Winter break. Four weeks that spanned from mid-December to mid-January. The dorms closed, the power was shut down, the cafeteria wrapped everything in tinfoil to save for the next semester. It was a time for relaxation after a hard semester at college. It was a time for students to see their parents, do the laundry that had piled up for four months, and beg for money. It was a time to see old friends, to work part-time, and to beg for more money.

Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer extra ordinaire, dropped her laundry bag and suitcase to the floor, turned and waved to her ride, and shut the front door. She looked left and right, then jumped around in a circle and she sang, "No school for a month! No school for a month!"

With a laugh at her own ridiculous behavior, she picked up her suitcase and headed up the stairs to her bedroom. She was happy that school was out. First semester of her freshman year had been harder than she thought it would be. If it wasn't for her best friend-cum-super-brain, Willow Rosenberg, she would be receiving one of those little letters in the mail that read "Don't come back."

Tossing her suitcase on the bed, she looked around the bedroom that seemed very strange after living in a dorm for months. For one thing, it was bigger. Much bigger. For another, she was used to the decorations she and Willow had put up in their shared room, rather than the butterflies and posters on the walls that decorated her bedroom at home. Maybe during break she would redecorate. She would have the time, because her only employment occurred after the sun set and her mother was gone until Christmas on a long-planned business trip. Even then, Joyce Summers would only be home the 24, 25 and 26 of December, then she'd be heading back to New York until January.

Buffy didn't mind that she'd be pretty much alone in the house. She'd known long in advance that her mother would be gone, had even helped pack for the trip, and it wasn't as if Joyce hadn't left her before for business reasons. If she did need anything, she could always call Willow or her mentor and former Watcher, Rupert Giles. Plus, if she was really in a bind and had no other options, she could get the help of the man who lived in the basement.

"Speaking of basements," Buffy said to herself. She grinned and headed back down the stairs. It was time to annoy her mother's houseguest by doing laundry at two in the afternoon on a Friday, instead of on "laundry Sundays."

Scooping up the large bag, she headed for the kitchen. Quietly, she opened the door to the basement and looked down into the dark with an evil smile.

"INCOMING!" Buffy yelled, throwing the bag down the stairs. She hit the overhead lights on the wall, then thundered down the stairs after it. She jumped off the last step and landed with her arms upraised in a gymnast's pose. "Ta-da! Guess who?"

"The entire Man U football team?"

Spike, once known as William the Bloody, hadn't even bothered to look up from the book he was reading when he spoke. A vampire blackmailed into helping Buffy, he'd wormed his way into Joyce's heart and her basement. During the day, the partially converted basement was his safe-haven from the sun, a place where he could sleep and recuperate from the hazards, both physical and erotic, that came with helping the Slayer.

The double bed he was lounging on jutted out from the side wall five feet from the bottom of the stairs. On one side was an old, tired-looking, two drawer night-stand with a simple desk lamp, CD player-alarm clock and a dirty, Playboy Bunny ashtray. Three feet separated the opposite side of the bed from a ten gallon fish tank on a stand against the far wall. Four colorful, tropical fish swam slow laps in the water amidst fake rock formations and plastic plants.

Black-out curtains covered the small windows set high on the walls. Next to the washer and dryer to the right of the stairwell sat a dresser, five drawers in height. On top of the dresser was a small television and piles of CDs. On the floor near it were small towers of paperback books that looked as if they were going to collapse at any moment. A coat tree, with a black duster hanging from one of the pegs, stood guard several feet from dresser along the back wall.

Buffy picked up her laundry bag and went over to the wash machine. "Why aren't you asleep? It's only two."

Spike shrugged and turned the page in his book. "Couldn't."

Buffy and Spike had a strange quasi-friendship that developed from having to work together. Sometimes they got along wonderfully, other times they were at each other's throats. Neither of them ever brought up their respective ex's and both of them ignored the physical attraction they felt for one another. Neither of them consciously wanted to get involved in a relationship with a former enemy. Unconsciously, however...

"Hey, did Mom leave any instructions about Christmas?" Buffy asked, taking things from the laundry bag and tossing them into the washer.

"I was drafted into getting the bloody tree with you," Spike replied. "Joyce wants it up this weekend."

"Don't sound so excited."

"Pet, what do I care about a Christmas tree?" Spike said. He stuck scrap of paper in the book and closed it, then tossed it on the bed beside him. "Or Christmas, for that matter?"

"True," she agreed. She added soap, closed the lid to the washer and turned it on. "Well, I'm going to go unpack. Sun sets at four-fifteenish tonight and I want to make an early round before we head over to Giles' to find out what's on the slaying agenda this weekend. Then we can go tree hunting."

"Joy."

Buffy rolled her eyes and headed back up stairs, leaving the vampire alone with his thoughts -- and her lingerie.

"There's mail for you, ducks," Spike said, setting the pile of mail he'd retrieved on the kitchen counter. He took a seat at the island table with the newspaper and a cup of coffee, painting a picture of domesticity that made Buffy grin. Despite his bad boy looks, he could be any normal twenty-something sitting down to plan his evening, rather than a two hundred year old, vicious vampire, who got his kicks from pounding heads in.

"Thanks," Buffy said, leafing through the mail until she found a standard white envelope with her name scrawled across it in beautiful penmanship. There was no post marking, stamp or return address. Curiosity peaked, she took a knife out of the kitchen drawer and slit the top. She put the knife away, then pulled out the tri-folded white paper.

Hello, Buffy

That was all it read. The words were written in the same beautiful penmanship, centered on the page, and there was no signature.

"Huh," Buffy said, a frown marring her brow. "This is odd."

Spike glanced up from the newspaper. "What's odd, pet?"

"I think I got a secret admirer," she told him, passing him the paper.

He read it and a frown much the same as hers appeared on his face. "Let's see the envelope."

