Days in the Sun






It was a yearly ritual, and one that Buffy knew was one of the children’s favorites. Spike didn’t enjoy it as much, and he certainly had cause, but he complied gracefully. Trust him to put his family’s happiness ahead of his own comfort.

Each year, on the evening of the third of July, he would set up the canopy in the backyard, directly adjoining the back deck, effectively extending the house’s roof. And on the fourth, they would have a picnic underneath it. All of them outside during daylight. All of them in the protective shade.

One year, Buffy, with careful words, had suggested leaving the canopy in place after the day had passed, so that they could spend more time outside together, have dinner there, maybe. Spike hadn’t stepped under it again for the whole summer, grudgingly explaining that he didn’t like being so exposed. She hadn’t suggested it again after that. That he fought his apprehension and took the risk once a year was more than she had a right to ask.

After sunset, they would climb into the car and drive to the edge of town. There, they would join their friends and spread blankets to sit on and watch the fireworks together.

Things that they could do like this, outside as a family, were rare enough that Buffy enjoyed every second of it, and so she was smiling as she spread the picnic blanket in the shadow of the canopy. William was a few feet away, wrestling with the grill; for the first time and after much pleading on his part, he had been promoted to the rank of official barbecue cook. Buffy was giving him five more minutes to manage to light the grill and then she would go offer her unwanted help. She wasn’t too keen on waiting hours before they ate.

Inside, she could hear the girls laughing as they kept busy. They were preparing salads, stacking up bread and buns on plates, arranging bowls of fruits. They had insisted on doing it by themselves and that left little for Buffy to do.

Just as she was about to help, she noticed William’s proud grin and the smoke finally rising from the grill. He had everything he needed next to him, she made sure of that, but remained far enough that he wouldn’t object. He would do this alone; she had promised she would let him.

Feeling unneeded, she went back inside and hunted down her husband. She realized she hadn’t felt that way in a very long, long time; she didn’t actually mind the feeling. Sixteen years of having a child or more to take care of all the time, she certainly could use a break. She would miss them when they were gone, she knew that much already; but for now, she could enjoy the few minutes of respite.

Even with his back turned, William was acutely aware of his mother a few feet behind him; he was certain, even without looking, that she was observing him and getting ready to intervene. Mumbling curses under his breath, he redoubled his efforts to light the grill. If he didn’t manage to do this by himself, the girls would never let him hear the end of it, and he would…

Faint puffs of smoke finally started rising from the grill and William let out a relieved sigh. He wanted to turn to his mother and show her that he had done it, without help, just as he had said he would, but instead he played it cool and, instead, turned his attention to the meat off to the side. One extra crispy for himself, three well done for the girls and his mother, and one barely cooked for his father. He could do that. No problem.

Whistling softly, he set to his task, barely aware that he was now alone in the backyard. He had watched his mother do this for years and had no doubt that he could do a decent job of it. He had never had an appointed task in their annual picnic, and to have at last something that was his job and no one else’s felt very satisfying.

Laughter behind him distracted him and he turned to see Lisa and Joy arrange covered dishes on the picnic blanket. Perfect timing, he thought to himself as he flipped the burgers. They came to him as they were done, one on each side, their highly critical eyes inspecting his work.

“That one is burnt!” Joy pointed out, so helpfully, as she gestured to one of the patties.

“It’s not burnt,” he rolled his eyes at her. “Just very well done. Why don’t you go get our parents, it’s just about ready.”

She stuck her tongue out at him before sauntering away.

“Brat,” he muttered, not without fondness, and Lisa laughed.

“Takes one to know one,” she chuckled, and retreated to the blanket when he mock-glared at her and menaced her with his spatula.

“Why couldn’t I have brothers rather than you two pests?” he mused out loud as he returned his attention to the grill, not meaning one word of it.

Joyce Anne was wrinkling her nose as she returned inside the house. William had burned one of the hamburgers, and she needed to hurry and get their parents outside before he could burn any more.

“Mom! Dad!”

Her shout remained unanswered as she ran through the kitchen and hall; she soon found out why as she discovered them in the living room, arms around each other and engaged in a fierce kiss. She voiced her complaint clearly and loudly.

“Ewww! Gross!”

Such displays – she was convinced of it – were highly traumatic to her. What teenagers enjoyed seeing their parents do what ought to be reserved for younger people?

Thankfully, they separated. Or at least, they stopped kissing. Heads leaning against each other, they turned to look at her, both of them seemingly amused.

“We’ll be sure to remind you of that opinion when you have a boyfriend, Joy dear,” her mother laughed, and Joyce Anne felt her cheeks burn.

“And it better not be for a long, long while,” her father added, and it sounded like a warning.

For some reason, Andrew Mahey’s face flashed through Joyce Anne’s mind, and her blushing only accentuated a little more. He was the brother of her friend Carol, two years older than she was, and so, so not whom she ought to be thinking of at that moment.

“Will is burning the hamburgers,” she informed her parents, and ran back outside, knowing they would follow.

She settled down on the blanket next to Lisa and together they uncovered the salad bowl they had prepared. They hadn’t finished before their father had sat down, an eyebrow raised as he considered Joyce Anne. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes, not when she knew she was still flushed, not when he probably knew why. She was grateful when he didn’t comment; and by the time Will and their mom came to the picnic blanket with the plate of grilled meat, Joyce Anne was able to look up at him and smile shyly.

Smiling at his children’s antics, Spike picked at his food, more for appearances than anything else, Lisa suspected. Salad, bread, meat, fruits, none of it was food he needed to live. She knew he had had his real lunch earlier, before they had started preparing the picnic; the rinsed mug set to dry by the sink was proof of that. Was it also for appearances that he had drunk his blood out of their sight?

She found that more and more often these kinds of questions came to her mind. Questions about her father, about who he was and who he had been, about vampires, about what it was exactly that she was, that Will and Joy were, about Slayers and her mom. There was so much hiding below the surface of their apparently normal family. So much that was not, by any account, normal, even if it felt that way.

She had no problem with the not so normal part of her life, really, none at all. It was even easy to forget, at times, that there was anything abnormal going on in her life. Then, a little detail, like noticing how her father only picked at the food on his plate, brought everything to the forefront, along with an endless array of questions.

The fireworks were exploding high in the sky; yet, Spike’s eyes weren’t directed at them. The blanket his family had picnicked on earlier was spread out again, this time under the stars. Close by were Xander, Anya and their kid; on the other side, Willow and Tara. But all the people that mattered to Spike were right there, on an old piece of cloth that saw the light of day only once a year.

Buffy was in front on him, her back against his chest, her head on his shoulder, their fingers entwined at her waist. Her heartbeat was calm but strong, and it was easy to believe they shared it as they shared their lives.

Despite her prior protests, Jay didn’t seem to mind the closeness of her parents as she sat by them and rested her cheek against Buffy’s arm. She was letting out small gasps every now at then as the fireworks exploded above them; Spike knew her favorites were the golden fuses that fell down in long strands.

On Buffy’s other side, leaning back on his elbows was William. Unlike Jay, he was quiet, but his heart was beating just as fast as his sister’s, the strongest beats echoing with the noisy fireworks. Spike didn’t need to look at him to know the boy was still immensely pleased with his cooking success from earlier.

And by their feet, Lisa sat with her legs crossed, her head throw back as her eyes filled with the reflected light and colors. She had been pensive lately, and Spike couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in his little girl’s head. She might be almost seventeen, but she was still his little girl and always would be.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Buffy murmured as she shifted to brush her lips to his cheek.

He held her a little tighter as he looked around them.

“Beautiful,” he agreed.





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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.