Chapter 5
October 31, 2005
Today is Halloween. My favorite holiday. If I wanted to be all deep and shit I could say it’s because it’s the one day out of the year that I get to be someone other than me. But really, I just like the scary movies, the palpable excited energy in the air, and that feel that anything is possible. So, maybe it is possible that I could be anyone but Buffy Summers, and not for just one day.
I was looking up stuff online today for shits and giggles and came across this site that talked about a dumb supper. It has pagan roots from what I read, and it’s making dinner as usual and placing out an empty plate for the person you want to remember (or your ancestor’s) that’s passed and not talking through the entire meal.
Then I looked into some Wiccan websites and found that Halloween is the time when the veil between the worlds – this one and the spirit world—is the thinnest and that it’s the best time for communicating with loved ones that have passed. It’s also the Witch’s New Year. Maybe I could make it my new year as well?
I wonder if Spike would be averse to the idea of a dumb supper. I’m not even sure if I like the idea just yet. Maybe he could talk me into it if he liked the idea.
In the spirit of Halloween and in the spirit of feeling anything except the melancholy that seemed to be following her or, hell, was draped over the house like a tent at the circus, Buffy decided to go out and go shopping for some candy for trick-or-treaters and some decorations. Spike insisted they had decorations already, but also in the spirit of The Witches New Year, Buffy wanted new ones.
Spike decided to go with her so she wouldn’t have to take public transportation.
“Sides, getting out of the house could do me some good,” he said as they slid in is car.
She figured it could do them both some good. Just being outside in the driveway lifted her spirits. Check that out…the sun!
“It’s good to see you out,” Spike told her thoughtfully as he followed her down the candy aisle at the grocery store.
She looked over her shoulder at him and placed a bag of Reese’s peanut butter cups in the carriage he was pushing. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you’ve been moping all around the house for the past week. It’s good to see you out. You have a slight spring in your step.”
She shrugged. Why was it when someone else pointed out the obvious, she didn’t want to admit it? Or rather, someone else being Spike? “Well, you haven’t been much better.”
“I know,” he agreed on a sigh.
“And what’s with the hair? Have you showered lately?”
He glared at her. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Haven’t felt like it,” he shrugged.
“You’re depressed.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Honey, I’ve been depressed most of my life. But I still shower. Not showering would just make me feel even more depressed.”
“To each his own I guess.”
“I guess.”
Veering down another aisle, Spike started placing things in: pasta, sauce, gravy.
“I –I can’t help,” Buffy said softly.
“What?” he asked, stopping to look at her beside him.
“I can’t help with the paying of the groceries. I can get the candy and that’s it.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I do.”
“I can’t have you starving.”
“I’m…” God, this was hard, “Sorry.” Please don’t make me say it again, please!
He smiled softly. “It’s okay, Buffy. And hey, if you want, you can help me down at the gallery to make some money for now until you find a job of your own.”
She wasn’t used to kindness like this. She was used to fending for herself; she was used to the bare basics of surviving. Hank hadn’t been much help to her in times of need, and pride had kept her from contacting Joyce. She couldn’t very well let her know she was wrong, that she’d failed. It was bad enough that Hank held it over her. She’d failed him. She’d failed her family. She was a failure.
“S-sure,” she stammered, ducking her head. An idea formed. “Be right back.”
Spike watched her jog off and wondered where the hell she was going. When she met up with him again in a different aisle she had a beaming smile on her face, the likes of which he had never seen on her before save for the pictures Joyce had of her around the house. She really was quite beautiful. Breathtaking, even.
She held up a bottle of shampoo.
“I got that too,” she chirped and he couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
*********
They bonded over music. Queen had come on, “Under Pressure” to be exact, in the car and Spike had thumbed the beat on the steering wheel, and when he glanced over, he found Buffy mouthing the words. He opted to not call attention to it and instead smiled and enjoyed the song, feeling suddenly not so alone. Buffy and he weren’t exactly friends but they had something between them, some sort of weird bond. Grief; he supposed that was it. Grief had bonded them.
When he looked over at her again, he found tears streaming down her cheeks. “Buffy?”
“I’m all right,” she said hastily.
“What is it? Tell me, please?”
“Just the line in the song…it got to me.”
“What line?”
“’It’s the terror of knowing what this world is about, watching some good friends scream, ‘Let me out’.”
“What was it about that–?”
“The ‘let me out’. I know how that feels.”
********
“Spike, really, you don’t have to do this.”
“I want to.”
“I don’t need to dress up!”
“I think you do. Take a break, Buffy. Be someone else for tonight. For that matter, so will I.”
If he only knew…
Half an hour later, Buffy came up with a Wonder Woman costume and Spike had a pair of fangs.
“You know what would be an even better costume for you?” Buffy asked, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Spike watched fascinated by what was soon to be the second smile of the day. “What?” he asked, feeling a smile start to form.
“Clean Spike: A freshly showered Spike – and it only costs what’s in your bathroom.”
Spike rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless. “I got the point there, luv.”
This time, she even laughed and he felt like a God. Even if it was at his expense that she was laughing, it still felt good to hear. A lift to the dreariness that surrounded them, the anger, the hurt…the everything.
A day out was just what they needed.
While Spike paid for her costume and his fangs, Buffy placed a hand on his arm and his eyes zeroed in on it, his arm absorbing the warmth of her skin, his skin feeling the softness of hers. Touch. It felt like forever since he’d been touched.
“Spike.”
He looked up at her, met her eyes. “Thank you,” she said.
“Y-you’re welcome.”
Averting her eyes she grabbed their bags and headed toward the car.
When they got home, Spike took a shower.