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Future Imperfect by Lilachigh
 
Chp 11 Nothing - Ever
 
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Future Imperfect

Chp 11 Nothing – Ever

“Have you come to see Granny and Grandad?” Joyce glanced up at the big man standing in front of her, staring down at her with such an odd expression on his face. He looked just like Billy had when they’d been about six and he’d tried to fly like her and fallen out of the tree instead.

The man had been smiling as he walked up the porch steps, then he’d seemed to look closely at them, his mouth had fallen open and he’d gone a very funny colour.

“Granny? Buffy, er, yes. You must be - ?”

Joyce sighed, remembering that the very old sometimes had to be spoken to very slowly because they didn’t always understand things at first. And somehow she knew this man was very old. “Hi, I’m Joyce Summers-Green. This is my brother, Billy. Have you come to see our grandparents?”

“Yes, he has.” Buffy had opened the door and stood there, staring at them.

Angel turned, wishing he still had a pulse because he knew it would have been racing. Still slender, the long blonde hair now styled in a ragged feathered cut that suited the face that was older but even more beautiful. Life had taken away the fuller curves of her cheeks, but the satin sheen was still there, the greeny-grey eyes were just as large as she confronted him.

“Do you want to come inside? I can see that you don’t need to, what with not sheltering from the sun and all.”

“Hi, Buffy.”

“Angel.”

He waved his hand vaguely across himself. “Shanshu – or my part of it. I take it that these two are the end result of Spike’s part of the prophecy?”

Buffy nodded. “We have a daughter, Shanny. But I expect you knew that.”

Angel nodded. “I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee. Is Spike -?”

“Right here.”

Billy noticed, with interest, that granddad didn’t come outside onto the porch but was standing behind Granny. He was bare-chested and bare footed and Billy reckoned he’d probably been in the shower when their visitor arrived. Except his hair wasn’t wet, which was odd.

He pushed gently at Grandad’s mind to find out why and winced as he felt as if his brain had just bounced off a hard brick wall. He mentally backed away and tried to avoid Grandad’s piercing blue gaze.

“Joyce, Billy, why don’t you go and play in the back yard?” Buffy said firmly.

Joyce was about to protest; she sensed there was something interesting going on, but, to her surprise, Billy grabbed her hand and tugged her around the side of the house, almost as if he was anxious to get away from the grown-ups.

Angel stood at the door, waiting patiently for Buffy to remember that he had to be invited. At last, Spike turned, snapped his fingers in irritation and said, “‘Oh bloody hell! Come in for god’s sake.”

They sat around the kitchen table, staring at each other. Buffy glanced out of the window. She could see the twins swinging in he big tree. They were okay for now. She returned her gaze to Angel. It was hard to remember now her feelings for him all those years ago. He looked exactly the same, as if time had stood still. No, she was wrong. Not exactly the same. He was sun-tanned! How weird was that.

“Nice house. Been here long?”

“Since Europe,” Buffy said.

“Ah, yes. You were busy over there.”

“You could have come over, contributed the odd fang or two,” Spike said dryly. “We could have done with the help. Might have shortened the War by a couple of weeks!”

He realised he was using the same sarcastic tone to Angel that he’d used during those months before the L.A. apocalypse, the time before the battle. His feelings towards his Sire had never been clear to him. One thing, however, was crystal; you could obviously love, hate, respect and despise someone all at the same time.

Angel shot a covert glance at the man who’d been his Childe, his nemesis, and his bitter rival for the woman sitting between them. Spike looked older, and he was astonished to realise that that upset him. William shouldn’t have looked any different. For over a hundred years, this slight, cocky, belligerent guy had irritated, teased, destroyed and supported him. But all through everything, he‘d looked the same.

This William’s hair was longer, softer, still curly but with more of a gilt gleam to the colour than the harsh peroxide blond of years gone by.
Was there even the odd line on his forehead that hadn’t been there before? Well, at least his body hadn’t changed. Angel could still trace with his eyes the line of the muscles across his chest and shoulders, feel the tingle in his fingers that had once done just that.

“You seemed to be doing fine without me, and I was – out of action for a while after the L.A. apocalypse.”

He wasn’t going to tell them of the scars he still carried, of the months he’d spent unconscious, recovering deep under ground, until the day his senses returned and he realised that part of the Shanshu Prophecy had been given to him and that he could walk in the sunlight without dying.

“We were pleased you got some of the Prophecy,” Buffy said now, her voice strained. “It wouldn‘t have been fair if – ”

“If I’d copped for the whole lot!” Spike interrupted with a grin. “Never did much fancy daylight, anyway. And Shanny more than made up for it.”

“Yes, Shanny. Your daughter.” Angel hesitated. Driving up here from L.A. he’d gone over and over in his head exactly how he was going to approach this subject. He’d rehearsed the sentences, leading gently up to the subject or jumping straight in without any warning. But neither way seemed quite right.

He veered away from the problem. “So, cookie dough finished cooking yet, Buffy?”
“What?” Her puzzlement sounded quite genuine and with a wave of despair, he realised that she’d forgotten the words he’d clung to during all these years. A silly, girlish remark that he’d hugged to him like a talisman, thinking that yes, even if it was twenty or thirty years away, one day she would grow up completely, turn away from Spike and come back to him.
But she didn’t even remember!

