Spike paced across the wood floor of his apartment. He felt like all he’d done in the past ten hours was pace, talk on the phone, pace some more, all with no progress. His current conversation was with the brick wall that was Rupert Giles.
“How the bloody hell should I know where he is Dad? Doesn’t Jenny know? I don’t know.” Spike stared across the room at the little girl sitting in the corner in front of the television. The Disney Channel flickered across the screen -- a channel Spike didn’t even know was included in his digital cable package until a couple hours ago when he was searching for something suitable for a three year old. She had fallen asleep on the car ride home and had only recently wakened. She again held her doll to her chest. “She’s just sitting here, dad,” he whispered into the phone, like she was some alien martian come down from space that he didn’t want to alert.
With all he knew about kids, she might as well have been.
A more refined British accent echoed through the phone, “Well until we can find another solution you have some decisions to make. You cannot raise a child in L.A,” he admonished.
Spike pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it like it’d just sprouted a mouth and was singing show tunes at him, “Who said anything about raising her?” Spike asked his father.
“Spike, when you agreed to take the child in, you agreed to take the place of her father, even if it is only for the time being. But I think you would agree that it would be best at this time to think long term.”
“Angel was raising her in this city, why can’t I?” Spike pouted, unwilling to have this kid completely disrupt his life and uproot him altogether.
“I don’t know if you can call what Angel was doing a proper job. He always had his priorities . . . askew.”
“And here I always thought you said I was the irresponsible one,” Spike grumbled, continuing to prowl a safe distance away from the baby.
“When it comes to women, yes, but you have always, shall I say ‘stepped up to the plate’ when called upon. And we are counting on you now, William,” his father pleaded. “Being in England, neither Jenny nor myself can be there to help you right now.”
“Dad, I have a job! I have a life!”
“And now you have a child who needs to begin preschool in the fall,” Giles stated firmly.
“I had to take her! They would have put her in some foster home if I hadn’t!”
“And right there you have shown more concern for this child’s well-being than her own father -- proving you a suitable guardian. You write novels, William, you can do that anywhere.”
His father’s comment on his job just made him anger more, “But my editor is in L.A.!”
“If I have learned nothing from your stepmother in the years we’ve been married, it is the power of the computer. E-mail, Will, use it.”
“Dad, I think we’re missing the point, that being what do I know about raising a kid?”
“I’m sure if you put your mind to it you will find yourself more than capable.”
“She wasn’t left with an instruction manual, dad, all Angel left her with was a bag of clothes and a couple dolls.” In his frustration, Spike’s voice raised and he swung at the papers stacked on his table -- the outlines of his newest novel. The baby raised her head in alarm. Spike quickly shot her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes in order to not upset her. The child didn’t seem any more convinced than he was.
“I’m afraid to touch her -- like I’m going to break her,” Spike said miserably.
“I assure you that you won’t.” Giles seem to reconsider, “On second thought, perhaps you should hire a nanny.”
“I can handle it,” Spike growled, never in his life having accepted help from outsiders before. And if his dad knew how to rile him up, it was in suggesting that Spike had an inability to do something himself. “I have dealt with fussy publishers and fought with editors. I think I can handle a three year old.”
“Well,” Giles stated, satisfied, “That was a quick about-face. Now,” he began, not planning on leaving his son with no hints whatsoever, “the last time I talked to Angel, Lisa was more or less trained to use the loo but was still wearing training pants in case of accidents. Have you checked her diaper?”
“Her what!?” Spike sputtered, “You can’t expect me to . . . I’ve never . . . .” Spike sighed in defeat, “okay I’m on it.”
“Now, I’ve talked to a friend of mine. A Joyce Summers. She’s helped Jenny and I acquire some rather rare art. She lives only a few hours away . . .” Spike heard a rustling of papers on the England end, “place called Sunnydale,” Giles read off a scrap of paper. “Well,” his father stated brightly, “that sounds like a lovely place does it not?”
Spike refrained from telling his father just what he really thought of a place called, of all things, Sunnydale.
