Spoilers: This fic takes place during Season 6 of the Buffy series prior to the episode “As You Were”.
Dedicated: To live journal user, shadowlass – Merry Christmas from your 2004 BTVS Secret Santa!
So this is Christmas
For weak and for strong
The rich and the poor ones
The road is so long
So happy Christmas
For black and for white
For yellow and red ones
Let's stop all the fight
A merry, merry Christmas
And a happy new year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fear
----
“Welcome to the Doublemeat Palace. How can I help you?”
“Hey Buffy,” Willow grinned across the counter at her friend decked out in her Crayola red striped uniform and matching chicken hat. “How’s work going?”
“Would you be interested in something from our Dollar Breakfast Menu?” Buffy replied in an irritatingly perky voice, her eyes staring straight ahead almost robotic like.
Willow glanced sidelong with concern at Tara who stood to her left, before turning back to Buffy. “Buffy, you ok?”
“I’m fine, thank you for asking girl I do not know and have never met in my life,” she pushed the last few words out through her smiling teeth, carefully emphasizing each syllable.
Willow’s head snapped to attention as she caught and followed Buffy’s intense gaze. Together they watched a young man in his late 30s stalk passed them, eyeing them suspiciously. The badge “Manager” was pinned across the breast pocket of his impeccably white dress shirt. They watched him until he passed out of sight into the back room.
As soon as he was gone, Buffy let out a deep breath she’d been holding in, and massaged the sides of her jaw. “I swear I think I’m going to break some teeth if I have to keep that smile up for another double shift.”
“New manager?” Tara moved forward so she could whisper with the other two girls.
“Yep,” Buffy nodded. “You two have just had the unfortunately pleasure of receiving the scrutinizing stare of death from Todd, regional manager of the Doublemeat empire.”
“Regional manager, wow. They’re pulling out the big guns,” Willow added, her eyes still staring at the doorway through which Todd had vanished.
“Next there will be dealers standing out on the street corners selling our classics out of the back of their cars. Get the kids hooked early and reel them in,” Buffy sighed, pulling of her hat and running a hand through her short auburn hair before pushing the plush chicken back down on her head. “So what’s with the visit?”
“We just wanted to stop in and see how you were doing,” Willow smiled brightly at her friend, a little too brightly.
“I told you guys you need to stop doing this,” Buffy frowned. “I’m fine really. You don’t need to feel guilty about what happened. Yes, it’s been rough at times but I’m dealing and besides each day it gets a little easier. See,” she pointed to her smiling face, “This is my survivor face so you guys don’t have to keep beating yourselves up over all of it ok?”
“I know,” Willow replied her eyes downcast. “It’s just…hard.” She lifted her eyes back to Buffy’s.
“I do know,” Buffy replied softly, her smile fading around the edges. “But honestly I’m doing ok. I’ve got you guys and Dawn back, and for that I am grateful.”
“Where is Dawnie?” Tara piped up, gently changing the topic of conversation. Willow shot her a grateful smile. “I haven’t seen her around the last few days.”
“She’s spending Christmas skiing with Dad and Cheryl in Aspen. They called us last weekend. I guess Matt and Sonya had been begging Dad for awhile now and Cheryl suggested inviting us along.” There was a slight edge of bitterness to Buffy’s voice but it didn’t surprise Willow or Tara.
Since their mother’s death, things between Buffy and her father had only deteriorated further. She blamed him for her parent’s divorce, and his rapid re-marriage to Cheryl hadn’t helped matters. And then they had had two children, Matt and Sonya, two perfect little angels that Hank Summers could never stop talking about. Two children that were not Buffy and Dawn; Two children he had wanted. Of course he loved Buffy and Dawn but there were times when Buffy couldn’t help but wonder just how much love her father was capable of sharing at any one time. No, if Dawn wanted to let him and his new family be a part of her life that was fine. Dawn was a big girl, but she did not have to give her father the same benefits.
“Well that sounds…nice,” Tara offered, her eyes soft and sympathetic.
“Yeah I’m sure she’ll have lots of fun,” Willow added, following Tara’s lead.
“Yeah, sure,” Buffy nodded thoroughly unconvinced.
“So what are you doing for Christmas then?” Willow frowned.
“Working a double shift here tomorrow and Christmas day.”
“Oh Buffy, no,” Willow pleaded. “You shouldn’t be all alone working. It’s not healthy.”
“Will’s right,” Tara chimed in. “Take the next two days off and come with us.”
“Yeah!” Willow beamed. “Everyone’s welcome at the Winter Solstice Festival, you know, not just for us Wiccans. Besides there will be all kinds of good food and dancing, oh and the traditional bleeding.”
“Traditional bleeding?” Buffy arched an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Willow smiled, then noticing the semi-queasy look on Buffy’s face she quickly added, “Oh no, no, it involves a doe. You know, giving back to the Earth. Think the Circle of Life from “The Lion King”.
“Um, ok now I can never watch that movie again without seeing dead deer, but as tempting as it sounds guys I just can’t. It’s too late for me to take time off now and besides we really do need the money. But you two go, have fun, enjoy the whole Mother Earth bonding thing, and bring me back a crystal or two.”
