Days in the Sun







As he saved and closed the file he had been working on, Spike was surprised to realize it was almost three in the morning. Caught in the flow of words, he hadn’t noticed that so much time had passed. For decades, he hadn’t written a word, had locked that part of him away and had tried to destroy the key; it still surprised him that he could write at all. It had helped, undoubtedly, that his first attempts at prose had been for his Slayer, and following, for his children. Even now, as they were way past the age of his target audience, he still thought of them as he wrote. Reading aloud to them, having them be the very first to discover a new story, had always been one more incentive to finish a book.

Stretching as he stood, he walked out of his office, bare feet silent on the polished wood; it wouldn’t do to wake anyone up so late. Or rather, so early. By pure habit, his eyes trailed over the key rack when he walked by the door, and his eyes narrowed slightly as he noted that one set of keys – his – was missing. He had allowed William to borrow his car to go to a birthday party, but by now the boy should have been back. He should have been back hours ago, actually. Unless he had forgotten to return the keys? He should have known better, but maybe…

A few steps up the stairs were all Spike needed to know William wasn’t there, even without opening his door. In the silence of the night, he could only hear three heartbeats, and he could place a name to each. He knew his own would have been too fast, had it still been able to beat.

Where was Will?

Was he safe?

There was no point in waking Buffy and have her worry too, so Spike went down the steps, and sat on the next to last one. And he waited. And waited.

If the boy wasn’t hurt, he was going to kick his ass.

His father was going to kill him, William was sure of it. He could only hope that it would be quick. And if possible, before the hangover completely set in.

He closed the car’s door as quietly as he could, and winced as his eyes went again to the left front side. He was so dead.

Slow, heavy steps led him to the garage door. He opened it carefully and walked into the house. The keys made a little noise as he hung them on the rack and he cringed. Even such a small noise could wake Spike, and it would certainly be better, much better, if the confrontation happened in the morning. Preferably after William had…

Golden eyes nailed him to the spot as he took a step toward the stairs, and he felt a cold sweat run down his back.

Dead. If there was any doubt left in William’s mind, Spike’s deep intake of air dispelled it. As close as he was, he had to be able to smell the alcohol on William’s breath; and it was too late to stop breathing.

Spike stood, looming over William, and the teenager swallowed heavily. The sight was sobering.

“Dad…”

“I only want to hear two things from your mouth, boy. What did you drink and how much of it?”

Dead. So, so dead.

“It was just beer,” he mumbled. “A couple of them.”

“A couple of cans?” Spike snorted. “Or a couple of packs?”

William’s mouth opened – and closed again without a sound. Truth was, he wasn’t sure how many cans he had drunk.

“And you drove like that,” Spike continued, his voice ice cold. “You fucking took the car after having drunk.”

His eyes dropping to the floor, William sighed softly. If his father was swearing, it was worse than he had imagined.

“I didn’t mean to damage her,” he pleaded, daring to look back up. Too late, he realized that his father didn’t know about the car yet; and he winced at the renewed gold in the gaze glaring at him.

“You’d better get to your room, William. Now.”

Spike stepped to the side, barely enough to let him pass, and William walked up the stairs.

Dead.

If he went back to bed now, Spike knew, he was going to wake Buffy, tell her about their son, and neither of them would get any sleep for the rest of the night. He might as well let her get some rest, so one of them at least would have a clear mind to make William’s day hell come morning. So, instead of going up, he went out to the garage, squinting as he flipped on the bright lights. Immediately, his eyes were drawn to the car – his car, his beloved De Soto – and he cursed softly at the damage. Broken lights, damaged wing. In truth, he had done worse, far worse, in his time. It could have been far, far worse tonight too.

Squatting next to the car, he let his hand run over the bruised metal. Nothing that a little loving care couldn’t fix. Sighing, he opened the car’s door and left it open as he sat down and pushed a tape in the player. His thumbs beat the rhythm of the song on the steering wheel, but he wasn’t really listening to the music. Behind his closed eyelids were running images of screeching tires and tangled metal, a bloodied body that wore the face of his son.

He heard the garage door open, and instantly knew who it was without needing to open his eyes.

“I thought I told you to get to your room,” he stated coldly.

“Listen, Dad, I just wanted…”

His anger getting the best of him, Spike turned off the tape player and got out of the car, banging the door shut. William had changed into an old t-shirt and sweat pants, and judging by his wet hair, he had taken a shower. Not that drunk, then, if he had managed not to drown himself. It didn’t do much to calm Spike, however.

“You just wanted to get yelled at now rather than wait until morning when I’ve calmed down? Not your smartest move, boy.”

William flinched, and only then did Spike realize what he had called him. Boy? Where the hell had that come from? That was how he had addressed minions, a lifetime ago. It certainly wasn’t a way to call his son.

“I just wanted to tell you I’ll have her fixed,” William insisted, passing a hand through his hair. “She’ll be as good as new, and you won’t be able to tell anything had happened. I promise.”

If anything, his promise seemed to anger his father even more, and William was more than a little apprehensive as Spike stepped closer, hints of gold coloring his eyes.

“So, you think that fixing that bloody car will make everything fine in the world again?” he asked blankly.

William wanted to nod, but he had a growing suspicion that it wasn’t the reaction Spike wanted. But then, what did he want?

“I’ve trashed that car myself more than a few times, Will,” his father said slowly, coming ever closer. “I’ve driven it above speed limits with probably more alcohol in my body than I had blood.”

Blinking, William bit his lower lips to keep from saying anything. The most alcohol he could ever remember seeing his father ingest had been a few flutes of champagne at his parents’ wedding. It was hard to believe this man could have gotten that drunk. However, it was harder not to believe the truth so obvious in his voice.

“But there was a difference in what I did once upon a time and what you did tonight,” Spike continued. “Know what it is?”

The teen shook his head, unsure or where all this was going. His father turned his back on him and walked back to the car.

“Short of getting caught in a fire, the chances of me dying in a car crash are pretty slim. One of the perks of being a vamp. You, on the other hand…”

A slightly shaky hand ran over damaged metal. Finally, William got it, and blamed his tiredness for not getting it any sooner. If his father was angry, it wasn’t about the car; it wasn’t even about a few too many drinks. It was about being reminded of his family’s mortality.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” he offered quietly as he walked to Spike. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

“You’re right, it won’t,” Spike agreed as he slipped an arm around his son’s shoulders and pulled him toward the door to the house. “Seeing how you’re grounded for an indefinite amount of time and all cars are off limit to you.”

William froze, protests already coming to his lips, which died when he noticed his father’s wicked smile.

“And that’s only me,” Spike continued. “Wait ‘til your mother hears of it.”




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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.