“Yes, luv?” Spike questioned back from the kitchen as he chopped onions for the spaghetti sauce he was making for dinner.
“Do you have a Paypal account I could use to order these books?”
“I thought you had one.”
“I can’t remember my password and they want me to fax all this crap to them. It could take three weeks. I want these now and I already won the bid on E-bay.”
“Luv, we really need to work on you thinking these things through first,” Spike told her, walking in the living room.
She was staring at the screen. “I think about enough things, trust me. The guy I’m buying the books off of won’t let me send him a check or a money order. He said he doesn’t go to the bank that often to take care of them. You know what I think?” she asked, looking up at him.
“What’s that?”
“I think he’s a heifer. He’s like the mom in ‘What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?’ He can’t leave the house because he is in fact imprisoned because of his hieferness.”
Spike burst out laughing, unable to stop himself. “You have a wild imagination, pet.”
Buffy beamed up at him. “Thanks! So, can I use your Paypal? I’ll just give you the money for them.”
“Sure, luv. What are you getting?”
“Michael Foucault’s The Rise of Insanity in the Age of Reason--”
“Of course,” Spike said dryly.
“And a couple books on Wicca.”
“You’re really getting into that, aren’t you?”
“I guess that means I need something.”
“Like?”
“I’m not sure yet. A reason for everything. A way for everything to make sense.”
“I see.”
“Maybe we could do it together,” she said hopefully, looking up at him.
He smiled, “Maybe, pet.”
November 22, 2005
I had sex with Angel last night. It was our third date. Is that bad? I don’t even know. All I knew was that one minute we were sitting in his apartment watching a movie and I started thinking how the next day was Thanksgiving and how my mother was dead and even if I hadn’t spent the last five Thanksgivings with her, I knew what she was doing on them – what she was making –mashed potatoes with lumps and gravy with turkey chunks – and I knew that I could, at any given time, go to her and not having fucking Lean Cuisine for my Thanksgiving dinner because my fucking father was too fucking busy with his new fucking family to even care about me and ---
And I turned to Angel and asked if he wanted to fuck. What guy is going to say no to that? He was floored by it at first, I could tell and he asked a dozen times just before I went down on him if I was sure. Funny how a blowjob can shut a guy up for good, which was just what I was going for.
Then I came home even after Angel begged me to stay. I couldn’t do that though. Spike was home and Spike was no doubt waiting up for me. When I came home that night, I couldn’t look Spike in the eye.
Today was a moping day, Buffy decided. The Macy’s Day parade had been on, and it didn’t matter to her. She could smell the turkey that Spike had woken up early to put in, and she didn’t care. She didn’t care that she hadn’t showered either. She should what with Angel’s scent still on her.
Finding Buffy on the couch still, where she’d been since nine that morning, Spike sighed heavily and sat down next to her. “Pet, it’s hard for me too.”
“Then wallow with me.”
“Some of us wallow in different ways.”
She looked over at him, turning her body toward his. “How are you wallowing?”
“Buffy, come on,” he shook his head, “I don’t want to get into that.”
“Why not?” she pouted. “It’d make me feel better to know.”
He heaved a sigh. “Well, I cried this morning, how’s that?”
“You did?” God, she seemed so eager about it.
“You have a morbid fascination with people hurting, you know that?”
Her eyes welled up in tears. “No, it’s not that.”
“Christ, Buffy, I’m sorry,” and he moved closer to her, enfolding her in his arms. “I didn’t mean that.”
“Yeah, you did. It’s just that I like to know that I’m not alone in these things, Spike. I …I’ve been alone so much and it kills me to know that all of that was my doing --all my doing. I feel as though I’d been cut off for so long from people – being depressed as I was, not having many friends that I could really talk to and now I have…”
“Me?”
“Yeah,” she took a trembling sigh, “I have you.”
“And it feels good to share, yeah?”
“Yes. I didn’t realize I needed it. When you wallow in your own misery for so long you tend to feel you’re the only one that feels that way in the world. And when you realize that you’re not alone, it becomes a fascination almost. Like, how do you deal with it? How is it that you cried this morning and was able to get up and still put a turkey in? I felt like shit last night and I – How do you do it?”
“You felt like shit last night and you--?”
“I cried.”
“You’re lying to me.”
She scowled up at him. “How the fuck do you know?”
“I can just tell. You breezed right past that, Buffy. What did you do?”