"It's got nothing on it," Buffy told him, handing him the envelope. "It's probably Xander." She smiled enthusiastically. "Or maybe Riley from school. I wouldn't mind having him as an admirer."

Spike pursed his lips, causing his cheekbones to become more prominent. Just because he couldn't touch her, didn't mean he wanted anyone else to touch her, either. "Perhaps," he replied, folding the letter and sticking it back in the envelope. He finished off the rest of his coffee, then rose and washed the cup out in the sink. "Ready to go, Slayer?"

"Yep," Buffy said, sliding her winter coat on. She grabbed her wallet with the money for the Christmas tree in it and stuck it in her pocket. She quickly checked her stake supply, then followed Spike out the kitchen door.

Buffy looked over her shoulder, scanning the darkness.

"What's wrong, pet?" Spike asked, looking around as well. "Company?"

"No...I don't..." She frowned. "I got that 'someone's walking over my grave' feeling."

"That could be why," he said, nodding towards the large, dog-like creature that bounded out of the bushes ahead of them. The dog sniffed in their direction, dropped down in attack position, baring its large, glistening teeth.

"I'm gonna have to agree," Buffy said, and the fight was on.

She ran straight at the animal, grabbing its attention as Spike darted behind it. She punched it across the muzzle, then spun and kicked it in the same spot. The animal yelped and growled, barking ferociously and tried to leap on her.

Spike grabbed the animal's tail and snarled when its back feet clawed him. He spun, yanking the animal around and let go. The animal flew several feet and hit the ground with a thud.

Buffy glanced up att he sky, checking the moon's phase. To her relief, it was only a crescent, so she needn't worry that the creature was lycanthropic. She gestured to Spike to corral the animal between them. The blond vampire hurried around the far side of the animal. The creature continued to growl and bark at both of them.

Spike made a sudden moved and it jumped around, facing away from Buffy. The Slayer used this to her advantage. She rushed forward and grabbed the animal around the neck. With a quick snap, she broke its neck and let it drop to the ground, dead.

She looked to Spike, about to comment on the creature's uncleanliness, when she heard it.

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

The sound echoed around them, not allowing either vampire or Slayer to pinpoint the direction it came from. It was a slow clap, not unlike the one Spike had given her the first time she'd seen him.

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

Chills ran down her back. The steady clapping felt more threatening than a horde of vampires, especially since she couldn't see who was doing it.

"Who's out there?" Buffy called loudly. Spike was slowly turning in a circle, listening carefully and sometimes sniffing the air.

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

She rounded the dead creature and moved to Spike's side. Her eyes darted from shadow to shadow. Another shiver ran down her spine as the clapping continued.

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

Spike growled softly in frustration. He couldn't tell where the clapping was coming from. It was unnerving. Buffy put her hand on his arm and he glanced at her. Her eyes were round with traces of fear. His hands clenched into fists and he yelled, "Show yourself!"

The clapping stopped.

The duo waited, tense and ready to move at the slightest sound. The cricket's chirping and other noises of the night were the only things they could hear.

"You say it just stopped?" Giles asked, questioning Buffy later that night at the former Watcher's house.

"Yeah," Buffy said. She rubbed her arms. "It was way wiggy."

"And no one was there?" Giles continued.

"We waited for ten minutes before we left," Buffy replied. "No one even breathed."

"Spike?" Giles looked at the vampire for confirmation.

"I didn't see a bloody thing," Spike said.

"If you weren't standing right next to me, I'd think it was you," Buffy told Spike. He arched a brow in question. "You clapped like that when I first met you."

A half-grin appeared on his face. "Outside the Bronze. Cor, you were a cute little chit back then. What happened?"

"Ha ha,"Buffy said.

"Do you suppose, by, er, your recollection of-of Spike's actions, this could be another master vampire?" Giles asked.

"Ugh, I hope not," Buffy said. "One pathetic, arrogant vampire in my life is enough, thank you very much."

"You're welcome, Slayer," Spike said with a mock bow. She rolled her eyes.

"Well, for now, keep on your guard," Giles instructed. "If it is a new master vampire, the sooner we know who he or-or-or she is, the better."

"Got it," Buffy said. She stood and put on her coat. "Come on, Spike. We have a Christmas tree to find."

"Ow! Watch it!"

"Sorry," Buffy apologized. Spike grumbled something obscene about Christmas trees and certain Slayer's body parts. She giggled and continued ogling the vampire. He was on his forearms and knees under the tree, trying to get the tree screws tightened in the holder, his rear in the air.

He had a nice butt, she thought. Especially clad in his well-worn black jeans. It was also nice not covered by anything, something she found out purely on accident one night, but remembered quite clearly. But she wouldn't give into her lust for another vampire no matter how sexy he was or how much she liked him.

She still wasn't over the last vampire.

Pulling her thoughts away from Angel, which always depressed her, she shook the tree slightly. "Are you done yet?"

"If you'd stop shaking it," Spike growled.

The night before, they had found the "perfect tree" and had left it on the back porch overnight to be set up when there was more time. Giles had given them both the weekend off, save for regular patrol, and Buffy planned to decorate the tree...if Spike ever finished tightening the screws.

"There," Spike said, crawling backwards. He clapped his hands on his knees and looked up at the tree. "Let go."

Buffy let go and the tree stayed put. She smiled and ruffled Spike's hair. "Good job."

Spike smacked her hand away and stood. "My Christmas contribution is done. I'm gone."

She chuckled as he quickly left the living room for the basement, running his hand through his mussed hair. She headed for the kitchen to make some popcorn before digging the ornaments out. Humming Christmas tunes, she stuck the popcorn in the microwave and turned it on. Retrieving a bowl, she set it on the island table and began leafing through the stack of mail Spike had brought in as soon as the sun set. He was a good houseboy.