Willow opened her mouth to protest and to correct Buffy on the differences between Wiccan and new age religions but Tara gave her elbow a gentle squeeze. “You sure you don’t want to come?”
“Really, Tara, thank you but no.”
“Ok, well we should be going. Merry Christmas, Buffy.” Tara leaned over the counter and gave Buffy a gentle hug. Reluctantly Willow followed suit.
“Ahem,” an annoyed male voice interrupted Willow and Buffy’s hug. They parted only to find Todd, hands on hips, glaring at them angrily. “Miss Summers if these customers are through eating here then I suggest you attend to our other customers!”
Buffy glanced around the room. The place was completely empty except for the homeless man dozing in the far back booth. “Uh…sure. Sorry Todd,” she replied.
“Don’t let it happen again,” he boomed, before stalking off to harass the cooks
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Have a great time guys, and Happy Winter Solstice.” She smiled after them, waving until they were out the door and out of sigh before finally letting out a big sigh. “So much for a merry Christmas.”
“Incoming!”
Whomp! Buffy found herself face down in the soft grass of the front yard of her house, the stabbing fingers of ice clinging to the back of her head, melting down the collar of her jacket.
“Hey Buff, you ok?” the smiling, laughing face of Xander stared down at her, offering her a hand up. She took, it rising to her feet a bit disoriented. Tentatively she touched the back of her head, pulling out a large clump of snow.
“What the…?”
Xander just lost it, breaking into peals of laughter. “You should have seen the look on your face,” he howled. “I wish I had a camera!”
“Xander, where did you…? How did you…? Why do I smell fish?” Buffy stammered as she moved passed him and up the front steps of her house. She unlocked the front door still pulling clumps of snow from her hair; Xander laughing so hard he was nearly crying followed her inside.
Taking off her coat in the kitchen, Buffy shook the remaining pieces out into the sink before turning two annoyed eyes up at Xander. “Ok Harris, where’d you get the snow?”
He beamed at her like a little boy but didn’t say a word.
Turning sharply she pulled out a clean glass from a nearby cabinet and began to pour herself a glass of water. “Very pleased with ourself aren’t we?”
“Aww, Buff, come on. Just trying to lighten things up a bit, bring a little Christmas cheer your way.”
She stared him down, hands on hips. “So what, your choices were a wreath or nail me with a snowball…that smells like fish…this is packing ice from the meat department of the supermarket, isn’t it!”
Xander snickered. “Brilliant, don’t you think?”
“What I think…” She took a sip of the glass of water. “What I think is that this water is too warm.” She began rummaging through the freezer looking for the ice tray.
“You have to admit it was pretty funny,” Xander continued, removing his coat and laying it across the counter next to him.
“Yeah, but I can think of something funnier,” her voice echoed from within the freezer. Suddenly she whirled, a ball of scrapped up freezer frost in hand, but the ball never left her hand. Instead she held it, dripping, gripped tightly in her fist, her body too overcome with laughter to throw it. “Oh…my…god,” she managed to squeak out between snickers.
“What?” Xander frowned at her.
“What…what are you wearing?” she gasped finally, tossing the frost ball in the sink as it finally began to sting her hand.
He followed her gaze downward until it stopped dead center on the reindeer sweater he was wearing. The sweater itself was Hunter Green, but covering most of the front chest was a giant fuzzy brown reindeer head, complete with red pom-pom nose that stuck off the middle of his chest. Two felt brown antler’s crept up towards his shoulders each decorated with a string of three dimensional little plastic Christmas lights on a black string, so they appeared to wind around the antlers. Best of all was the tiny golden bell that hung just below the reindeer’s neck and actually jingled a little as he shifted his weight. The bell rested right over the fly of his jeans and its location sent Buffy’s laughter into fits of howling.
“Alright, alright enough already,” Xander grimaced, his arms moving across his stomach which only made the reindeer’s nose stick out more and Buffy laugh harder. “Look it’s not like I had a choice here! Anya bought it for me and insisted.”
Buffy was wiping at the corners of her eyes now, but still she couldn’t tear her gaze from the Christmas monstrosity before her. “Aw, doesn’t widdle Xander look so precious in his widdle Rudolph sweater.” The words had barely left her mouth before she was giggling uncontrollably again.
“I don’t have to take this,” he grumbled, snatching up his coat and starting to pull it back on, but his movements only made the little bell ring loudly.
“Aw look, you’re jingling his bell,” Buffy howled, unable to resist.
With a frown, his cheeks bright red, Xander pulled the coat closed around the sweater and slumped forward, his collar turned up.
“Aw,” Buffy pouted, her eyes dancing with laughter. With a smile she stepped towards him and gave him a playful punch in the arm. “Thank, Xand, I really needed that!” She moved past him, picking up the phone receiver opposite him and began dialing. “You want any Chinese food?” she mouthed at him. He shook his head no and waited quietly until she had finished ordering. Hanging up, Buffy turned back towards him, “Dinner plans with Anya tonight?”
