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What Dreams May Bring – Chapter 14 – Rites of Passage
January 2017 – Enfant Terrible
It starts with a half hour fight to get three peas into Kiana’s mouth for dinner. Another half hour to get the remainder of the stew out of the carpet. Fifteen minutes chasing the girl down to strip her for a bath and a half hour to dry the flooded floor. Fifteen more for pajamas and a story.
They watch their daughter sleep; her nut brown face relaxed and peaceful against her pillow belies the two hour struggle that took place to get her into bed.
Willow looks into Becky’s eyes, and knows they’d do this again in a heartbeat.
Buffy’s hysterical laughter does nothing to assuage her tension. “Thanks a lot, kiddo. I’m looking for sympathy or solutions and you mock me.”
“Oh, poor Willow,” giggles “you know I understand.” cackle “It’s just I’m so glad it’s not me! I’ve been through this three times already.”
“Remind me again why I bother to call you?”
He calls Spike for a boys’ night out but there’s no pool playing or movie going on the agenda. They sit in the car as Xander finally tells someone of his suffering, begging him to look after his family if something should happen.
Spike knows he’s not looking for false hope, so he promises and hopes for the best.
Tara is never far from Will’s side these days. His father’s suffering is a heavy weight on the boy’s shoulders and he only seems to find relief with the youngest Bennett girl. Many days, the two children spend hours with their heads pressed together, whispering secrets, clamming up when people enter the room.
Buffy does her best to get Will to open up about his feelings, but comes away with nothing. “M’fine,” he tells her. “Just a little worried about Dad.”
It’s the slight twitch of his eye that gives him away, and Buffy hugs him a little bit closer.
Surgery is suggested immediately. The tumor is small and localized and pressing on the optic nerve. Removal is complete and the tumor is sent for biopsy.
Molly, Treena, and Will are surrounded by family when the good news comes in. The tumor is benign and a full recovery is expected.
With a sharp cry, Buffy runs out of the room, unable to deal with his cavalier attitude.
“Sorry, mate. You know how sensitive the girl is to situations out of her control.” Spike forces himself to stay his own feet.
The strain in the Harris household is painfully hard to bear. Each new joke is like a physical blow to the children and they begin to find excuses to stay away from the house. After a particularly stressful day, Molly makes arrangements with Buffy for the children to stay for several weeks’ time. They need a break.
Seems like Xander’s situation has finally come home to roost. He’s cursing a blue streak and throwing things as hard as he can at the walls. The door opens unexpectedly and Will’s hit by a flying block of wood in the face. Blood flies everywhere, and the boy collapses with a small whimper.
With one hand on his son, Xander fishes his cell phone out of his pocket and auto-dials Spike. Within moments they bundle the unconscious boy into the car for another ride to the hospital.
The emergency room doctor manages to stitch the wound shut before Will awakens. He’ll soon be sporting an ‘x’ shaped scar much like his Uncle Spike.
A tattered Harry the Hedgehog makes his reappearance with a clumsily stitched scar over his right eyebrow to match Will’s. Tara insists on sending the treasured animal along with Papa to ferry the Harris men home. Just because Will’s nearly eight years old doesn’t mean he can’t use a little comfort from an old friend.
Spike is flipping out. His baby, his Willa… is flying across country with Treena for Bobby’s Bar Mitzvah. With that dress – a form fitting number in cerulean blue organza. Off the shoulder and shirred at the bustline, it gives Spike hives. Thirteen years old and his daughter is bustier than his wife. Wishes he could bleach his brain for thinking of his girl that way.
A right of passage. The little tosser is now considered a man in the Jewish faith. And he’s still hot and heavy after his girl.
“Papa, don’t you trust me?” she asks, wide eyed.
Bugger.
Willa shows off the Star of David from her Auntie Willow and the Hebrew nameplate Bobby sent her for her last birthday. She only takes them off to sleep or bathe. Next to her California tan, the pendants glow warmly, and the neckline of her party dress will show them off to perfection.