She smiled at the thought of Spike wearing white pants and a bright blue polo shirt with a towel over his arm. The smile faltered as her hand hovered over the plain white envelope with her name written on it. Using her finger rather than a knife, she opened it and unfolded the single sheet of paper.

I am watching you

Beeeeeeeeeep.

The microwave let out a loud beep and Buffy jumped and whirled around with a gasp. Her heart pounded in her chest and her eyes were wide as she stared at the microwave. With a shaky hand, she lifted the perfectly scripted letter and read it again. The message had not changed.

She heard the front door slam and she whipped around the other direction, hitting her hip on the counter. Blindly, she reached for a utensil sitting in the ceramic cup on the counter, her eyes never leaving the kitchen doorway. She took a deep breath and crept forward, letter in one hand, kitchenware in the other. She slowly went to peek around the corner and-

"Slayer?"

"AAAH!" Buffy screamed, spinning around and raising her weapon.

Spike looked at her in confusion. "Um, pet? Do you plan to whisk me to death?"

Buffy stomped forward and began hitting him with the wire whisk. "Don't scare me like that!"

Spike managed to grab the whisk from her and set it down. "What the bloody hell is your problem? You knew I was home."

"But you left," Buffy said. Her heard finally slowed down. "I heard you slam the front door and after reading this..." She shook the letter in her hand. "I got a little freaked."

Spike took the letter out of her hand and uncrumpled it. "Luv, I didn't leave," he said absently, reading the letter.

"If you didn't leave, then why did the front...door...slam..." Buffy's eyes grew round and she slowly turned to the kitchen doorway again.

"Cor, Slayer, this is a st-"

"Shh," Buffy interrupted. She looked back at Spike and whispered, "Someone's in the house."

Spike looked at her, then at the doorway as if expecting someone to come around the corner. He listened carefully, but could hear nothing except the sounds of the house settling. He set the letter down and headed out of the kitchen.

"Spike!" Buffy squeaked. She quickly went after him and ran into his back when he stopped in the hallway.

"What?" he whispered.

"I'm coming with you," she whispered back.

He arched his brow at the nervousness in her voice, then shrugged. He continued making his way silently up the hall towards the front door. He stopped abruptly, causing Buffy to bump into him again, but he didn't care. He was too focused on the rose sitting just inside the front door.

Buffy gasped and grabbed his arm, staring down at the blood-red rose. She looked over at the darkened dining room, wondering if the shadows had always been there. Spike bent down to pick up the rose and she yanked back on his arm. "Leave it," she hissed.

Spike glanced back at her and frowned. She was acting as if she was scared. The Slayer he knew was never scared. Deciding to humor her, he left the rose and turned towards the dining room. He flipped on the light inside the doorway and looked around. Seeing nothing amiss, he continued through to the kitchen, Buffy right on his heels.

The two went through the entire house, room by room, leaving the lights on behind them at Buffy's insistence. When they reached the kitchen again, Spike picked up the letter and reread it. "I think someone's playing a joke on you, Slayer."

"It's not a very nice joke," Buffy said. She looked at the rose Spike had picked up on their way back to the kitchen. It was perfect, red, and the thorns were meticulously stripped off. It gave her the wiggins.

Spike tossed the letter back on the counter. "Well, no one's here and I have plans. Sleep tight, Slayer," he said, then grabbed his duster off the coat rack behind the door and left.

Buffy shook her head at his abrupt departure and went over to the microwave to retrieve her popcorn. As she dumped it into the bowl, her eyes drifted over to the letter and the rose sitting beside it. The house seemed to grow unnaturally quiet, save for the tick, tick, tick of the clock on the wall.

She shifted on her feet and looked towards the kitchen doorway. Thirty seconds later, she was out the back door and rapidly walking up the street. She didn't stop until she was outside a familiar set of French doors.

"Buffy, hi," Willow greeted, stepping back to allow the Slayer inside. "What's up?"

"I thought maybe we could do that sleep-over thing..."

By the light of day, Buffy chastised herself for her ridiculous behavior. The rose and letter got tossed in the garbage when she got home from Willow's. She was the Slayer. She fought creatures that made vampires piss their pants. She could handle a prankster.

After changing clothes, she put some Bing Crosby on the stereo and proceeded to decorate the tree. The star went on top again. Spike ventured into the living room after sunset to make fun of her musical tastes and promising to make a sweep around ten before he disappeared for the evening.

She had just finished hiding the empty ornament boxes when the phone rang. Turning down the volume on the stereo, she snatched up the phone on the fourth ring. "Hello?"

No reply.

"Hello?" Buffy repeated.

No reply.

She shrugged and hung up the phone. Turning to the refrigerator, she pulled out a microwave dinner and set it on the counter. The phone rang again.

"Hello?" Buffy said upon answering it.

No reply.

"Hello?" she said, exasperated. "If this is a telemarketing call, we don't want any."

No reply.

Disgusted, she hung up again. "Stupid salespeople," she muttered, opening up the tv dinner box. She was reading the directions on the back when the phone rang yet again.

"Hel-lo?" Buffy said, getting frustrated.

No reply.

"You're starting to piss me off," she growled into the phone. "Stop calling."

She slammed down the receiver and threw her dinner into the microwave. The phone rang again and she let out a small scream of annoyance. "What?" she spat into the phone.

No reply.

"Listen jackass, I'm not into prank calls. Get your kicks on somewhere else." She slammed down the receiver again, then turned off the ringer. She punched the numbers on the microwave with hard, vicious jabs, almost denting the keypad. She heard the faint sound of the phone ringing upstairs, but she ignored it.

The phone stopped after five rings and didn't ring again. The microwave beeped nine minutes later and she took her dinner out. Stirring up the mashed potatoes, she took a seat at the counter and leafed through an art catalog as she ate.

The doorbell rang. Quickly swallowing her mouthful off food, Buffy set down her fork and headed for the door. She looked out the peep-hole, but saw no one. Frowning, she opened the door, only to find no one there.