He nodded. “Then I have to go shopping with her. She’s throwing this big Christmas party and I get the honor of pushing the shopping cart. We don’t even have that many friends.”
“Oh let her have her fun,” Buffy patted him on the shoulder. “As long as she doesn’t make you wear that thing.” A snicker escaped her lips again and she clapped her hands over her mouth. “Sorry,” she grinned, biting her lower lip to keep from laughing again.
“Yeah, yeah yeah,” he sighed. “Oh right, so do you want to come tomorrow night?”
“To the party?” Buffy raised an eyebrow. “Well as much as I’d love to see what Anya does to your apartment and you, I can’t. Working a double shift tomorrow.”
“But Buff, its Christmas eve,” Xander protested.
“And the Doublemeat Palace is ready to take care of Santa and the hunger needs of his four-legged friends. Then again, I think that might be bordering on cannibalism for the reindeers to stop in. I’m sure one of our burgers has more than just chicken and cow in it.” She glanced down at her grease smeared shirt, “Ok now I definitely need to shower.”
She walked Xander to the front door. Turning he gave her a hug, his jacket spreading wide as he did so. Unable to resist she grabbed the little pom-pom nose of the deer and squeezed it making a honking noise as she did. “Honk! Honk!”
“Never again,” Xander rolled his eyes, pulling back from her quickly and making the bell ring again.
“Guess he likes me,” Buffy teased with a giggle. “But seriously, thanks.”
“If you change your mind, the party is at 9 tomorrow night.”
“I won’t but thanks for the offer.”
“Night.”
“Night,” Buffy smiled, leaning in the doorway and watching her friend until he was safely in his car and driving off down the street. She sighed softly and glanced up to the overcast night sky above. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve and she’d be spending it all alone. Quietly she closed the front door and locked it before heading upstairs for a shower and before her take-out arrived.
It was nearly 10 pm when she finally finished mopping the linoleum floors and shut off the lights. Todd had held out as long as he could but by 9:00 it had become painfully clear to even him that no one was coming to the Doublemeat Palace for Christmas Eve dinner. Grumbling about sales and holiday propaganda about ‘family values’, he had order everyone out by 10.
Pulling the front door closed behind her, Buffy struggled with the antiquated lock for a few moments before she felt it slide into place. The air had grown colder and the small metal key felt like an ice cube in her hand.
“Summers!” Todd’s voice barked across the frosted night air. Turning she watched him stalk towards her from across the parking lot, the headlights of his silver Dodge Stratus nearly blinding her. What had he been doing watching her close up from his car? He had now officially landed himself on her ‘Weirdoes to Avoid’ list. He stopped a foot in front of her and held out his hand, his eyes glaring down at her from beneath the royal blue sky cap he had pulled low on his head; Sunnydale may be in Southern California but it could still occasionally get pretty chilly out in the winter at night. His breath came out as an angry mist shot from his nostrils.
“Oh, right,” she pulled her attention back to his open palm and dropped the key into it.
“I expect you here tomorrow at 7 a.m. on the dot,” he instructed, his tone anything but friendly. Greedily he wrapped his fingers around the key and stuffed it deep into the pockets of his jacket. “And I don’t want to hear any excuses about it being Christmas. You’re on tomorrow morning so you better very well be here.”
She opened her mouth to protest the anger in his voice but he silenced her with a look.
“I know your kind, Summers. Girls who have never had to work a day in their lives. No concept of responsibility, of the expectations of a real job, no I know you. Flirty little things. Think you can just get by on your looks, well let me just erase that little fantasy from you mind right now.”
He was on a roll now and all she could do was stand there while he berated her about things he had no clue about, and attempt to avoid the shower of spit that was flying from his down turned lips. His pointer finger was shoved uncomfortably close to her face and all she wanted to do was grab it and squeeze.
“I don’t like you, Summers, but as long as you show up and stay in line we won’t have a problem. So be sure your celebrating tonight does not affect your performance tomorrow, is that clear!”
He spat the last word into her face with such force she had to physically hug her arms to her sides to keep herself from punching him in the face. Who the hell did he think he was? She took in several deep breaths before she nodded, “Transparently.”
“Good,” he growled and turning began to stalk back towards his car.
“Merry Christmas, Todd,” she called after him in her sweetest little valley-girl voice she could muster. She just couldn’t resist sometimes. She smiled to herself as she watched him pause momentarily, his back to her, his shoulders hunching forward, before wrenching open his car door, climbing in, and slamming it behind him. With a rev of the engine she watched him drive screeching out of the parking lot.
“Someone has been channeling the Grinch lately,” she muttered with a sigh. Zipping up her leather coat, she secured her scarf around her neck and began the long walk home.
She walked in silence, the sounds of her sneakers barely making a whisper on the sidewalk. A cool breeze began to blow and she shivered slightly in the frosty air. It was definitely a bit colder than usual, but then again when did the weather ever do what it was supposed to. Stuffing her hands as deep as she could into the pockets of her coat she turned her attention to the houses as she passed them by. Nearly every house had wreaths on the front door or lights twinkling between the branches of bushes and shrubs. Here and there a pink flamingo or lawn gnome had been decorated with sprigs of holly or a Santa’s hat, and even the houses that must belong to people of other faiths displayed candles or other festive knickknacks in the windows. Some houses had even tinted the edges of their windows with spray-paint frost, giving the illusion of winter to the otherwise green surroundings. Yep, that was Southern California in the wintertime for you.