It’s a strange but interesting experience without a religious background to draw upon, but the girls manage nicely. By the end of the ceremony they’re fidgeting in their seats, a little bored and very, very hungry. They’re reassured a feast awaits.
The music is loud and raucous. The DJ, Jimmy Dee, is wound up and bouncing around the room, already enticing the kids into silly group games. Bobby introduces his friends, grabs Willa and is propelled into the center of attention as the man of the day.
In-between courses, they slide shoeless about the dance floor, watch Bobby and his parents raised towards the ceiling in chairs, and dance the Horah.
Bobby’s parents are called, then grandparents and an assortment of aunts and cousins. Alte cocker – old fart – music is played, and everyone has a laugh over the choices. Friends next, and Willa… last.
I wasn’t very nice.
Said nasty things and made her cry,
It really wasn’t right.
But I’ve grown up and been forgiven,
Her laughter makes me smile.
She’s flown in from California
And I wish she’d stay awhile.
Willa, come up and light candle number thirteen with me.
The DJ plays Candy Girl, by The Archies, as Willa makes her way from the table to take hold of the candle with her friend. Before she can turn to leave, Bobby presses a kiss to her lips.
The photographer captures the moment on film.
The candlelighting ceremony makes the adults cry and kids laugh. Each generation brings their own special touch. Even though they’ve suspected the growing closeness between Bobby and Willa, the PDA is unexpected.
His eyes sparkle with mischief, hers widen with surprise, and they both blush pink with the flush of newly-realized romance.
There will be a flurry of phone calls between the coasts before Willa heads home.
Over lunch, Molly enthusiastically natters on about a decision she and Xander have reached – they’re going to try to have another baby.
“I know it’s so soon after Xander’s surgery, and that nothing is guaranteed, but what better way to get on with our lives than to create a new one?”
“But what if…?”
“Buffy, if anything, Xander’s tumor proves that each day should be lived as if it were our last. He’s a great dad, and I don’t mind being the breadwinner. This way we’re both useful… fulfilled. Can’t you just be happy for us?”
Buffy hugs her, tightly.
They pitch the idea to the school system and the publishing company Dawn had mentioned. Their series is greenlighted. Buffy makes plans for the second book – a re-telling of the twins’ and Willa’s bout with chicken pox.
It feels good to be creative again.
It starts with hang up phone calls. Easy to think they’re wrong numbers without the courtesy to apologize. When the frequency of the calls increases and they happen at later hours, Willow has the phone number changed and unlisted, solving that problem.
However, within a week the mailbox is ripped from the ground, the garbage cans are overturned and smashed, and flower beds are uprooted.
The heartbreaker is a spray-painted message on the garage: “Go away, lezbo freaks!” Painting over the door doesn’t lessen the grief of intolerance, and Becky begins to worry about leaving her family when she flies.
They pack a picnic lunch and head out to the park for a change of scenery; lots of mamas and children enjoying the bright sunshine and moderate temperatures. Under the watchful eyes of her ‘babysitters,’ Kiana strikes up merry babblefests with other toddlers.
Willow shrieks as a water balloon hits her back, drenching the leftovers and blanket.
Treena picks up the wailing little girl, and they hastily gather up their belongings and head back home, only to find: “We don’t want deviants around our children” splashed in red paint on the driveway.
A shaken Willow tries to explain what’s been going on.
“You know people aren’t always understanding about differences. You do remember when your precious Bobby wasn’t the kindest boy,” Willow gentles.
“But he was just a kid!”
Upset for her friends, Treena tosses in her own two cents. “And look at how much things have changed between the two of you since then.”
“I know all that,” Willow sighs. “Sometimes people prefer their ignorance to reality.”
“Looks like it’s time for the last Scooby to find her way home,” Buffy says softly into the phone. “You know Xan’ll be thrilled to have you close by since he can’t drive anymore.”
Willow thinks that maybe something good will come out of this mess after all. “Now all we need to do is convince Giles to move back,” she laughs.
Dawn is besides herself with worry. What had promised to be a dull day of translations had been interrupted by a call from her frantic husband. Jesse has vanished. Not as in can’t be found, though he can’t be, but as in opening a portal and popping through it.