“It’s none of your business!” she shouted and pushed out of his arms, standing up. “I’m taking a shower.”
“You expect me to share but you fucking can’t?” Spike shouted back at her, jumping up from the couch. “That’s not fair, is it?”
“Life isn’t fair.”
“Spare me the cliché’s Buffy.”
“I cried in your arms already, what more do you want from me?”
“Everything, I want everything from you! I want to know when you’re sad and happy, angry and anything in between. I want to know it all, not just the bits and pieces you share and then expect me to bare my soul to you. You want to wallow with me but that just means you want to sit here in silence together and suffer alone.”
She stood there, completely stunned, staring at him.
“You make jokes, you hide behind your quips and your sarcasm, and oh God, pet, you’re a funny girl, but I need more than that. I don’t want to be alone either!” And he started to cry, goddammit, he started to cry.
And he sobbed harder when she brought him into her arms and held him just as he’d held her once upon a time. She whispered, “I’m sorry” over and over to him, stroking his back and holding him as tight as her little arms would allow.
“What did you do, Buffy?” he whispered when he was done sobbing his heart out.
“I slept with Angel.”
That didn’t help, that made it worse. Much, much worse. Spike felt sick, angered, and something else he did not want to define. Not that he wanted to feel anything he was currently feeling at all. He didn’t want to have that reaction to her having been with her boyfriend. He didn’t want to have the reactions he had whenever she went out with the idiot.
Pushing her away, he stared down at her face full of apology, and her own face wet with tears. He shook his head and stalked off, leaving the house completely, leaving her there. Alone.
“Hey Joyce,” Spike said upon coming up to Joyce’s grave. Plopping down on the slightly wet grass, he sighed, trembling, and started to cry. “Your daughter is killing me, Joyce, she’s killing me…I can’t…I can’t do this.”
Getting up, he headed to the one bar in town he knew would be open.
Chapter Twelve
Buffy was a wreck, not only did she not know where Spike went but he left her feeling as though she’d committed murder for telling him about Angel. He was the one that asked!
After the first hour Spike was gone, she worried, but told herself he was a big boy now and he’d be back soon, then when the second hour approached, she started to pace, and then when the third hour approached, she went looking for him. It was four in the afternoon, where the hell could he be? They had a turkey cooling in the fridge now, untouched. What was Thanksgiving without turkey?
“And what’s Thanksgiving without family issues,” she muttered as she tried to maneuver his boat of a car up and down the streets of Sunnydale. Winding around the confusing cemetery roads, narrow as they were, she passed by Joyce’s grave, she could see it from the car, and kept going, feeling a stab in her heart. She turned away but not before she shed a few tears.
After searching for an hour on virtually empty streets, Buffy went home, perched herself on the stairs facing the door, and waited.
Spike stumbled through the door at eight. Placing her book down, she looked up at him, stone faced. He stopped, and stared at her and in the next instant she was in his arms and they were both crying and holding on to each other.
“Don’t leave me again,” she demanded, “Don’t do that again!”
“I won’t, pet, I won’t.”
“I was scared, I was looking for you!”
“I’m sorry, Buffy, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
She nearly pulled his hair to make him look at her, his head being buried in her neck. She knew he’d been drinking; she could smell it on him and could see the glassiness in his eyes.
“Don’t leave me again, Spike, please,” she begged again. “I need you.”
“I need you too, I do. I need you too.”
“I’m sorry, too,” she whimpered, “I am.”
“Ssshhhh…” he whispered and kissed her, quickly.
It was a kiss of comfort, not of lust, but it jumpstarted her heart just the same and that left Buffy reeling. She jumped as if shocked and stared up at him, wild-eyed.
“Let’s get some food, yeah?” he said, already pulling her to the kitchen.
It meant nothing to him, nothing. Not in his inebriated state. It wasn’t even a real kiss. It wasn’t. That was Buffy’s mantra for the entire night.
November 22, 2005
I did a bad thing. I got a blowjob at the bar. In the alley next to the bar to be exact. I hate it when people use the excuse ‘But I was drunk!’ But I was. I really was. So drunk I was surprised I got it up, but she…
She was on her knees in front of me, sucking me off, moaning in her throat, enjoying it, it seemed, as much as I was. God, it felt so good. Joyce never…
My mind was a haze, I couldn’t even see and I didn’t even try, I just let my head fall back against the brick of the building and let myself get lost in the sensation.