As she turned the corner, she paused staring in through the big picture window of a large house directly across from her. There was a party going on, and a large group of people stood laughing and talking around an elegantly decorated Christmas tree. A woman walked around with a silver tray passing out cookies, glasses of wine, and (what Buffy could only assume) little mugs of egg nog. She watched as little girls dressed in ribbons and lace danced to a man playing a piano next to the tree and little boys chased each other around and around the room. It was like a scene out of a Christmas card, and for the first time since her return from the grave Buffy felt the weight of her mother’s death in her heart.
“So this is Christmas,” she whispered to the night wind before bowing her head and continuing on.
She moved without knowing it, her feet leading her, her mind a flutter with thoughts and dreams and memories passed. Long forgotten were Todd’s words or her muses on what kind of a childhood he could have possibly had to turn him into the creep he was now. No, instead happy memories of Christmases long past, before her mother’s death, before her parent’s divorce, even before she learned of her calling as a slayer, all of them danced like stardust before her eyes. Here she was barely in her twenties and those memories seemed life-times ago; it wasn’t fair. All that she had lost over the years, all that she had sacrificed for what she was, a calling she had never asked for, and still things had happened and changed that she had had no say in; things she could fix with a good staking or a witty come back. Her problems in school had just been the final straw with her father, and it had taken her years to stop blaming herself and place it where it had always belonged, on his infidelity.
Like a storm surge within her, all the hurt, all the anger, all the frustration broke over her like a tidal wave and she felt tears running hot down her face. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be. It was Christmas and her family should all be together, happy, but instead they were fractured, separated, strained, and she…She wasn’t even supposed to be alive.
She let tears fall until there were none left. Wiping at her face until every last drop was gone; she turned and took in her surroundings. She stood in the middle of the Sunnydale cemetery, a full moon shimmering brightly in the cloudless sky above.
“Patrolling on Christmas Eve, luv,” his voice moved like warm water over her skin, a shiver running up the length of her spin. “Santa ain’t gonna come until your tucked away in that little bed of yours.”
Turning she looked up into the cool blue eyes of the vampire behind her. He stared down at her, that cocky smile of his smeared wide across his face, his arms full of branches and pieces of wood. She frowned, staring down at the wood.
He caught her glance and his smile grew even larger. “Irony huh,” he nodded towards the wood with his chin. “One little spill and I’m nothing but dust in the wind.” He looked at her then, really looked and quickly noticed the redness around her eyes; She’d been crying. He frowned. She’d done enough crying and suffering for a lifetime, as far as he was concerned It was Christmas after all, even she deserved a few moments of peace, and without thinking he decided he owed it to her to find out what was wrong. He moved up beside her, “Mind helping me with these?”
Before she could answer, he dropped a few branches into her arms and continued on his way back to his crypt. Given little choice in the matter she reluctantly followed him; the two of them moving through the moonlight and shadows in silence. Every now and then he tried to catch her eye, shoot her a little smile, but she just stared at the ground in front of her, moving one foot in front of the next, nothing more than a robot.
“Home sweet home,” he mumbled dryly and with a loud creak, he opened the door to the crypt and moved inside, Buffy still on his heels. Suddenly he heard her let out a gasp behind him, but still he kept moving, dropping the wood in a pile in the corner. Pulling off his duster and tossing it on the recliner pushed off to one side he turned and smiled at the look of utter surprise that lay wide open across her face.
For her own part Buffy couldn’t believe her eyes. Spike’s crypt was completely transformed. Candles of all shapes and sizes, peppered the room, burning away in silver holders encrusted with glitter and ivy, casting the room in soft golden hues. Long branches of pine needles adorned with holly, berries, acorns, and nuts hung along the walls, while garlands of greenery and cream colored ribbons wound about the place. A small Christmas tree sat in the corner, covered in soft white lights and elegant and ornate decorations. A soft red crushed-velvet couch sat in the middle of the room and even a small fire burned away within the belly of a small raw-iron wood stove opposite the tree. The soft smells of Christmas, pine, sugar, mint, and nutmeg, floated about her like a silvery mist. It was like stepping into a Victorian movie on Christmas.
“It’s beautiful,” she finally breathed, turning her gaze to meet Spike’s. “How did you..? Why did you..?”
“A bit fancy, I suppose,” he grinned back. “But Christmas has always been a favorite of mine. Strange I suppose considering the whole evil, soulless demon part, but it’s something to do.”
“Where did you find all this stuff?” She was regaining her focus now, and gently she shut the door to the crypt behind her and fully entered the stone room. Slowly she took it all in. “I mean some of these ornaments are ridiculously old,” she reached out tentatively and touched a hand-painted glass bulb. It felt so delicate and brittle in her hand that she pulled her finger tips away quickly, afraid of breaking it. Dropping the wood down with the pile, she turned to face him again.