She was about to close the door when she saw a box on the porch. She picked it up and opened the lid. "What's this?"

She pulled a red and blue jack-in-the-box out of the plain white box. Closing the door with her hip, she set the outer box on the hall table and turned the crank. "All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel," she sang under her breath to the tinny music. "The monkey thought it all was fun, pop..."

She jumped slightly, even though she was expecting the little clown to explode from the top. But that wasn't what made her start pounding in her chest.

Taped to the plastic clown's forehead was a Polaroid of her, fork part-way to her mouth, sitting at the island counter in the kitchen.

Buffy dropped the jack-in-the-box when the doorbell rang again. She turned to the door, heart hammering so loudly, it was all she could hear. She reached for the handle and cracked open the door.

No one was there.

She dropped her gaze to the porch and saw a plain, white envelope. With a shaky hand, she picked it up and opened it.

I am watching you right now.

Buffy slammed the front door and turned the lock. Dropping the letter, she ran to the kitchen and locked that door, as well. Standing on her toes, she peeked out the window set in the door. She heard the faint ringing of the phone upstairs. Moving slowly, she picked up the receiver and put it to her ear.

"Hello?" she said in a shaky voice.

No reply.

"Hello?" she repeated, her voice fainter.

No reply.

Buffy hung up the phone and stared at it. When she heard it start to ring again upstairs, she closed her eyes, clenched her fists and counted to ten. Then she picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

No reply.

Her hand visibly shook as she hung up the receiver again. It began to ring again upstairs almost immediately.

"Hello?"

No reply.

"Who's there?" she demanded, panic in her voice.

No reply.

"This isn't funny!" Buffy yelled into the phone. The response was quiet at first, but it grew louder.

Laughter.

Buffy slammed down the phone, turned and fled to the basement. "Spike!"

When she got downstairs, she remembered that the vampire had gone out. She whirled around and looked up the stairs when she heard the doorbell. She waited, not moving, her nails cutting into the palms of her hands. The doorbell rang again and she launched herself onto Spike's bed, bunching up the covers near the bottom before crawling under them like she used to as a child. She curled into a ball and made a small hole so she could see the stairs. Her breathing was abnormally loud in the confines of the blankets.

She heard the kitchen door slam shut and she tensed. "Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god...," she repeated over and over under her breath. Heavy footsteps crossed the kitchen floor, then descended the stairs to the basement. She froze, not even breathing, as she stared out the small hole in the blankets.

Spike nearly jumped out of his skin when Buffy erupted from the pile of blankets at the end of his bed. But he was surprised even more when she threw herself at him, holding onto him as if her life depended on it. "Slayer, what's wrong?"

"Thephonekeepsringingandnoone'stherethenthedoorbellrangandtherewasapictureofmeinthejack-in-the-boxandIgotanotherletter..."

"Slow down, pet," Spike said, taking her shoulders and pushing her slightly away from him. He looked down into her face, noting her pale skin and her fright-filled eyes. "Now, what happened?"

Buffy took a shaky breath and started again. "The phone keeps ringing and no one is there. Then the doorbell rang and...it's better if you just see it." She took his hand and led him upstairs to the front door, then pointed at the floor. "Those were outside the door when the doorbell rang."

Spike studied the jack-in-the-box and the letter. "This isn't a very funny joke."

"No shit," Buffy said sarcastically. She slumped against the front door and rubbed her forehead. "I don't like this, Spike."

"Well, I'm home now," he told her.

"And that's suppose to reassure me?" she asked.

Spike chuckled. If her humor had returned, she was fine. "What do you want to do about this, luv?" He gestured to the jack-in-the-box and the letter.

"I'd say I should call the police, but this is Sunnydale," Buffy replied. She gave him a wry smile. "They couldn't find their mouths unless a donut was in their hand."

"True," he agreed.

"Just leave it," she said with a sigh. "I'll figure something out in the morning."

Spike nodded and held out his hand. "Come on, luv. Why don't we go see what's on the telly."

Buffy gave a final glance at the things Spike put on the hall table, then took his hand. "You're on."

Shopping cured all ails, especially when shopping with someone else's money. Buffy tucked her hair behind her ear and looked at the jewelry in the display case. Her mother had left her some "crazy money" for an early Christmas gift and the Slayer was putting it to good use. Hanging from her hand were three bags of proof.

By the light of day, the picture, jack-in-the-box, and letter didn't seem threatening, only annoying. She chastised herself for acting like a slasher movie wuss and deposited all three items in the closest garbage can. If her prankster returned that night, she'd show him what happened to someone who pissed off the Slayer.

Earlier that afternoon, she'd seen Willow and her boyfriend, Oz, off on their winter break trip up to Seattle with the band. The Dingos Ate My Baby had gotten a gig in the Rainy City, courtesy of the drummer's cousin, and would be gone through New Year's. Her other close friend and fellow slaying helper, Xander Harris, had gone down to Los Angeles to "bother and generally annoy his ex-girlfriend." Those had been his exact words.

Knowing that she'd be friendless over break was a bit of a downer. Her other friends she'd made at school lived scattered throughout the state, which would make it too difficult to get together with them. She'd probably end up spending her time with Giles, anyway, because the bad guys didn't take Christmas off like the rest of the world.

A lapel pin caught her eye and she got the salesgirl's attention. She had six hours left until the mall closed and a purse full of money to burn. She may be alone, but she was going to have a very happy holiday.

"Oh look, surprise, surprise," Buffy said, picking up a familiar envelope with her name on it from the stack of mail. "Another letter."

The two had returned a short while ago from a rather boring patrol and a quick stop by Giles' house to check in. Buffy had told the former Watcher about the prankster's tricks the night before and he warned her not to hurt whomever it was too much. She had smiled evilly in response.