I sobered up right quick after I came. I heard a voice, and that voice had said Buffy’s name. It said her name lovingly, desperately and it made me snap my eyes open to find the source of that voice that was calling my Buffy’s name.
When I looked down at the girl before me, wiping her mouth and glaring at me, I realized: I’d said Buffy’s name.
Journal, I’m not ready…but I’m getting so close it frightens me.
The day after the fiasco that was Thanksgiving, Buffy and Spike decided to give it another go. Buffy called it a “Do Over”. With a do-over in mind, Spike taught Buffy to prepare mashed potatoes, squash and sweet potatoes—with marshmallows and brown sugar on top, just the way Joyce always made them.
With a warmed Turkey and a feast before them, and Queen’s “I’m Going Slightly Mad” on repeat per Buffy from the living room, they ate until they were full, Buffy complaining that she needed to unbutton her pants. Spike laughed, but changed into his sweat pants for comfort, and the pair sat back and watched an early preview of “A Christmas Story”.
Buffy was the first to nod off during the movie and her head fell onto Spike’s shoulder when she did. Spike smiled tenderly down at her whilst trying to fend off the guilt he felt at the joy he took in Buffy resting on him.
It wasn’t wrong, nothing was wrong with them. They were both broken hearted and feeling sad. It was normal. But was it normal to feel so desperate for her company that he couldn’t stand to let her out of his sight for a moment?
All he’d wanted was to find solace in her – and not in a sexual way either. She didn’t think he was a monster. Course, she also didn’t know he’d gotten a blowjob from a nameless and at that point, faceless blond; spewing himself in someone else that was not her mother. Then add to that the fact that he’d said her name and not her mother’s. Talk about feeling fucked in the head.
He’d do well to remember that she was off-limits, and she was Joyce’s daughter. His dead wife’s daughter and it was completely and utterly wrong and unnatural.
Unable to stay where he was any longer, Spike carefully got up, lifted Buffy’s legs onto the couch, and covered her with the blanket draped on the armchair she’d been reading in earlier and left her to sleep.
Distance was imperative here.
“Spike?” Buffy began a few days after the “Do Over” Thanksgiving.
Spike looked up from the book he was reading in his favorite armchair that consequently was Buffy’s favorite as well. “Yeah?”
“Can I ask you something?”
He braced himself. The way she asked, the shy way she asked, coupled with the uncertainty and fear in her eyes had his mind reeling with all the possible things she could ask – like why he had been so upset with her for sleeping with Angel.
“Sure,” he said weakly, sitting up straighter. He slid his legs off the ottoman in from of him, and leaned forward.
She sat down on said ottoman and looked up at him intently. “I want to say a few things, get a few things out about my mom, me and even you and …And I was hoping that you’d listen to me. I feel that if I tell you it’d be like telling her. Do you understand?”
He nodded and placed his book aside. “I do.”
“Okay, here goes.” She took a deep breath and looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry that I left the way I did. I’m sorry that I didn’t hear you out and try to understand. I’m sorry that it fell on deaf ears when you told me you were not going to get back with my father. I didn’t…” she heaved a trembling sigh and some tears started to fall. “I didn’t want to hear it. I just wanted things back the way they were and when I left, I was so angry for taking up with someone else and for not telling me. I just …I just wished I’d known…” Buffy was full out sobbing now and Spike took her hands in his, squeezing them, fighting off the urge to gather her in his arms just yet. She needed to get this out and he understood that. It’d been a long time coming.
“I should have tried after. I should have allowed you in and told you how my father – how Hank didn’t want me anymore. How I became nothing but a nuisance to him and how I didn’t fit into the new family he had. They hated me and I couldn’t…I couldn’t understand and I was too proud to tell you. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for not giving Spike a chance. I see now that he’s a good man, much better than Hank. I’ve had all this anger inside me for so long and I want to get rid of it, Momma. I really do. I want to heal; Momma and I didn’t think that I could do that without telling you that I love you and that I’m sorry.” She looked up at Spike and instantly he gathered her to him, pulling her into his arms and cradling her on his lap while she cried her release in his neck.
“I’m sorry too,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry I just sprung it on you and then expected you to be okay with it. I should have told you straight away and I was in the wrong for that, I was. And I forgive you Buffy. Can you forgive me?”
“Yes!”
“I love you, too,” Spike whispered, shutting off his mind that was intent on coming up with all sorts of meaning and implications to that declaration. It was for healing, not for anything else.