“Most of the older stuff’s from me mum. She always loved Christmas, so I kept bits and pieces, but most of it’s broken by now. Just in the habit of putting it all up I suppose.”
“Aw, widdle Spikey misses his mommy on Christmas.” The words were out of her mouth in a heart beat, her initial shock completely faded away.
“I’m not seeing you making big with the family party either, pet.” As soon as the words left his lips he wanted to pull them back. Her whole body stiffened her face awash of emotion. “I’m sorry, luv, that was a low blow,” he stared down at floor in front of him.
“Perhaps,” she replied, causing him to glance back up at her, “but not completely unfair.” She sighed heavily and started to move towards the door, the moment broken.
“What’s your rush?” he moved a few feet towards her.
“Spike, I’ve been working all day. All I want to do is go home, climb into bed, and sleep.”
“And waste away a perfectly good Christmas Eve alone in your dark room? I don’t think so.”
His words took her by surprise and before she knew it he had taken her coat and she sat curled on the couch, shoes off, the soft feel of the velvet cooling her aching muscles. Closing her eyes she rested her head back against the back of the couch. It felt so good just to sit. She felt the cushions move a bit as he sat down beside her.
“You know you don’t have to do this.”
“And what’s that?” He was watching her, his head resting in his hand, the elbow of his arm resting on the top of the back of the couch.
“This,” she opened her eyes and sat forward, her hands gesturing to the room around her. “I don’t know what Willow or Xander told you but I’m doing just fine. I don’t need you to give me a Christmas. I don’t need a babysitter for that matter either.”
“Not too full of ourself are we, luv,” he offered her his cocky smile yet again. “None of this is for you. Believe it or not I would have done this regardless of wherever I was right now.”
“Please,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re a demon. Demon, Christmas, doesn’t really work now does it?”
“Point made and already addressed,” he dropped his hands into his lap and peered down at her, his head tilted to the side. “I know you don’t believe we’re capable of love or sentiment or anything really human in that sense…”
She opened her mouth to interrupt but he held his hand up pacifying her.
“Ok so if we have a soul you seem to think that changes some things,” he continued, his brows growing slightly dark at the allusion to Angel. “But we are. The demon may have taken my soul but love and memories and sentiment, that’s all blood and bone, luv, and even vampires have plenty of that.”
She stared up at him, suddenly captivated by the intensity in his eyes. There seemed to be so much swimming there, just beneath the surface, emotions or something deep writhing to get out. But just as quickly as she had seen it, it vanished, the cool steely gaze she had come to know so well in vampires slid back into place. Yet somehow he looked different. Years of hunting, fighting, and killing vampires and demons and Spike still remained an enigma to her. Shouldn’t he have been just like all the others? Even Angel had been more like the others; why not Spike?
“I’m sorry,” she suddenly whispered, startling him from his own gaze. “It’s been a long day and I guess I’m just not in the Christmas mood. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you like that.”
“Nothing doing, luv,” he smiled at her, reaching out and gently pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear.
Impulsively she reached up, her hand cupping his, bringing it to her lips. Her eyes stared into his as her lips began to gently caress the skin of his palm. She worked her way over the palm of his hand and down each fingertip before moving back up his hand to his wrist. Her lips pressed harder against his wrist, over the delicate blue veins, over the pulse that did not exist. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh of pleasure, the feeling of her lips like silk on his skin. When he opened them again her face was close and without another thought he leaned forward and captured her lips with his own. Her lips parted and their kiss deepened, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her up to him. She moved her hands up the smooth front of his red silk shirt, her fingers fumbling with the buttons, pulling the fabric from the waist of his pants and pushing it back from the smooth chiseled muscles of his chest. She slid her hands around his sides beneath the fabric of his shirt, and began to lean backwards, pulling him down on top of her onto the couch.
Her hands moved in circles, kneading and playing with the smooth skin of his back, sides and chest. His kisses were like electric shocks to her, his lips chasing away all the thoughts from her mind; she was drowning in him and she welcomed the heat from his lips, his hands, his body as it washed over her taking away her pain, giving her something real to feel. His hands began to work their way beneath her shirt, his thumbs smoothing over the small dimple of her belly button when suddenly her stomach let out a deep long growl.
They both stopped mid-kiss, lips still pressed together, hands frozen in place, both sets of eyes wide open staring into each others. Then they both broke into laughter.
“Guess someone’s hungry,” Spike chuckled low and deep, kissing her one last time before withdrawing himself from her. She protested, trying to pull him back but he slid out of her grasp with ease and got to his feet. “How’s about something festive? How’s pizza sound?”
She stared up at him as he began to re-button his shirt, the smooth red fabric slowly hiding the white alabaster skin of his chest. “Pizza…festive?”
He just smiled at her, that obnoxiously knee-melting cocky smile.
“Fine,” she feigned a pout as he headed off to place the order. “Why couldn’t you have kept quiet?” She poked her stomach with irritation.
Twenty minutes later the two of them were standing outside a small stucco colored ranch across from the entrance to the cemetery.
“Do you have to do this every time you order out?” She was cold again and began to hop up and down on her heels for warmth.