They check the house from attic to basement and come up empty-handed. Jesse’s never portaled away from home before. Wherever he is, Dawn and Andrew pray their child is safe.
“I’ll get it!” Dawn cries when the phone breaks the silence.
Spike’s laughter precedes the words: “Anyone turn up missing, Niblet?”
“Little bloke is fine, love. He wanted to play Demons and Slayer with his Auntie Buffy, an’ since you were talkin’ about payin’ a visit anyway, thought he’d pop in first.”
“What are we gonna do, Spike?” she wailed. “If the Council catches wind of Jesse’s performance, I’m afraid of what they’ll do. Kinder, gentler, yes… but controllable portals? He’s my baby, and… I’m worried enough about the other kids catching their interest.”
Dawn is torn. She adores the life she’s carved out in England, but has to admit that the Council’s proximity to her children is unsettling. “I’ll talk to Andrew. There are too many people here I can’t be sure of, and I won’t put my babies at risk.”
“Talk to Giles, love. Then someone has to pick up the tyke. Don’t wanna risk a wonky portal.”
A realtor is enlisted and a suitable house found no more than ten minutes away from the Bennetts or the Harrises, and by the time the final papers are signed, the Wells family become the cream in a Scooby sandwich.
Move-in is scheduled for August. The trick will be keeping Jesse from being the advance wave again.
It’s a pleasant evening, and Buffy cajoles Spike into taking a walk. Willa’s old enough to babysit her siblings. They end up in the park, swinging gently side-by-side; enjoying the rare cool breeze.
Her feet stop the swing’s motion abruptly as her spidey sense kicks in for the first time in years. Vampire! More than one, in fact and her hand reaches automatically for a stake… that isn’t there.
“William!” she hisses, not wanting to give away his identity if she doesn’t have to.
Recognizing the Slayer’s stance, Spike moves to her left side and readies himself for a fight.
Nearly fourteen years have passed since Buffy was the active Slayer with nothing to lose but her own life on nightly patrols. Now she has a husband willing and capable of fighting by her side, and children at home who will be devastated if anything happens to their parents. It tempers her urge to land the first blow.
As the five vampires close their circle, herding Spike and Buffy closer together, a war whoop is heard, and suddenly two vampires go poof.
“Slayers!” a vampire confirms with a snarl before he takes off, followed quickly by his remaining companions. Two slayers break into an easy gait that implies they won’t be back until their prey is dust in the wind.
“At your service, Ms. Summers.” The remaining slayer bows in her direction. “And an honor to meet you, Spike.” She extends her hand in greeting. “I’m Amber, and my pack girls…” she says, waving her hand towards the trees, “…are Jelisa and Amy.”
“Little run-in with the mini-mites botherin’ you, m’love?” Spike asks, rubbing the tension out of her neck and shoulders.
“We could have been killed tonight, and the kids would find out they’re orphans from the police. I can’t believe I’ve gotten so lax as to go out without a stake. You know, I think I almost miss slaying,” she says, wistfully.
“Just lookin’ back on a rose strewn path, Buffy. You were the best, but it’s time to fully let the next generation take on the mantle.”
“Not old, pet. Just have different priorities. Not that I have to tell you,” he murmurs, brushing her lips tenderly with his. “First thing you worried about was the youngsters. Not you… not me. You’ve always put them first.”
“D’ya ever miss it? The patrolling and your old spot of violence?”
“Told the eldest mite once, an’ m’tellin; you. Don’t miss being a vampire near as much as I love bein’ with m’family.”
“Younger than Amber first time I saw you behind the Bronze.” He smiles into her hair with the memory. “Had a glow about you even then that drew me in.”
“And now?”
“A patina that grows with each passing year. Sleep, love. Spike’s got you.”
Will wants to celebrate his birthday quietly, turning down his parents’ offers of movies or amusement parks. He prefers home and family. Of course, just family includes the Bennetts and Rosenbergs and dinner consists of no fuss, no muss food: pizza and cake.