“She’s raised two daughters there quite successfully and I’m sure would be more than eager to help you. There are some homes available nearby, all within walking distance of the local elementary school.”
“Dad, for the last time -- I am not moving!”
TWO WEEKS LATER . . .
Spike stood outside the modest two floor, two bedroom, two bathroom home, squinting his eyes against the sun.
A home that was now his.
And Lisa’s, temporarily.
The baby in question, who had been content to wonder around the home’s perimeters, chasing butterflies that escaped from what was left of the previous owner’s garden, came to rest beside him.
Scooping up his niece, Spike moved his free hand to her forehead, shielding her delicate eyes from the morning rays.
The movers had hauled in the last of the boxes and had left Spike and Lisa in the yard to face the intimidating house alone.
Spike looked down at the baby in his arms before looking back up at the house looming over them.
Spike sighed, “Home sweet home.”
TBC
Showing posts with label Jenny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jenny. Show all posts
Monday, June 9, 2008
Spuffy: Someday, Much More Chapter One
TITLE: Someday, Much More
RATING: PG-13 (may be a hard R in places, I'll warn when it is)
SUMMARY: Spike Giles’s brother, Angel, skips town, leaving him with a little girl and a big responsibility. Forced to give up his big-city L.A. life, he meets a small-town girl who could be his saving grace.
A/N: Even though this story is based on Kevin Hill and the movie Big Daddy, I’ve never seen the show and I’ve only watched the movie once, so I’m thinking this is going to be extremely loosely based. I got the idea from reading a description of the plot of the UPN show Kevin Hill, thought I’ve never seen the show. Therefore any similarities are extremely coincidental.
CHAPTER 1 --
“Bloody hell, ow!” Spike Giles sidestepped a pile of laundry lying randomly on the floor, narrowly missing breaking his neck, as he jumped out of the shower, towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist and loose blonde curls dripping as he dove for the phone as it rang for the fourth time.
“Hello,” he answered, taking a smaller towel and rubbing it against his head.
“William Giles?” the matronly woman on the other end gave him a moment to deny it. When he didn’t, she continued. “This is Marianne Stewart, from Child Services.”
“Yeah?” he answered perplexed, trying to wrap his head around why in the world Child Services would be calling him. He mentally Rolodexed the women he’d slept with over the years and any chance one of his many couplings could have resulted in pregnancy. He couldn’t come up with a single time he hadn’t taken the utmost precaution.
“You are the brother of Liam O’Connor am I correct?” the woman asked, the name thankfully jerking him out of his previous line of thinking.
“Stepbrother,” Spike answered automatically. “My father married his mother, but yeah, we’re related,” he finished, separating himself from the other boy who was unwillingly joined within the same family when Rupert Giles married Jenny Calendar twenty years ago. By making this distinction, Spike deflected any blame that could be thrown at him for his stepbrother’s actions – a defense mechanism he picked up in boyhood but habitually kept, even though it might have made more sense had Spike not been the one getting in trouble all the time, hence the apt nicknames.
“It appears Mr. O’Connor has left the immediate area indefinitely,” commented the woman on the phone.
“Appears? Where’d he go?” Spike’s brow furrowed, not really concerned with Angel’s whereabouts, but taken aback that he hadn’t heard about it through his father. Though the move didn’t exactly surprise him; a martyr when it came to his work, his older stepbrother abruptly moving for the sake of some legal case he was overseeing would hardly shock anyone.
But what this had to do with Child Services was beyond him. If Angel and his on again and off again girlfriend, Darla, were having disputes over their kid again, why were they calling him? Why should they drag him into their ongoing drama? If he remembered correctly, Angel had requested Spike NOT be called as a character witness in their last custody battle.
“I’m afraid no one knows Mr. O’Connor’s whereabouts.” The woman paused. “But we do have the issue of the child involved, a Lisa O’Connor.” She hesitated before the name, pronouncing it clinically, like she was checking the name off a paper in front of her, lest she confuse it with the hundreds of other children she dealt with on a daily basis.
“My niece,” Spike answered, getting the feeling like this was a one-sided conversation and he was the uninformed, being blindly led by the woman’s questions.