“Sorry, pet, but asking a bloke to deliver a pizza to a crypt in the middle of a cemetery is a bit more than the phrase ‘delivery’ encompasses.”
“How much longer?” She whined, her stomach growling again in support of her complaints.
He shot her a semi-irritated look and just pointed. Following his finger she watched as a small red nondescript car with the generic plastic pizza sign illuminated on the roof rounded the corner and head towards them. “Is it a requirement that you have to drive a beat up red car of some form?” She let the question hang unanswered in the air, as the car stopped before them and a pimple-faced high-schooler leapt to the curb.
Spike left her standing halfway up the walk while he took the pizza and paid the driver. He stayed standing on the curb until the boy had driven out of sight before turning back to her, “Coming?”
“So what kind did you get anyway?” Buffy dropped her coat and scarf down on the recliner and made herself comfortable on the couch again. Spike dragged out a low card table and was setting it up in front of her, between the couch and his small black and white TV.
He handed her a white paper plate as he dropped down beside her. Turning the box to face them, he opened the lid. “Pepperoni and green pepper,” he smiled proudly. As the steam from the pizza faded Buffy was surprised to find that the pepperonis and green peppers had been cut and arranged to look like sprigs of holly.
“Festive…pizza,” she stammered. “How did you…you know what, I’m just going to say ‘thank you’ and leave it at that.” She shot Spike an amused smile before hungrily diving in.
They devoured the first few slices in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. For her own part Buffy was surprised to find herself enjoying the evening so far. Her usual encounters with Spike were anything but cordial, passionate and sexual yes, but not quiet comfort just sitting about doing nothing. Nope, usually it involved fighting, hitting, and lots of bed-breaking sex, the one thing that she could count on to make her feel something, anything since she’d come back from the grave. She glanced up at him, watching him finish off his third slice before snagging another one.
As much as she despised herself when she was alone for what she shared with him, for what she allowed him to do to her, more than anything she had started to feel guilty about what she was doing to him. She was using him, a fact painfully clear to herself and him as well but there were moments before, during, and even after their little trysts that she felt a change in him, a sort of hope that perhaps she could come to love him. It was a pipe dream of course and she should have broken it off long ago, but it still just felt too good, he felt so good that she just couldn’t fess up to it yet, no matter how badly she felt about it in the early hours alone in her bed. She nibbled her pizza, guilt weighing heavy on her mind. Damn it!
“Never seem to find peace do we?” He was looking at her and she suddenly realized she’d been spacing out; so lost in thought that she hadn’t even realized he had flipped on the TV. A children’s choir was belting out a lovely rendition of “Silent Night”. She blinked at him.
“Peace,” he repeated, gesturing to the TV. “So many carols about peace but it never seems to come. Each year a whole new bloody song and still we all keep tearing ourselves apart.”
Her eyes moved from the television screen to his face. He was staring hard at the images of the children singing. Were they having a moment? Was Spike actually trying to have a deep meaningful conversation with her?
“Not really in our nature to ever really be happy I suppose,” she finally replied heavily.
He glanced over at her carefully, her eyes trained on the TV now. “Maybe it’s something we aren’t meant to feel in this lifetime.”
Her eyes met his as his meaning became poignantly clear. She sighed, her eyes falling to her hands which sat in her lap. She stared without seeing, at her fingers as she scratched at one of her cuticles. “Don’t really remember it anymore to be perfectly honest. At first that’s all I could remember and how harsh and bright everything here felt, how far from that feeling of safety and peace I was. So I forced myself to stop trying in order to just get through the day, and now, now there is very little I can recall. Those bits and pieces that I do remember feel nothing more than a dream. Ironic I suppose, I fought for so long to suppress the feelings, the memories in order to get by here, and now I can’t even reflect on them as a reminder. And things here have gotten so hard. Between Dawn and my father trying to come back into her life and trying to pay the bills…even small moments don’t hold any sense of comfort anymore. It’s all just hard and sharp, and I have no memories to turn back to. They are almost completely lost to me.”
He watched her carefully. More than anything he wanted to pull her to him, to take her pain away. He could feel the ache burning away in the dead heart of his, searing the blood in his veins. If only he could give her what she needed, what she deserved. If only his love could be something real to her, something more than just a good shag to chase the pain away and numb her for a little while. Never had he felt so frustrated with himself, so inadequate, and all he could do was sit there and watch her.
“And everyone wants me to be fine. Willow, Tara, Xander, Dawn, all they want is for all this to be over, for me to be over it. Sometimes I feel like they treat it like it’s a cut or a scrape. Just bandage it up Buffy, let it heal, and bam you’ll be good as new. But I can feel it and I know it won’t work like that. Someday, yeah, I’m sure I’ll wake up and feel like I used to but it will take time and I’m starting to feel like each day that passes they’re standing their watching, holding their breath expecting a change.”
“They’re just worried…”
“I know that!” She cut him off with a cry, slamming her fists into her lap. “God knows I know that! And I know they feel bad, but sometimes I feel like they are so focused on their own guilt that it has become about them now. That I’m wrong for not feeling better by now, that I’m just dragging out their guilt, punishing them in away.”
