'd appreciate that particular line of thinking, Spike mused. He surveyed the kitchen and the half-ass job he'd done, fulfilling his promise of tidying up. Oh yeah, he could've done a lot more than wipe off the table and countertops but aside from the throbbing pulse of his libido holding him back, there was that tiny comment Buffy let slip about domestication.

"I'm no bloody house vamp," he protested aloud, flinging the damp dishrag into the sink. True, he may have been a bleedin heart where she and the 'bit were concerned--well, and Bitlet, of course. He shrugged; might as well throw the two Wiccas in there as well. Okay, he was a complete sop when it came to the women in his life. But it wasn't as if he could help it. Quite the romantic pre and post un-life, he'd always taken it upon himself to see to the women in his heart. He doted on them to no end and never felt the pansy for it. And Buffy was the pinnacle of that train of thought. Oh, he was her willing slave, all right, but that did not mean that he was her, well, slave. There was no way in this world that he was gonna…

Spike stopped and took in the task he was doing. He hadn't even paid attention to unloading the dishwasher, placing the mugs and bowls in their respective cabinets. But it wasn't a big deal, the vampire argued. He'd done it that painful summer when he and Dawn spent days on end together, when he and the witches often made dinner. And while Buffy was in the hospital, he and Giles often cooked for the other house residents, cleaning up afterwards, discussing Merry Old England with the fervor only two Brits could achieve. So, this here thing he was doing had nothing to do with being…

Oh sod a dog, he was buggered. No doubt that looking in the dictionary, the 'D' word (which he vowed never to use again) had the handsome, yet panicked and resigned portrait of a certain bleached blonde vampire illustrated as its prime example.

Muttering to himself the entire time, Spike managed to clear away the dishes. He glanced at the clock and frowned. Buffy had been gone fifteen minutes now without so much as a peep from her. Maybe she was upstairs, planning the stages for his ultimate seduction or maybe she was trying to…

Spike sniffed the air and growled. Something was wrong. Buffy was still in the living room but she wasn't alone. The other scent was bloody familiar in a way but it was his slayer's fear that made his hackles rise. Without another thought, the vampire barreled through the door and into the living room. Two heads turned towards him but he only saw the tracks of tears down Buffy's cheeks.

"Buffy, what's wrong?" He asked and rushed to her side. He frowned when she shook her head and plastered a genuine, one hundred percent fake smile on, teeth and all.

"Nothing, William," she said, emphasizing his given name. She laid a hand on his arm, squeezing unnecessarily tight before glancing at the man before them and back to Spike. "I just was talking with my Dad and…"

"This blighter is your Da?" No wonder the scent was familiar; it was part of Buffy and Dawn. Spike eyes grew cold and he bit back the urge to tear the man in the charcoal suit apart.

"I am," said the man and he stood. "Hank Summers. And who might you be?" He didn't bother to hide the contempt in his voice and Spike was so close to flashing a bit o' fang but he caught Buffy's pleading look out the corner of his eye.

"Who am I?" Spike reiterated and glanced towards Buffy. Her eyes shone with something he couldn't quite identify but decided it was shame. She didn't want dear old dad to know that he and Buffy were an item and the sickening feel of being thrust into the closet again had obliterated the anger he'd felt toward Mr. Hank Summers. Well, he was used to this game; thought they were over playing musical chairs but what did he expect?

"Not too tough a question, William, is it?" Hank asked.

"Actually," Buffy said, and Spike heard the stirrings of anger in her voice, "Spike is my boyfriend." The vampire stared at Buffy in shock and when her lips curled into a shy smile, his love for her grew exponentially.

"Spike? I thought you said his name was William."

"Well, Spike's kinda sorta a nickname, right, sweetie?" Buffy said, pulling the stunned (and quite amused) blonde down to sit next to her.

"What kind of a nickname is 'Spike'?"

The vampire smirked, confidence boosted by Buffy's admission. Cocking his head to the side, his gaze hardened and he stared through Joyce's former husband. Spike's ears prickled when the other man's heartbeat accelerated and his throat bobbed. Still got it, Spike thought and his fingers entwined with Buffy's. He gave his lover a quick smile before leaning over the table and licking his lips. "Do you really wanna know, mate?"

"So, Daddy," Buffy said and not too subtly yanked Spike closer to her. "What was that you were saying about Dawn?"

At the mention of his girl, Spike's ears perked and he barely contained the growl that awoke inside his chest. Hank may have been Dawn's biological father--well, truthfully, he wasn't even that--still, Buffy and Dawn's memories said the opposite. The point was that he hadn't been a father to them since they had come to Sunnydale. To show up out of the blue like this was cruel and more than a little suspicious and if he was a betting vampire…well, let's just say that papa Summers wouldn't like to meet the real William the Bloody.