He shuts his eyes, makes a wish, then blows out the candles on his cake. Grabbing Tara’s hand, Will pulls her into the livingroom. Fitted into the wall, is an electronic meditation waterfall with the P’linth Goddess of Prayer situated under the cascading water.
The children clasp hands, sink to their knees and begin to chant, quietly.
Words softly falling from his lips, he leans over for a kiss, just as her eyes open wide. She returns the press of his lips; warm and soft.
They’re interrupted by Buffy, who’s come to collect her daughter for the ride home. She says nothing to her daughter of the kiss. There’s time for talking later.
Nobody sees the little idol begin to glow.
Praying to P’yohm of the Waters has given her the determination to try and help out. Just a small, harmless healing spell to fix her uncle’s eye. Give him back his sight and the job the tumor stole away. She just wants to see her family smile again.
A few hurried words to Treena and they’re once more on their way to the emergency room, where Xander’s eye is swabbed and checked for injury. The examination reveals nothing. No tears, no swelling… in fact, Xander swears he sees more clearly than earlier in the day.
Dr. Steinmetz removes the bloodied patch from his empty socket, and gasps.
Silently, Dr. Steinmetz hands Xander a mirror. The image is a bit blurry, but staring back at him are two whiskey brown eyes.
“Holy shit!”
It’s the understatement of the century. An examination shows 30 vision in the regenerated eye and no idea if it will improve over time. The doctors are stumped.
Everyone gathers at the house for the ceremonial ‘patch burning’. It’s a little disconcerting to have his head grabbed and his face stared at, but Xander weathers it well. His headaches are gone and he sees properly for the first time in forever.
Tara clambers into his lap, moving his head from side to side. She nods happily to Will, who doesn’t leave his father’s side.
“Pretty nifty of your Uncle Xander to grow a new eye, isn’t it, mite?” Papa asks. “Think the eye fairy had a hand in it?”
Tara giggles, but says nothing.
“I know. He stepped in a lucky pile of Luke or Leia’s poop and his wish was granted.”
“No way, Papa. It was me an’ Will when we… oops.” One look at Papa’s disapproving face and she knows a lecture is the least of her worries.
“It’s not that we’re angry your Uncle Xander has his eye back,” Wesley chides.
Willow adds: “Not at all. It’s just that you promised not to practice magicks without supervision. Not only did you break your word, something went wrong with your spell. You got more than you bargained for.”
A decision is made to bind Tara’s and Will’s powers temporarily.
Dawn and family are firmly ensconced in their new home and making the most of being surrounded by loved ones. If they’re not visiting Buffy, they’re with Xander… or the whole troop is at Willow’s. The quads are ecstatic at being so close to the other kids. They find a freedom to just be amongst their kith and kin. With them, they’re not freaks or prodigies or exploitable resources… just Jesse, Jonathan, Jason, and Jeremy.
For her sister’s thirtieth birthday, Buffy schemes with Molly and Willow to throw a memorable party, and comes up with the perfect place and time.
Pretty men in all sizes bump, grind, strip, and gyrate either singly or en masse, to a loud, pumping techno beat. They roam all three runways, performing for the entire room, but center-stage rates the brightest lights and the most vigorous jiggles, and before long, everyone’s fighting for position to stuff dollar bills in the men’s tiny leather thongs.
A pounding rhythm precedes the lyrics:
Hi Hi! We're your Weather Girls Ah huh
And have we got news for you. You better listen!
Get ready, all you lonely girls
and leave those umbrellas at home. Alright!...
It's Raining Men! Hallelujah! It's Raining Men! Amen!
I'm gonna go out to run and let myself get
Absolutely soaking wet!
It's Raining Men! Hallelujah!
It's Raining Men! Every Specimen!
Tall, blonde, dark and lean
Rough and tough and strong and mean
And although Xander outweighs his compatriots, Spike and Andrew manhandle him into his costume, while Spike offers his rarely used flask for extra courage. A few gulps, a final adjustment or two, and they’re ready to go.
The spotlight hits the stage when the music begins and three leather clad cowboys make their way past the curtains to the gasps of their wives.