“You would not by any chance know where the birth mother is?”
“Darla?” Spike shook his head, “No. In the past two years I’ve only seen Angel a handful of times. I’ve seen the mother and the kid less than that.”
“Angel?” the woman questioned.
“A nickname,” he answered. “But what does this have to do with me?” He ran his fingers through his drenched hair, checking the clock on his apartment’s living room wall. He was going to be late for his date with that brunette he met at Lorne’s last week.
“Well, Mr. Giles, as the parents of the child were not married and Mr. O’Connor had full custody this changes some things. The mother could not be contacted and you are named next of kin for Liam O’Connor. The child is now in your custody.”
“What?” he sputtered. His mind went to the baby that he’d seen a couple of years ago at his father and stepmother’s house in England. He had a hard time picturing her face it was so long ago. All he remembered is that the kid had puked on him, not leaving him with a favorable impression of his brother’s brat. He was still trying to wrap his mind around Angel considering him worthy enough to take care of his kid should something happen by naming him next of kin.
Now apparently something had happened.
“Wait, isn’t Lisa with him?” Spike asked, wanting clarification. Granted, from what Spike had heard from his father, Angel may not win any parent of the year awards, but certainly if he up and moved he would have taken his three year old daughter with him.
“No. Lisa was left at our facility late last night.” The woman continued to talk, but Spike heard none of it. This couldn’t be real. Those next of kin things are never taken seriously are they? You only use ’em when you die and you don’t want your money squandered away by an alcoholic uncle. The lady’s voice broke into his thoughts, “You have some decisions to make Mr. Giles. Shall we keep her here with us or . . .”
“No!” he shouted into the phone, shaking his head. “No,” he repeated more calmly, “I’ll . . . I’ll be right there.”
Two hours later, after getting lost a multitude of times, fiddling with his navigation system, finding the Child Services building, and filling out mountains upon mountains of paperwork, Spike felt lucky he had remembered to put on pants. Now he stood face to . . . knee with his niece.
Ms. Stewart was more than eager to see them off, practically throwing them out of her office as her next appointment came rushing in.
The little girl looked up at him expectantly. She hadn’t said a word through the entire ordeal. Her dark brown hair hung loosely about her, almost reaching her waist, the sides were pulled back in a miniature clip with a butterfly on it, which matched her purple jumper with a corresponding insect. She clutched a Raggedy Ann doll to her chest.
Spike tilted his head to his niece standing three feet from the ground:
“Well, kid, now what?”
TBC
RATING: PG-13 (may be a hard R in places, I'll warn when it is)
SUMMARY: Spike Giles’s brother, Angel, skips town, leaving him with a little girl and a big responsibility. Forced to give up his big-city L.A. life, he meets a small-town girl who could be his saving grace.
A/N: Even though this story is based on Kevin Hill and the movie Big Daddy, I’ve never seen the show and I’ve only watched the movie once, so I’m thinking this is going to be extremely loosely based. I got the idea from reading a description of the plot of the UPN show Kevin Hill, thought I’ve never seen the show. Therefore any similarities are extremely coincidental.
CHAPTER 1 --
“Bloody hell, ow!” Spike Giles sidestepped a pile of laundry lying randomly on the floor, narrowly missing breaking his neck, as he jumped out of the shower, towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist and loose blonde curls dripping as he dove for the phone as it rang for the fourth time.
“Hello,” he answered, taking a smaller towel and rubbing it against his head.
“William Giles?” the matronly woman on the other end gave him a moment to deny it. When he didn’t, she continued. “This is Marianne Stewart, from Child Services.”
“Yeah?” he answered perplexed, trying to wrap his head around why in the world Child Services would be calling him. He mentally Rolodexed the women he’d slept with over the years and any chance one of his many couplings could have resulted in pregnancy. He couldn’t come up with a single time he hadn’t taken the utmost precaution.
“You are the brother of Liam O’Connor am I correct?” the woman asked, the name thankfully jerking him out of his previous line of thinking.