"Oh, yeah, Dawn," Hank said and his face slid into the ultra chipper mode. Now I see where the Slayer got that from. "Well, it's been awhile since I've seen Dawnie and I just thought that she'd like to visit LA for the summer."

Buffy's hand tightened and Spike leaned towards her until she relaxed. "That's…nice of you Dad but I don't know about that. I mean, we already have plans for the summer."

"What kind of plans?"

"Well, uh, sisterly type things."

"Like…?"

Spike snorted. "Don't you get it, mate? They're doin' sisterly things. Don't matter what it is, just that it doesn't involve a Daddy that can't even attend his wife's sodding funeral." As soon as the words left his mouth, Spike was instantly remorseful. Not for the guilty shroud that covered Hank's previously stoic features but the painful reminder he had given Buffy. Spike grimaced apologetically at Buffy and nearly gasped at the pain etched across her face.

"Buffy, I…"

"Spike," she said, her voice oddly detached, "do you mind if me and my father talk? Alone."

Spike started to protest but saw the warning in her eyes and nodded. He stood and, giving a withering glance to the man in the chair, exited the room.

He closed the door, allowing the night to swallow him. It was dark now and that was all right. It matched his somber mood perfectly. His hands slid into his pockets and Spike sighed. His duster and fags were still in the house and there was no way in hell he was gonna go back in there. He'd muddle through the night, dust a few vamps, break a few necks, throw back a few shots at Willy's and call it a night. He'd take care of the Buffy situation later.

"Soddin big mouth you have, Spike," he muttered, kicking at the grass on the sidewalk. Yeah, he did put the size eleven Docs down his throat but everything would be fine. Buffy loved him and even if she was rightly pissed at him right about now, she had to accept the apology he was going to give her. There was no doubt there would be--in Buffy speak--major Spike grovelage later tonight.