Xander shimmies to the front, removing his hat and takes a deep bow, placing it in front of his crotch. “Can’t let something as important as a thirtieth birthday go unnoticed, now can we men?”
The music cranks up a notch as Andrew faces his wife. “This is for you, my Princess.” He tosses his hat into her waiting arms as the beat becomes infectious and his body begins to sway.
Buffy slaps her sister lightly, laughing. “Just remember kiddo, only one of those packages gets unwrapped by you. The rest are on a strictly look but don’t touch policy.”
Leaning back and enjoying the camaraderie, Becky watches as the women in Xander’s life flank him, doing a bump and grind that brings a huge smile to his face. His best friend in front, and wife behind him, they double team to pants the man in an unguarded moment, ripping off his cutaway leathers.
“That’s my little sister you’re waving that thing at,” she admonishes, slithering up close and personal for a standing lap dance, then leads him offstage with a yank to the black leather studded collar he’s sporting. “I can’t wait to get you home.”
“Come to Mama, big boy,” Dawn calls out to her husband. “It’s my party and I’ll ogle if I want to.”
“As you wish, my sweet.”
With a calming breath, Andrew reaches down and tears off his own leathers. He swings them above his head, tossing them offstage and pumping his small hips as the music urges him on. He’s all alone onstage, and he’s not wearing little black shorts like his companions.
Dawn gasps.
The rest of the table raucously joins in, accompanied by claps and catcalls from Idyll’s staff and resident dancers.
Spike chuckles, causing Dawn to smile fondly at him. “What’s it to you, older than dirt guy?
“Officially? I’m younger than you are, Niblet,” he snickers, setting the table off in paroxysm of laughter.
Tara doesn’t understand what all the fuss is about. Yes, she knows she and Will disobeyed their parents, and disappointed Auntie Willow and Uncle Wes by doing magick on their own. But why are they still so bloody angry?
Uncle Xander has two good eyes, even though they only meant to fix the one. He’s got a new job and he’s happy, so why do her powers have to remain bound? She didn’t do anything bad. It’s just not fair and she’s angry.
She crawls under her bed and retrieves the spellbook hidden in a pocket slit into the mattress.
Mama’s taking a nap, and Tyler and Papa are over at Will’s house. Just a little undisturbed time and it’ll all be over. No more restrictions. And she’ll prove to Mama and Papa that she can be trusted to not cause trouble with her spells.
The set up is quick, the candles hold, barely, and Tara chants the words carefully.
It’s Will, of course. “What did you do, Tara?” he asks. “I can feel something all creepy crawly around you, and it’s scary.”
“What’s the matter, Poppet?” Papa asks, concerned about his daughter’s lackadaisical demeanor.
“M’fine. Just tired. Can I go to bed now?”
Mama feels Tara’s forehead, worried about fever. She never goes to bed without a fuss. “Are you sure there’s nothing wrong, sweetie? You don’t feel warm, but you could be coming down with something.”
Tara shakes her head, really wanting to do nothing more than sleep.
By the time Tara is home, her fever has spiked to 104.5 and after a quick lukewarm bath and a dose of Tylenol, she’s bundled into bed where she promptly falls asleep.
“I just brought her home from school. How did you…?”
“I got a call from Xander’s Will. He got the school nurse to place the call; told me about a talk he had with her – about something she did involving a spell.”
Buffy is flabbergasted. “A spell? Are you telling me she’s still messing around with magic even after the binding?”
“The spell reacted with the binding. It’s meant to teach a lesson.”
“Buffy, don’t you see that she’s not normal? She has power and all the arrogance of a child. It’s worse than when I first learned about witchcraft and magicks.” Willow sighs, sorry that the little one is suffering for her gifts, but she knows intimately that Tara must learn control early or suffer possibly deadly consequences.
“She’s so sick, Will. Her fever is so high, and she’s vomiting. Maybe I should take her to the hospital?”
Tara’s screams brought the adults running. She’s sitting in a puddle of vomit and sobbing uncontrollably. Mama can tell just by holding the girl that her fever has risen. With an efficiency born of practice, she shucks Tara’s nightclothes, gathers her child in her arms and sets her down in another lukewarm bath. Tara is so out of it, she doesn’t take her hands away.