She suddenly was looking up into his eyes. Her own eyes were big, luminous, and filled with so many painful emotions that he had to remember to swallow. How he wanted to comfort her but didn’t know how.
“That probably sounds so selfish and stupid,” she cracked a sarcastic smile, staring back down at her hands.
“Nah,” he shook his head, his hand coming up and turning her chin to face him. “Now you listen here. You’ve been through more than anyone could ever begin to imagine. They may be a part of your life but they haven’t had to live it, they don’t know what you’ve felt, what you’ve seen, what you’ve been through, and to say that anything you think or feel sounds stupid is the stupid part. You may be the Chosen One but you’re human just like them. So you go on and feel however you want for as long as you want with no apologies to no one. They’ll worry, they’ll feel guilty but that’s their cross to bear, not yours. They owe you their lives ten times over, Buffy, and if they love you they’ll allot you the time and the patience to get through this in your own time.”
She stared up into his blue eyes, his hand still cupping her chin, his fingers caressing her cheek. A tear feel freely from her eye but still she did not move her gaze. Had it been so long since she’d been giving understanding like this? She tried to recall but her mind wouldn’t work.
He broke from the gaze first, awkwardly, timidly, his hand dropping from her chin. She blinked in surprise, his movements far from the characteristic cocky arrogance and unabashed pride that were hallmarks of the Spike she had come to know. Had she touched a nerve? But before she could press the issue he got to his feet without a word and began flipping through the television stations. Suddenly Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer came on.
He turned to look down at her, “Good?” He nodded towards the TV.
She nodded back, content on dropping the issue any further, and he settled back down next to her. They watched most of it in a comfortable silence, Buffy leaning into him just enough that she felt his body react, his chest and shoulder accepting the weight of her head without protest. He looked down at the auburn head beside him and smiled. This was turning out to be a most unusual Christmas.
“We used to watch this every year,” she finally confessed as Herme, Yukon, and Rudolph arrived on the Island of Misfit Toys, “Dawn, Mom, and Me. One of our Christmas traditions. I can’t tell you how many times Dawn used to ask Mom how come the Doll was on the island. I mean she doesn’t seem to have anything wrong with her, not like the Charlie-in-the-box instead of being a Jack-in-the-box, or the cowboy riding and ostrich instead of a horse, or even the train with square wheels. Every year she’d ask ‘But why is the Doll there?’ And every year Mom would make up something new about her dress or her hair or something. To tell you the truth I always thought it was more of a psychological thing. I just think the Doll didn’t think she could be or should be or was loved. I mean they did say that unloved toys were brought to the island too.”
He had been watching the movie with his eyes half closed, enjoying the warmth of her body beside his, the feel of her back rising and falling with each breath, but her words caused him to stiffen and he sat up straight looking down at her. Instinctively his arm curled around her shoulders, his fingers playing with the tips of her short auburn hair.
“I think the reason she was there doesn’t mean a bloody thing.”
She stirred then, her head tilting, leaning so she could look up at him, a frown planted squarely across her face. He could see the first hints of irritation and anger boiling at the edges of her eyes. Then again he had very bluntly shot down a personal thought of hers without as much as a modicum of consideration.
Before she could unleash the inevitable tirade he could see brimming he placed a staying hand against her cheek and continued, “It doesn’t matter why the doll was there; pet, because in the end she found what she needed. So she ended up on some forsaken ice flow but it was only temporary. In the meantime she found that she wasn’t so alone in the world, that there were plenty of other misfits out there who could relate at least in part to her and what she was feeling. Time, luv, is the great equalizer for us all. All things are revealed with time. It’s deciding what to do then when we finally understand that is the real question to ponder.”
She moved back from him then, her eyes staring up into his. He sat back against the arm of the couch, his face confused, unable to tell if she was still upset with him or not. Without a word she rose and moved toward the television set, his eyes following her as she switched it off, leaving the crypt illuminated by only the soft golden light of the few candles that were still burning. Again she sat down beside him, her voice soft in the deep silence that they had suddenly been plunged into.
“Thank you.”
He simply stared at her, unsure of what to do or say. She smiled slightly at the blatantly awkward juvenile look on his face. It had to be the first time that she had ever seen Spike at a loss for words. Tentatively she reached up and touched the side of his face.
“Thank you, William,” she breathed again as she leaned forward and kissed him.
The kiss was chaste, gentle at first but as she wrapped her arms around him she felt his shoulders loosen and his lips eagerly pressed back with desire. Parting her lips she welcomed his heat and again, she pulled him to her, down to the soft velvet of the couch beneath her. Again her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, his own fingers moving in smooth circles across the skin of her stomach, but there was no growling stomach to distract. And by the soft glow of the fading candle light they made love, soft and slow and gentle, far from their usual destructive play. Lost in the comfort of one another, their shadows cast long arching forms across the smooth stone of the crypt walls until the body rush overcame them both in one long surge of passion and they lay exhausted in one another’s arms.