He watched as she stretched out a hand towards Spike and his fingers twined through hers without even looking.

“So, why the visit?” Spike asked suddenly as the pause grew longer and longer. “Passing by and decided after over twenty years to drop in on old friends and show off the suntan, which, by the way, does not suit you?”

“Spike!” Buffy’s voice carried a caress and a warning at the same time.

“I came – Shanny – the twins – my god, Spike, can’t you see who the boy looks like!”

“Shanny – what the hell are you talking about our daughter for?” Spike pushed his chair back and leant across the table, vamping out for a second.

“Why are you interested in the twins?” Buffy spoke at the same time and for a second Angel almost quailed beneath their joint attack.

He sighed and pulled out of his pocket the little strip of photographs that Shanny had given him. He laid it carefully in the middle of the table and Buffy and Spike bent over it, puzzled.

Four small photos, taken in one of those little booths in found in clubs and malls. Two people were in the frames – the girl was sitting on the man’s lap, her arm round his neck. They both looked – well, drunk was the only word you could use. Happy but drunk. The girl’s top had slid down over one smooth shoulder and the guy was holding a bottle of beer in the hand that wasn’t wrapped round her waist.

The first three snaps were fuzzy; it was difficult to see their faces clearly, the couple had obviously been laughing, moving as the camera fired. But the last shot was good. Heads together, they were staring straight into the lens.

“Shanny!” Spike said in horror, gazing down at the face of his daughter.

“But she’s – this must have been taken years ago; she only looks seventeen – but how could she - oh God, no, her hair’s long, she didn’t have it cut until the twins arrived - she’s only fifteen in this – so who is this guy? He isn’t David.” Buffy’s mind was racing. Her gaze met Spike’s and the answer to the question they’d been asking each other for days now was suddenly there in front of them.

Angel took a deep breath. He had gone this far; there was no turning back now. “I need to tell you both about a boy. I need to tell you about Connor.”

* * * * *

“I wish we could go home!” Joyce was hanging upside down from a branch by her knees, swinging gently, her braids sweeping the grass.

“I thought you liked it here? Granny and Grandad understand much more about you being a witch than Mom and Dad do.” Billy was sitting in the grass, putting little stones in the path of some ants that were trying desperately to cross the yard.

Joyce shrugged. “I know they do. And I do like it here. And the vampire stuff is cool. But I miss Mommy. Do you think if I promised never to do witchy things again, they’d let us go home?”

Billy pulled a face. “Could you keep a promise like that?”

Joyce swung harder, feeling the blood roaring in her head. “Sometimes it just happens, but most times I can choose what to do.”

Billy didn’t answer. His twin slid down from the branch, did a forward roll and ended up sitting in front of him. She stared at his blank face and shivered as she felt a wave of an emotion she didn’t recognise course through her body. “Billy?”

“Hush a moment!” He flung out a hand.

“If you’re listening to their thoughts, you’ll get spanked. You know it’s rude, except when it’s us. Billy! Billy! Talk to me, what’s going on? Billy, I’m getting scared. Talk to me, you stupid dumbass, or I’ll…I’ll…. change you into one of these ants!”

Then Billy’s fingers found hers and she fell silent because she could feel what the emotions were now – anger, hatred and a terrible fear.

* * * * * *


Spike had poured himself a Scotch and was leaning against the wall, sipping it slowly. Buffy wondered if it would help if she had one. She needed something to take away the falling sensation that surrounded her.

“OK, let’s take this from the beginning,” she said, worried by Spike’s silence. “You had a son with Darla?” And we won’t go into the being faithful to me, the girl you were supposed to wait for forever. Darla!

“Yes, I called him Connor.”

“OK, and moving on past Wesley and the kidnap and Cordy and – well, everything – he was living in L.A.”

“Having sex with my little girl!” Spike’s voice was terrible. There was a note in it that Buffy had never heard before.

“And he and Shanny met – at some party – and – and –”

Eyes glowed golden as Spike vamped out and flung himself at Angel, but Buffy grabbed his arm and forced him back against the wall. She stared into his face without speaking but whatever he saw in her eyes caused Spike to hesitate and shimmer back into human face.

“So not helping!” Buffy snapped. “I’m not going to blame him. The picture shows us that Shanny looked about seventeen or eighteen that night. And you say it was just that one night?” she asked Angel.

He hadn’t moved an inch to defend himself; as if he would welcome the pain Spike could inflict. “All I know is what I’ve told you. She came to me because Willow had my card. She wants me to find this man.”

“Did she tell you they’d slept together?”

“Not in so many words, but I’m not a complete fool. A woman with nine-year-old children asks you to find a guy she met ten years ago. It isn’t because she leant him her favourite CD and wants it back! But I didn’t really believe it, not until I got out of the car and saw Billy. God, Spike, how can you not see the resemblance? The shape of his head, his hair, the line of his jaw. He’s Darla’s grandchild! He’s my grandchild! And Connor is their father. I have to tell him. He has to know.”

Spike raised his head sharply. “No, David Green is their father. He’s been their father from before they were born. You can’t have them. Your son has nothing to do with them! Will never have anything to do with them. Do you hear me, Liam? Nothing – ever!”

And out in the yard, a little boy with odd powers, picked out one fact from the swirling emotions inside the grown-ups’ heads. Someone wanted to take him and twin away from Mommy and Daddy.

To be continued




 
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