“Stepbrother,” Spike answered automatically. “My father married his mother, but yeah, we’re related,” he finished, separating himself from the other boy who was unwillingly joined within the same family when Rupert Giles married Jenny Calendar twenty years ago. By making this distinction, Spike deflected any blame that could be thrown at him for his stepbrother’s actions – a defense mechanism he picked up in boyhood but habitually kept, even though it might have made more sense had Spike not been the one getting in trouble all the time, hence the apt nicknames.
“It appears Mr. O’Connor has left the immediate area indefinitely,” commented the woman on the phone.
“Appears? Where’d he go?” Spike’s brow furrowed, not really concerned with Angel’s whereabouts, but taken aback that he hadn’t heard about it through his father. Though the move didn’t exactly surprise him; a martyr when it came to his work, his older stepbrother abruptly moving for the sake of some legal case he was overseeing would hardly shock anyone.
But what this had to do with Child Services was beyond him. If Angel and his on again and off again girlfriend, Darla, were having disputes over their kid again, why were they calling him? Why should they drag him into their ongoing drama? If he remembered correctly, Angel had requested Spike NOT be called as a character witness in their last custody battle.
“I’m afraid no one knows Mr. O’Connor’s whereabouts.” The woman paused. “But we do have the issue of the child involved, a Lisa O’Connor.” She hesitated before the name, pronouncing it clinically, like she was checking the name off a paper in front of her, lest she confuse it with the hundreds of other children she dealt with on a daily basis.
“My niece,” Spike answered, getting the feeling like this was a one-sided conversation and he was the uninformed, being blindly led by the woman’s questions.
“You would not by any chance know where the birth mother is?”
“Darla?” Spike shook his head, “No. In the past two years I’ve only seen Angel a handful of times. I’ve seen the mother and the kid less than that.”
“Angel?” the woman questioned.
“A nickname,” he answered. “But what does this have to do with me?” He ran his fingers through his drenched hair, checking the clock on his apartment’s living room wall. He was going to be late for his date with that brunette he met at Lorne’s last week.
“Well, Mr. Giles, as the parents of the child were not married and Mr. O’Connor had full custody this changes some things. The mother could not be contacted and you are named next of kin for Liam O’Connor. The child is now in your custody.”
“What?” he sputtered. His mind went to the baby that he’d seen a couple of years ago at his father and stepmother’s house in England. He had a hard time picturing her face it was so long ago. All he remembered is that the kid had puked on him, not leaving him with a favorable impression of his brother’s brat. He was still trying to wrap his mind around Angel considering him worthy enough to take care of his kid should something happen by naming him next of kin.
Now apparently something had happened.
“Wait, isn’t Lisa with him?” Spike asked, wanting clarification. Granted, from what Spike had heard from his father, Angel may not win any parent of the year awards, but certainly if he up and moved he would have taken his three year old daughter with him.
“No. Lisa was left at our facility late last night.” The woman continued to talk, but Spike heard none of it. This couldn’t be real. Those next of kin things are never taken seriously are they? You only use ’em when you die and you don’t want your money squandered away by an alcoholic uncle. The lady’s voice broke into his thoughts, “You have some decisions to make Mr. Giles. Shall we keep her here with us or . . .”
“No!” he shouted into the phone, shaking his head. “No,” he repeated more calmly, “I’ll . . . I’ll be right there.”
Two hours later, after getting lost a multitude of times, fiddling with his navigation system, finding the Child Services building, and filling out mountains upon mountains of paperwork, Spike felt lucky he had remembered to put on pants. Now he stood face to . . . knee with his niece.
Ms. Stewart was more than eager to see them off, practically throwing them out of her office as her next appointment came rushing in.
The little girl looked up at him expectantly. She hadn’t said a word through the entire ordeal. Her dark brown hair hung loosely about her, almost reaching her waist, the sides were pulled back in a miniature clip with a butterfly on it, which matched her purple jumper with a corresponding insect. She clutched a Raggedy Ann doll to her chest.
Spike tilted his head to his niece standing three feet from the ground:
“Well, kid, now what?”
TBC
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