Spike took a sip of his dinner and watched as she opened it. She had gone from frightened girl to annoyed Slayer in the span of a day. As fun as seeing Buffy scared was, he much preferred the annoyed one standing in the kitchen with him. He'd seen her defeat a demon three times her height with a broken arm while he was otherwise incapacitated, all because it had ripped her new suede jacket. Of course, she was fighting for her life, too, but it was the ripped jacket that had turned the tides of the fight. He couldn't wait to see what she did to the prankster.

Buffy took out the letter and unfolded it. "Let's see what I've won," she commented sarcastically.

I will have you

"Not in this lifetime," she scoffed, passing the letter to Spike. She picked up her dinner plate and took it to the sink.

"I take it this doesn't frighten you?"

She snorted. "The only one going to be scared is the jerk doing this when I get done with him."

Spike grinned and dropped the letter on the counter beside her. "Now that's the Slayer I know and hate."

Buffy flicked soap bubbles at him. He arched his brow, then quickly leaned over, dipped his hand under the running faucet and splashed her back. The ensuing water fight ended up soaking both them, half the kitchen, and most of the house as they chased each other through it.

Grinning like an idiot, Buffy closed her bedroom door and began to strip out of her wet clothing. Sometimes Spike could be a lot of fun, when he wasn't being his usual, cocky self. Sitting and watching television with him the night before and the sheer normalcy of eating dinner together, although his was of the liquid variety, she was reminded of why her mother was able to put up with him on a night to night basis.

The phone rang as she slipped a tank top over her head and she snatched up her portable. "Hello?"

"Hi, Princess," Hank Summers said over the line. "How's my favorite daughter?"

"Dad, hi," Buffy said enthusiastically. "I'm your only daughter."

"Well, you're still my favorite," Hank said. "How are you?"

"I'm good," she replied, walking over to her desk. She pulled out the scissors and the scotch tape and put both on the bed. "Home from school for a month, which is always a plus."

"Should I ask how your first semester in college went?"

"Better to avoid that subject," she said with a chuckle. She pulled out a roll of wrapping paper from one of her shopping bags from her mall excursion. "Actually, I think I did pretty good. Willow... you remember Willow right?"

"The redhead who likes to babble," Hank said.

"That's Wills," Buffy said. "She's been a big factor in my not failing out within a month."

"Well, I'll have to remember to send her a thank you," he said.

She smiled and put the phone between her shoulder and ear in order to begin wrapping her gifts. "So, how about you? Been anywhere interesting since Thanksgiving?"

"Let's see. I was in Southampton, England for a week, then I flew over to Copenhagen, Denmark for a whole hour long meeting," Hank replied. "Then I flew back to London for another week of fun in the drizzle. Let me give you some advice, Princess. If you ever visit England, use some of that Camp Dry waterproofing stuff on your body. It's a wonder the whole country isn't under fifty feet of water."

An image of Spike and Giles dressed in hip-waders and yellow rain hats sloshing through the streets of London appeared in her head and she laughed out loud. "Dad, that's silly."

"You know me," he said. "So, have you gotten anything in the mail yet?"

Buffy paused mid-snip of the wrapping paper. Her father couldn't know, could he? "Like what?"

"Like a Christmas package from your dear old Dad," Hank replied.

"Oh," she said in relief. "No, nothing yet. Unless Spike made off with it. I'll have to beat-er, ask him."

"Spike? Is he still living there?" Hank asked.

"Yes, Dad, he's still living here," Buffy replied. She grabbed a black marker and wrote her mother's name in big letters on the package she'd finished wrapping.

"I don't know what your mother was thinking..."

"Dad," she interrupted, having been over this same conversation ever since Spike moved in. "I think it's good that he lives here. Mom isn't alone, it's extra security for when she's gone on business, and she's stopped mothering me to death and moved onto him." She also trusted him with her life, although she'd never admit it out loud.

"I just can't help it, Princess," Hank said. "I don't want your mother getting herself into something she can't get out of, like doing things with him that I shouldn't talk to my daughter about."

"Eew! Ick! Dad!" Buffy exclaimed. "This is Mom you're talking about. She's old enough to be his..." She trailed off when she realized what she was about to say. Her mother was old enough to be his great-granddaughter, four times over. Not that he wasn't all that and a bag of chips to look at or acted like he was a super-old fuddy-duddy. And it wasn't as if she could talk, her last boyfriend had been forty years older than Spike. But Spike and her mother? Together? Now she was going to have bad thoughts for the rest of the night.

"To be his mother, I know," Hank finished. He sighed. "Oh well, it's not like I can say anything. Jackie is ten years younger than I am."

"Jackie?" she asked. She started on another Christmas gift. "Ooh, is this a new girlfriend?"

"Not girlfriend, but someone I'm dating," he replied. "She works on the third floor. She's one of those computer people who knows the difference between a RAM and a goat."

Her father sounded like Giles, she thought with a smile. "Sounds great, Dad."

"Well, honey, I'd better let you go," Hank said. "I'm sure you have better things to do than to talk to me."

"Never," Buffy told him. Absent father or not, she still loved him as much as she always had.

"You're a sweetheart, Princess," Hank said. "Watch for the package."

"I will," she replied. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Hank said. "Goodnight."

"'Night," Buffy said. She hit the disconnect button on the portable phone and set it down, thinking how great it was that her father had called. She didn't get to talk to him often, so each time she did was a special treat.

Returning to her wrapping, she started to sing The Twelve Days of Christmas, adding new numbers and activities, such as "sixteen Giles' researching" and "thirteen vampires getting dusted." By the time she finished with the gifts, all her friends had been included in the song, as well as some of the creatures she'd fought and defeated.