The thought of Buffy looking down on him as he asked forgiveness produced a smirk from the sullen vampire. And then, seeing her break into a grin, begging to be pounced upon lifted the vampire's spirits even more. Spike had no doubts Buffy would make him pay but, in the end, it would be all worth it. It always was.

~~~

Early Morning

June 5th, 2002

It was a little after three by the time Spike stumbled back into Casa de Summers, his blood singing from alcohol and the violence of the kill. His left leg was on fire from the serious gash from where that damn Melzic demon's horn had cut into his thigh. Several ribs were bruised quite healthily and the bleached blonde swore never to jump into the mix with seven recently fed vamps. Well, at least not until the next time the opportunity presented itself. All the light--save for the living room--were off and Spike peeked in smiling at the sight before him.

Xander and Faith lay together on the couch, their arms wrapped tightly around each other. His Bitlet was on the opposite end with a blanket haphazardly covering her legs, curled into a shell. Watcher man lay snoring in the recliner; a book open in his lap while the telly continued its incessant chatter. Buffy and Dawn were nowhere to be found and neither were the witches. Shrugging at their absence, Spike quietly made his way through the sleep-fest, sliding the blanket over his daughter's petite form before shutting off the telly.

"Daddy don't go," he heard someone whimper before he walked out the room. He was by his little girl's side in an instant, kneeling in front of her. Faith Joyce's features were bundled in that frown that reminded him so much of her mother's. He brushed a strand of hair out of her face, and stroked the tender flesh of her jaw.

"She didn't mean it…" she murmured and Spike whispered soothing words into her ear until the tension died from her limbs. He dropped a kiss onto her forehead and smiled at the jewel that was he and Buffy's miracle.

"Sleep, Bitlet," he said, and stood up, "Daddy's going nowhere."

Spike crept back out of the room and when he got to the steps, noticed that the front door was slightly ajar.

"What the bloody…" He trailed off when the familiar scent of vanilla and crème wafted through the air. "Buffy." She must have heard him come in and gone outside so she could grill him without waking up the others. Well, Willie boy, let's go out and face it like a man.

Her back was to him when he exited, closing the door behind her. Her white camisole clung to her tighter than usual and he smiled at his girl picking up weight. A glance down at her striped boxers sent shivers of anticipation through his veins. He knew exactly what was under there and wanted nothing more than to--

The fragrance of fresh tears broke through Spike's inebriated lust and the vampire immediately sobered. He took a step towards her and slid shaky fingers through his tousled locks.

"Buffy, I…"

He saw the minute shake of her head. "Don't, Spike." His concern grew at the deadness in her voice. He knew he'd been out of line and she was pissed but her tone was anything but. Yeah, there was resentment in it but she also sounded so…defeated.

"Baby, look, I know I was out of line…"

"Don't make me say something we'll both regret, Spike."

Something in her tone chilled Spike like nothing he'd ever felt. His heart dropped and the insecurities he thought dead years ago, ones more powerful than the doubts about he and Buffy, were resurrected and beat on his chest with sadistic pleasure. His throat tightened in fear and Spike reached a tentative hand out to his lover's bare shoulder.

"Please don't touch me."

"Then what do you want me to do?" He yelled, frustration clawing through him. He stalked across the porch and in front of her. He nearly faltered when her hazel eyes glared at him with such loathing and fear, marred by the tears that streaked down her beautiful face. But he refused to be quiet. He couldn't. If he did, he would explode.

"I fucked up, Slayer, I know that. What I said to that tosser was justifiable but not with you there. I'm sorry, okay. I'm a soddin souless demon. What did you expect from me? That, that bastard hurt all three of my girls, he's lucky I only said…"

"He wants to take Dawn away." The steam he'd been building up was sucked from Spike's undead lungs and his mouth was agape, staring in horror at Buffy.

"He what?"

"He…he showed me the papers. Everything's legal. He wanted to have Dawn there for the summer to get her accustomed to living there. He hoped--" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "He hoped that she would like it enough to stay with him and he wouldn't have to go through all the legalities. Dawnie's really upset. Wills and Tara finally got her to sleep."

"Buffy, I…"

"He said that he didn't want to involve the authorities, if at all possible, so he's giving us to the tenth to decide and, if necessary, he would do everything in his considerable power to get her. He thinks that being around someone like you is a bad influence and that this environment is stifling Dawnie's growth."

Spike's stomach churned but he refused to retreat. "What environment? A place where nearly a dozen bloody people'll give their soddin lives to protect her? Where she's loved more than the soddin world itself. Does that fuck think he can give her all that? Does he?"

Their eyes locked and for several minutes no words were exchanged. Spike tried to decipher the meaning behind Buffy's clouded gaze but couldn't fathom what he saw. It wasn't until she lowered her gaze that Spike understood.

"That's okay, Slayer. I understand. It's always me, openin my big mouth, makin promises…promises I can't keep. Good old Spike; he'll never disappoint cause he always does disappoint."

Buffy's features instantly softened and, for some reason that made it worse. "Spike I…"

He shook his head. "Save it, Summers. You know, you're probably right. I did fuck up tonight and it probably is my fault that Bit's gonna get taken away."

Buffy's arms dropped to her sides. "It's not over yet. Giles is--"

"I let you die, didn't I?" The slayer's shoulders slumped and all the residual anger disappeared from her eyes, replaced with an innate sadness.

"Spike, I told you that wasn't…"

"My fault? Bloody 'ell, Summers, I was there! While you were taken care of the hell bitch, my arse was getting kicked by an old, wrinkle-skinned demon, preparin' to be thrown off the soddin' tower while Dawn begged me with her eyes to help her. I let you down. So why should this be any different."

"Spike I--"

"Just answer me one question, and for God sakes, Summers, be honest with me." Her throat convulsed but she nodded. "Do you blame me for this, for Nibblet getting hijacked by Pa Summers?" She turned her head and the answer slammed into Spike's chest with the force of mahogany wood. His eyes swam from the unshed tears that accumulated in seconds. Yet they would not fall, so long as he breathed. No, she would not see him cry. Never again.

"Don't bother to answer, luv," he said and turned his back, "your eyes said it all." He took two steps off the porch and stopped. Every fiber in his miserable being wanted to beg her, plead with her to take him back but the sliver of pride that he still possessed refused to give in. "I'm gonna sleep at the crypt tonight. I need some time to myself. I'll be back in a day or so." And, as if it truly mattered, he added, "I promise."

He forced his legs to carry him to the sidewalk and he consciously ignored the hushed sobs that followed him from the porch. It wasn't until he was halfway down the street that her cries were lost to him. When he reached the corner of Revello and Patterson, Spike's strength gave way and he collapsed to his knees. As his cries rang out into the night, a silent, yet just as loud voice screamed from within, telling him what he'd known since he took that first step away from 1630.

He was making the biggest mistake of his life. But it had to be done, cause if he didn't walk away now, he never would. And he couldn't bear to be there when Dawn was taken away and Buffy looked at him with hate once more. He just wasn't that strong.

As the tears finally diminished and Spike was able to stand, he made his way towards what had been his home for the last two years. It would be hell after spending the last few weeks wrapped in Buffy's embrace but it was better than the alternative. Even if Buffy never wanted to see him again, he would never leave this place. That would destroy him just as much as her hatred would.

He snickered bitterly. Can't stay, can't go. Just buggered to the core. Ain't life grand.

Oh, life was grand all right. It was grand, indeed.

TBC in Castaway…