“Willow…”
“Making with the bed detail. Kiana’s trained me well. And I know it looks bad. Magick kickback is a bitch to recover from. You do remember me, right?”
All too well, Willow
Papa explains her illness is a direct consequence of trying to remove the binding spell. Any spell would have left her feeling poorly, but she hit the jackpot with the reversal spell.
This time, she swears she’s learnt her lesson.
On her way to bed, Mama is drawn to Tyler’s room by a faint whimper. When calling to him from the doorway produces no response, Mama enters the room to find him shaking under the covers. Worried that he’s in pain, she slowly draws back the covers and finds the reason for his distress. With a firm, constant motion, Tyler Liam James Bennett is masturbating in his sleep.
She gently replaces the covers and tiptoes out of the room, marveling at how quickly Tyler’s childhood seems to be slipping by. Eight years old and it’s time for the sex talk.
Papa sits the boy down for a quiet discussion. “I know it feels good, Ty, an’ there’s nothing wrong with it. Just that there’s a time and place for everything. Like in your room with the door closed.”
“Do you massurtate?”
Masturbate, love. And yes. Been known to from time to time.”
“And Mama? And Willa and Tara?”
“I don’t mean to do it at school, Papa. It just happens,” Tyler complains.
“All you can do is make an effort to know where your hands are. Maybe tellin’ yourself to wait until you get home will help. Now that you’re aware that it’s not acceptable around other people you’ll try harder, yeah?”
Tyler nods and hugs his Papa tightly.
“Playgirl’s College Hunks for 2017,” he reads, confused. “Hunks of what?”
“Open it, stupid. Treena thinks it’s a big secret, but she looks at all the naked men when she thinks nobody’s looking.
Tyler turns page after page, silently appraising the smooth and hairy bodies presented; feeling a strange tingle in his belly at the sight of all those dangly bits.
Tyler hastily stuffs the magazine into his own backpack. “Won’t your sister miss her magazine?”
“Who do you think she’s gonna complain to? Mom or Dad? If she asks me I can always tell her I have no idea what she’s talking about.”
“Y-you won’t tell her you gave it to me?”
Will shakes his head. “Cross my heart and hope to die. Our secret.” He watches his friend head off to class, and smiles.
It’s Christmas Eve and all’s quiet at the Giles household. Braden is tucked away in his bed. The exuberant four year old had to be jollied into bed with one of ‘Santa’s cookies’ and a glass of milk. Even so, Giles knows the boy sits up in bed for another half an hour, waiting for Santa to make his appearance before sleep finally claims him.
All the family phone calls have been made and best wishes exchanged; now it’s time for snuggling by the roaring fire and contemplating the upcoming year with his wife of four years by his side.
At fifty-seven years of age, Giles believes he’s earned his retirement. Nothing compares to watching Braden grow up, his whole life unplanned and uncharted. Right now, he wants to play around the horses. He loves the way they snuffle food out of his hands.
Olivia presses a kiss to her husband’s cheek and heads off to bed.
My Dearest Girl,
The family is all abed and peace reigns, yet I find myself missing you. I know we’ve spoken earlier, and it was a joy to hear all the little ones. Only they’re not so little anymore, are they? Willa’s a fine young lady with her heart in the throes of her first love. The twins are extraordinary, and I’m afraid they’re going to put you through your paces as they grow up. May I just say ‘your turn’ in advance? Allow an old man to laugh in retribution.”
The news about Xander’s eye has us totally gobsmacked. To think Will and Tara are responsible for its restoration. It’s a good thing their powers are restricted and Willow is there to impress the dangers inherent in overstepping their bounds.
Speaking of Willow…and Becky, of course – their Kiana is a real charmer, isn’t she?
That’s all for now, dear. I believe it’s time to get back to my wife. Olivia may have the patience of a saint, but her toes get downright chilly if she’s left alone too long.
Ever yours,
Giles
With a flick of his wrist, Giles closes the lights and heads off to bed.