"'Tis the season to be jolly and joyous, fa la la,'" she sang under her breath as she headed downstairs, her wrapped gifts in her arms to put under the tree. She could hear muffled music coming from the basement, if she were to call what Spike listened to "music." "Whatever the next words that Tiny Tim sing in the song, fa la la. Dum, da, dum, dum, dum, da-"

Buffy froze mid-note, her mouth hanging half-open, as she stood in the entryway to the living room. A small squeak emitted from her as she inhaled in horror, her chest tight with fear. She slowly bent and set down her gifts on the floor, her wide eyes never leaving the sight before her.

The ball ornaments, bead strands and tinsel were all gone from the Christmas tree. In their place were what looked to be hundreds of blond Barbie dolls, all unclothed and hanging by strands of brown twine around their necks. They covered every inch of the tree, overlapping one another, the white lights beneath them causing their plastic bodies to glow pink. She shook slightly when she realized each one bore her name written in black across the stomach.

The doorbell rang and she jumped and gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. She turned to the front door and stared at it, forgetting about her earlier resolve to not act like a wimpy female from a slasher movie. Her mind was too focused on the fact that someone had been in her house. In her house long enough to entirely strip her tree and redecorate it.

She took a shaky breath and walked to the front door. When she saw no one on the other side, she clenched one hand into a fist and used the other unlock the door and turn the knob. A white envelope fell slightly inside when she opened the door a bit. Eyes scanning the darkness, she bent down and grabbed the envelope, then shut the door and locked it. She opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.

I WILL have you

The letter fell to the floor as Buffy ran from the front hall to the kitchen. She slid into the door on her sock-clad feet and found that it was unlocked. The back porch light illuminated a small area of her yard and she could see the ornaments that were originally on the tree scattered on the ground. She quickly locked it, turned, and bolted for the basement.

Music assaulted her as she tore down the stairs and ran head-long into a vampire hanging upside down from a metal pipe in the ceiling. She smacked her nose hard on his bare chest, then stumbled backwards and hit the wooden railing with her back.

"Ow!" she exclaimed, holding her nose between the fingers on her hands. Her fright was forgotten with the pain. She stared at the upside down Spike, who was holding his nose much the same way.

"Ow is bloody right!" Spike growled. "You got a set of steel tits."

The pain receded and she dropped her hands. "What in the world are you doing? Practicing your Batman imitation?"

Spike reached up, grabbed the pipe and flipped down. He turned around and glared at her, then stalked over to his night-stand and turned down the volume of the music. "Not that it's any of your friggin' business, but I was doing sit-ups."

"Oh," Buffy said. She looked up at the pipe. "Huh. I'll have to try that."

He made a sound of annoyance and grabbed the towel on the edge of the bed. "Slayer, did you try to break my nose for a reason or were you just bored?"

Everything came back to her at once, causing her to inhale sharply. "He was here."

"Who?" Spike looked at her quizzically

"The...the guy!" Buffy said, gesturing emphatically.

"I thought you were going to beat the snot out of him," he said. He wiped his sweaty face off with the towel. "Leaving gag gifts on the front porch-"

"He was in the house!"

Spike lowered the towel and stared at her. "No bloody way. I would have heard something."

"With the Sex Pistols playing live and uncut in the basement with you?"

He saw Buffy take a deep breath, then sit down on the steps, practically deflating before his eyes. "Cor, Slayer, what did the prick leave this time?"

"Go see for yourself," Buffy told him, folding her arms over her knees and laying her head on them. "I think I'm going to sit here for a few minutes."

She was spooked, Spike realized. Her barreling into the basement without knocking had been from fear, not from any desire to annoy him or desire for him. He headed upstairs and padded barefoot towards the front door. He didn't see any packages, only another letter. Picking it up, he scanned what it said, then turned to head back to the kitchen.

That's when he saw the tree.

"Holy..."

Buffy was still sitting on one side of the steps when Spike returned. He shut the basement door behind him before descending the stairs and stopping in front of her. "Come here, luv," he said, holding out his hand.

She raised her head and looked at him in confusion. "Who's doing this, Spike?" she asked, taking his hand.

Spike pulled her to her feet and led her over to the far side of the bed. "I don't know, Slayer."

With little prompting, Buffy laid down on her stomach and cradled the pillow with her arms under her head. She focused on the tank, watching as the colorful fish swam lazily back and forth. Spike straddled her waist and began kneed the muscles in her shoulders.

"Mmm, that's nice," she said. "When did you get to be so sweet?"

"I have my moments," Spike replied. A smirk crossed his face. "It helps that you shoved your tits in my face."

"Swell," Buffy said sarcastically. She fell silent and continued to watch the fish, her eyes growing heavier with each pass they made. Spike's firm massaged turned gentle and she felt herself relaxing completely, all traces of fear gone

She fell asleep to the Sex Pistols rocking quietly in the background.

Buffy woke the following morning to find a sweatpants-clad, sleeping vampire on his side next to her and a hand on her butt. "Figures you'd cop a feel even in your sleep, you old lecher," she said quietly, amusement heavy in her voice. "Luckily, you're pretty damn sexy, so I won't have to hurt you."

She moved his arm, then impulsively ran her fingers over the ridges on his abdomen, grinning when the muscles quivered under her touch. "Make that too damn sexy," she sighed, climbing out of the bed and heading for the stairs.

She dared to peek into the living room and was surprised to find the Christmas tree bare, save for the lights. Two boxes sat on the coffee table and were filled with the ornaments that had been thrown about the back lawn the previous night. Her gifts were stacked neatly on the floor beside the tree.

"You definitely have your moments, Spike," she said in awe. She now knew how he'd wiggled his way into her mother's heart.

Repeating "vampire, vampire, vampire" to herself, she went up the stairs to get cleaned up. Then she was going to redecorate the tree and come up with a plan to capture the creep stalking her.

"I hate waiting," Buffy grumbled, flopping down across her bed with a magazine. She'd sent Spike out to patrol alone and told him to see a movie or something. Her stalker must be aware of their comings and goings, and this would ensure he'd know she was alone in the house. A prime target.