When she opened her eyes again, the stone room around her was awash in the long shadows of early morning, tinged here and there by the soft gray of first light. The candles had long gone out and only a few orange coals sputtered away in the iron-stove nearby. The chill of the early hour bit at her naked shoulders, and she shivered uncontrollably. Spike’s body moved beneath her, his face frowning slightly in his sleep. For a few moments she lay frozen on top of him watching him sleep. She had never watched him sleep before, never watched his eyes flickering beneath closed eye-lids as he dreamt. For all the world he looked completely human, just a young man asleep, dreaming until daylight called him back to the world of the living. But he was not of the living, and the reality of it seemed to cast the smooth chiseled features of his face and body in a sallow unworldly light. What were they doing?
Silently she rolled off of him and began to get dressed. From the length of the light stretching out from beneath the crypt door she guessed it was about 6 a.m.; she had dragged herself home from patrolling at that hour enough times to know it’s familiar look. She was due at work by 7 so she at least had some time to go home and get changed. She glanced back at Spike’s sleeping naked body on the couch. She had never stayed the night before.
She was concentrating on tying her shoes when he finally awoke.
“What’s the rush?” His voice was groggy, still heavy with sleep but he was sitting up slightly, his eyes watching her lazily.
“I have to get to work,” she mumbled suddenly embarrassed to be caught sneaking out like she was, as if she was taking the walk of shame.
He watched her finish tying her shoes in silence before rising to his feet. Without as much as a glance at his discarded clothing he padded barefoot past her and over to the tree behind. His bare hip brushed against her body as he moved past her and she dropped her eyes from him quickly, embarrassed and acutely aware of his nakedness. He couldn’t resist offering one of his cocky smiles at her obvious discomfort. Quickly she began pulling on her jacket and scarf while his back was to her, intending to make as quick and graceful an exit as she could muster.
But just as she was reaching for the door his hand grabbed her arm and he turned her to face him. Dangling freely before her eyes was one of the antique ornaments from the tree. It was an angel figurine, soft and delicate. The angel was dressed in a long flowing blue gown, her long brown hair cascading in waves over her pale shoulders and down her back. Her wings were curled slighting, inwardly, towards her body as if afraid to unfurl, afraid to fly, while the angel’s hands were clutched tightly before her in a silent prayer. Her face, though faded, carried a sadness about it, but her eyes were focused on some unforeseen light above which had begun to cast the top of her head and face in a soft light, as it began to wash away the sadness with golden hope.
“Merry Christmas, Buffy,” Spike whispered, a smile spread broadly across his lips.
Taking the ornament in her hands she turned it over and over again in her palm. It was so delicate, so beautiful. “I can’t take this,” she finally replied, looking back up into his eyes.
“Yes you can. Wouldn’t be Christmas now without at least a little present, now would it?”
She opened her mouth to protest again but the look on his face told her it was pointless. “Thank you,” she offered meekly.
He nodded with satisfaction. “And don’t be worrying about all this. I won’t breathe a word of it to anyone.”
“Spike…” she started, reaching out and touching his face, but he stepped back from her.
“You’re going to be late for work.”
She lingered for a moment longer, emotions and words bubbling up inside of her but for all her effort she couldn’t seem to give voice to them. All she could do was stare into the blue of his eyes and hope he understood. Finally turning she opened the crypt door and stepped out into the morning sunlight.
An hour later she stood alone behind the shining counter of the Sunnydale Doublemeat Palace. Todd had arrived a good ten minutes after she had, much to his chagrin, but sadly Pete the new grill boy had been a whole 2 minutes late and Todd was happily unwrapping his first Christmas present, a long berating tirade at poor Pete in his back office. Only the soft whirl of the heating vents and sizzling of the grill in back broke the otherwise perfect silence of Buffy’s station up front.
Alone with her thoughts Buffy found her mind drifting back over the past night’s events and the small angel figurine that now sat on her desk at home. Of course it had just been another night of cold comfort with Spike, but yet somehow if felt different, almost meaningful, and for all her guilt she couldn’t help but feel grateful to him. Maybe it was the fact that it had been Christmas, the first one without her mother, or maybe it had been more than just that. Regardless of everything he had given her a Christmas in his own way, and despite the twisted, bizarre dynamics of their relationship or lack thereof, it had been one of the few happy safe moments she had known since her return from the grave. Spike had listened to her and really heard her, really tried to feel her pain, and through it all he had offered her only love and sanctuary.
She felt a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth and a renewed warmth within her. Maybe he was right, maybe she just needed to stop thinking so much and wait for the questions to find her. Maybe she just needed to give it time and stop worrying about everyone else. Again her mind drifted back to the angel ornament.
She took in a deep breath and let it out, feeling some of the weight she’d been carrying around with her leave, and she smiled brightly. She could do it; she would do it. And for the first time in a long time she felt hope.
“Merry Christmas, Buffy,” she whispered aloud.
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©2004
Ok, that’s it. Hope you enjoyed it. Please feel free to leave feedback (only way I’ll get better) here or at divine.serenity@gmail.com (just put some note in the title so I won’t mistake it for Spam ^_^).
*Special thanks* to Angela and Candice for being my wonderful betas yet again!!!