Days in the Sun
December 30th, 2018 – Leather (3)
Even though he had his father’s permission, William was reluctant to enter his parents' bedroom and open the closet. Lisa, on the other hand, didn’t seem troubled in the least, proving that she had done this very thing more than once. She seemed to have a slight tendency to forget to ask permission before doing the actual borrowing.
“If you embarrass me, I swear I will kick your ass.”
William merely shrugged at the unconvincing threat. If it came to it, he knew he could hold his own against her. Not win, maybe, but at least not lose either. Moreover, they both could imagine all too well the kind of hell their parents would raise to be sensible enough and not to try to see which of them would win such a fight.
As he watched Lisa pull out various shirts from the walk-in closet – it was clear he would have very little say in what he would wear to that damn party – William started to sit on the edge of the bed. Then he thought better of it and leaned against the wall instead. Although the wall might not be safe either, better to stand and touch nothing. Burying one hand in his jeans’ pocket, he gestured with the other at a dark blue shirt Lisa was putting back in the closet. The way it shimmered, it had to be silk. Did he really want to wear silk? His father would probably be upset if he spilled pop or whatever on it. On the other hand, it might make him look older. More sophisticated. Which was the whole point of this exercise.
“That one’s nice,” he offered his unwanted opinion.
Why had he wanted to go to that party again? Nothing could be worth that exasperated look on Lisa’s face. He was still surprised she had agreed, actually. A senior party at her latest prospective boyfriend’s house, the last thing William would have expected was for her to agree to his presence. But with Sarah gone to see her family in Seattle – seven days already, only five more left – any distraction was welcome, and his constant nagging had worked. Convincing their parents had been something else though.
“It works,” she conceded grudgingly as she held the shirt in front of him and did that squinty thing that seemed to be women’s ultimate way to decide if something would look good on you. “Goes well with your eyes.”
He was about to take the shirt from her when she blinked, and grinning widely turned to the full length mirror in the inside of the closet door, holding the shirt in front of herself. Of course. If it complimented his eyes, it went well with hers too.
“’Thought the shirt was for William?” an amused voice said from behind them.
“Well, you do have pretty things,” Lisa started, but their father chuckled, interrupting her.
“And I like my clothes not to smell like girly perfume, if you recall, luv. You have a phone call.”
Lisa quickly threw the shirt at William and darted out as if her life depended on it. Father and son shared a shake of head and a smile. Women…
Looking idly through the row of fine shirts, William tempted his luck. Their father had been more open about his past, in the last few months, and he now usually answered straight questions. Usually.
“So, what did you use to do for New Year in England?” he asked as casually as he could. “You know, before.”
A long silence followed, so long that William thought he wasn’t going to get an answer. But he finally did.
“Just like now. Parties, celebrating. All of it without the barest hint of fun. You would have been bored to tears.”
The teenager dared a look back. His father was smiling. He was tense, but smiling. William answered with a smile of his own before returning his attention to the item of clothing he had spied at the very end of the row. That thing was just perfect. He pulled it off the hanger, ready to try it on, but a quiet word stopped him.
“No.”
He looked at Spike questioningly. The smile was gone.
“Why not?”
He looked back at the leather duster and slipped it on anyway, turning to look at his reflection. That thing was just gorgeous. A little too large, maybe, but…
Pressure on his shoulder that the mirror didn’t reflect startled him.
“Not that, Will. Take it off.”
Spike didn’t let go until his son removed the duster, and he had placed it back in the closet himself. It was his old one, the one Buffy had claimed as hers; but she hadn’t worn it in years, and it had ended up in his closet. Seeing it on William stirred feelings he wasn’t sure he wanted to examine. Of course, the boy didn’t let the subject drop.
“Why can’t I borrow it?” he protested mildly. “You don’t even wear it, do you?”
“I haven’t in a while,” Spike admitted. “But that doesn’t change anything.”
Picking up the blue shirt William had chosen before, he gave it to him before drawing the closet’s doors shut, wishing he could close down his memory just as well. When had he gotten soft? Why had his children’s and wife’s faces started to replace those of countless victims? It had been happening for years, but it had become more frequent in the past months, ever since he had begun to answer questions he had until then always refused to listen to. It had been supposed to be a one-time deal at first, but somehow it had become slightly easier to answer after that most painful of admissions.
“Come on, dad,” William insisted again. “I promise I won’t damage it.”
“It has nothing to do…”
“Then why?”
Clear blue eyes that Spike knew were so much like his own questioned him, and he sighed. He had long ago promised himself he would never lie to his children. That didn’t mean the truth would always be pleasant, or that he’d always manage to avoid tricky questions.
“I took that coat off a dead Slayer.”
The blue eyes widened slightly in shock, and William swallowed heavily. Spike realized he couldn’t leave it at that.
“It’s a sort of symbol, Will. Of what I was. What I’ve become. Your mother took it from me. She used to wear it for patrol. From a Slayer, to me, to another Slayer. A long road. Seeing you wear that, it’s…”
He stopped, simply from lack of words to explain what he felt. William however didn’t seem to expect more. He nodded, gave him an hesitant smile and a terribly awkward hug before asking:
“So, it’s OK if I borrow the shirt?”
“Yeah. But you’d better take care of it, your mum’s rather fond of it.”
Despite himself, Spike grinned. William started to nod, then grimaced when he noticed his father’s smirk.
“I think that was too much information.”
The characters and names used in these stories do not belong to me. All copyrights remain with Fox and Mutant Enemy. No profit is made from this fanfiction.