The tree was once again redecorated to her liking, star still on the top, and all her gifts were set out under it. Her afternoon had been spent in the traditional Christmas fashion of baking cookies -- and eating cookie dough until she became sick to her stomach - and through it all, she'd formulated and discarded plan after plan until she had the perfect one.

The back door had been left unlocked and rigged with the simple "bucket over the door" prank. The bucket was filled with chocolate syrup, which would not only leave dark footprints but was easy to clean up, too. A little bell had been attached to the bucket, enabling her to hear when it opened. The front door was locked, as were all the windows save the one in her bedroom, which was not only unlocked, but open as well.

The plan was to allow the stalker to enter the house and, while he was being covered by chocolate, Buffy would exit through her window and block his retreat. Simple, effective and she couldn't wait for the guy to show. She was looking forward to pounding him in a Spike-like fashion.

Four hours later, she was still waiting. She read her magazine, watched some television and even started to redecorate her bedroom. Spike would more than likely be returning at any time and her easy target status would decrease.

Buffy sighed and took another butterfly off the wall. She added it to the shoe box filled with the others she'd already removed. If something didn't happen soon, she was going to scream.

The power went out.

"Great," Buffy grumbled, setting the shoe box on her bed. She walked over to her window and looked out, wondering how much of the block lost their power.

Her neighbor's lights were on.

Suspicion and wariness flared and she quickly left her bedroom for her mother's room. Pushing aside the curtains slightly on the side window, she looked out.

Her other neighbor's lights were on.

As were everyone's across the street.

A slow, predatory smile crossed her face. "So, you think cutting the power to my house is going to frighten me, huh?" she said quietly.

Letting the curtains fall back into place, Buffy went out into the hallway and took a seat on the top step, putting her in the center-most position within her house. She closed her eyes and focused solely on listening. Her body was poised and ready, the adrenaline she felt before a big fight gathering within her.

She heard a rasping at the front door and opened her eyes. Rising, she descended the stairs silently and positioned herself in the entryway to the dining room. The doorknob turned and the door began to open. Excitement bubbled up in her.

This was it, the perp was toast, she thought. All she had to do was wait until he entered the house and...

Spike walked through the door. She'd recognize that shock of white-blond hair anywhere.

She attacked anyway.

"Aah!" Spike yelped out, falling to the floor when a five-foot-three blond launched herself at him. He had been startled, but recovered quickly enough to block a punch aimed to his face. "Bloody hell, Slayer, what the fuck has gotten into you?"

"The jerk didn't show," Buffy spat, drawing back to hit him again. "Four fucking hours I've been waiting and now the power is out, but still no one."

Spike twisted and threw her off. He jumped to his feet and glared down at her. "So that means I'm to be your personal punching bag? Sod that."

He stalked toward the kitchen and Buffy stayed on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. She balled her fists. "Argh!" she growled in frustration, hitting the floor on either side of her.

The doorbell rang and she tensed, then smiled. She rose and opened the front door without hesitation, expecting to see another envelope or a package.

She wasn't expecting to see Giles.

"Giles!" Buffy said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"We have a-a-a problem," Giles told her. "I tried to telephone, but the line was busy."

"Busy? I haven't had a single...," she trailed off and rolled her eyes. "He must have cut the phone lines, too."

"Pardon?" Giles asked.

"Never mind," Buffy said, waving him inside. The lights went on suddenly and she slumped her shoulders in defeat. "Looks like he's given up for tonight. So, what's the big crisis this time?"

Buffy grabbed the phone on the third ring the following evening, quickly swallowing the cookie bite she'd taken. "'Lo?"

"Hi, honey," Joyce greeted.

"Hi, Mom," Buffy replied. "What's up? Is there a change in time flight time?"

"Actually, yes," Joyce said over the line. "My flight is now coming in at never o'clock."

"What?" she asked in confusion.

"We're snowed in, Buffy," Joyce said. "All flights have been canceled until further notice. It doesn't look like I'll be home tomorrow or for Christmas."

Disappointment coursed through Buffy. "Oh no."

"I know, sweetie," Joyce said. "I'm unhappy, too."

"Couldn't you take a train or something?"

"Everything is shut down, Buffy," Joyce told her. "I can't even get out of the hotel."

"This sucks," Buffy said unhappily. "Big time."

"I agree," Joyce said. "But that doesn't mean you can't still have a good Christmas."

"Are you being sarcastic, Mom?" Buffy said.

"No," Joyce replied. "Go ahead and make the dinner. Most of the food is pre-made in the refrigerator. All you have to do is put the roast in the oven two hours before you want to eat. Then you and Spike can sit down..."

Buffy snorted. "Mom, Spike is not going to want to eat Christmas dinner with me."

"He will and he is," Joyce stated. "I had already told him before I left that he was expected to join us at the table. And you could always invite Rupert over. I'm sure he would appreciate it."

"Maybe," Buffy sighed. "I'd rather have you home."

"Me, too," Joyce said. "Now, my gifts for the two of you are on the top shelf in my closet. Feel free to open them like we normally do on Christmas Eve. And take pictures. I don't think Spike realizes he gets presents, too."

"I think the concept of Christmas is lost on vampires, Mom," Buffy said wryly. "Unless they think 'goodwill towards men' means they only feed on women for the night."

"Very amusing," Joyce commented.

"Isn't it, though?" Buffy teased.

"Alright, on that note, I'm going to tell you I love you and to put Spike on the phone," Joyce said.

"I love you, too, Mom," Buffy said. "Call me tomorrow?"

"Of course," Joyce replied.

Buffy said her disappointed goodbye and set the phone down. Opening the basement door, she yelled, "Spike, Mom wants to talk to you!"

"I'm not deaf, you know," Spike grumbled to her, coming up the stairs.

Buffy headed down the hallway and started to giggle when she heard Spike whine, "But I don't want to get dressed up..."

"Bed, bed, bed, bed, bed," Buffy chanted, stumbling up the stairs. She and Spike had spent the last few hours fighting a possessed Santa and a dozen of his elves outside the Sunnydale Mall. Because they were human, she and Spike couldn't kill them, which made the fight doubly hard, considering the possession gave them extra strength and stamina. Plus, they refused to stay unconscious.

Giles had finally found the spell to de-possess them and sent the confused mall employees home. Of course, several vampires had appeared and decided that Santa and his elves would make a good, hearty meal. By the time the last vampire was dust, she was tired enough to sleep standing up right in the parking lot of the mall.

After a quick stop in the bathroom, she tiredly changed into her pyjamas and climbed into bed. She stared at the white ceiling a moment, then happily gave into the pull of sleep. She immediately started to dream. It was one of those dreams where she knew she was dreaming, but wanted to stay in it to see what would happen.

She was standing on her front porch at night. The houses around her had all their Christmas lights on. Santa and his possessed elves ran by her first, being chased by Giles, who was dressed in a yellow rain slicker and holding a can of Camp Dry, yelling, "You can't come to London unless you waterproof yourselves!"

Her mother walked up to her next, wearing a snowsuit and carrying a roast. "Remember, two hours," she told her. "And don't forget to take pictures."

As Joyce walked away, Spike appeared at the bottom of the steps and smirked. "A great Christmas gift from you to me would be if you shoved your tits in my face again," he said, then looked up at the night sky. "Looks like rain."

Buffy leaned over her porch railing and looked up at the sky. She felt a large drop hit her face and she brought her hand up to wipe the water away. When she returned her eyes to where Spike was standing, he was gone. Another drop hit her face and she wiped at it. She retreated under the porch and looked around, wondering what was next. She felt yet another drop hit her face and she frowned. She looked up and saw someone sitting on an exposed beam.

Startled, Buffy woke up. She opened her eyes and saw that it was three in the morning. With a small groan, she rolled her head on her pillow and looked up at the ceiling.

Her heart stopped.

Hello Buffy

The words were scrawled across her ceiling in glow-in-the-dark paint. She sat up quickly and felt something slide down her chest and hit her lap. Reaching over, she snapped on her lamp.

She screamed.

The entire bed was covered in photographs.

Every single one of them was of her.

When Spike heard the scream, the world dropped from under him. Scrambling from his bed, he tore up the basement stairs, terrified for the first time in what seemed like forever. The high-pitched, horrified sound echoed around him and he couldn't run fast enough. He grabbed the end of the banister in the front hallway and used it to catapult himself up the second flight of stairs, stumbling part way up.

He threw open Buffy's bedroom door and saw her sitting up in bed surrounded by hundreds of photographs. Her huge eyes were framed by an ashen face streaked with yellow and she was gasping for breath, a hand pressed to her chest.

He was at her side in an instant, pulling her onto his lap and cradling her against his chest. "Slayer, I'm here. I'm here," he said, rocking her slightly. His eyes caught sight of what the pictures were of and he turned paler than normal. "Oh fuck."

Putting his arm under her knees, Spike stood and quickly carried her out of the bedroom. His mind was whirling. He knew for a fact that he double-checked the locks on all the doors and windows before heading to the basement, save for Buffy's room. He had been awake and reading since then and he hadn't heard a single sound other than the normal noises of the house.

Not wanting to let go of her for an instant, he had to preform some tricky maneuvering to close the basement door behind him before he descended the stairs. He scanned the basement with all his senses, making sure he and Buffy were the only ones there. The furnace went on suddenly and he knew, if he were still human, he would have had to change his shorts.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god...," Buffy began repeating rapidly. Spike could hear her heart slamming in her chest as he rounded the bed and sat down near the fish tank with her in his lap. He hoped the colorful creatures would catch her attention and help calm her down with their lazy swimming. He hoped it would do the same for him.

"Shh, Buffy, you're safe," Spike said, running his hand over the back of her hair. "You're safe. There's no one here but me. Shh. I've got you. I'm here. Shh..."

Buffy was awake and trembling in his arms until after daybreak. Even after she'd fallen asleep, Spike loathed to leave her alone. However, he didn't want her to have to return to her bedroom in the condition it was in.

Covering her with the comforter, he made his way upstairs. He knew how to get around in the house during the day without worry of getting char-broiled. He grabbed a garbage bag from under the kitchen sink, then went upstairs to remove the photographs.

He slowly got sicker and angrier with each picture he put in the bag. Every shot captured Buffy in various clothing, places and moods, testifying that the stalker had been watching her for some time. A few of them were of her changing in the bedroom, obviously taken with a telephoto lens due to the blurry image of her blinds at the top and bottom of the photo.

He gritted his teeth and shoved the pictures into the bag. When the last one was gone, he noticed a yellowish stain on her pillow. Examining it closer, he realized it was paint. The same paint that streaked her face.

He turned his eyes to the ceiling and swore fluently. Whomever was doing this was going to pay. But first, he had to take care of Buffy.

Buffy didn't leave Spike's bed until after noon and then it was only after vast prompting by the vampire. He had ordered her to start getting everything ready for Christmas dinner, despite her not being in the holiday mood. She doubted that anything could make this a Merry Christmas for her.

She could count the number of times on one hand since becoming the Slayer she'd been as terrified as she was earlier that morning. The first time she'd slayed a vampire. The first time she'd found out Angel was a vampire. When Sid the dummy had been in her room. When the Master sunk his fangs in her neck. The events surrounding her eighteenth birthday.

Yes, she'd been scared other times, but not the type of fear that reached to the very core of her strength and tested it. She'd been terrified, unable to do anything other than scream and then try to breathe. If Spike hadn't been in the house, she probably would have been hiding in her closet for the rest of winter break.

Spike. Her peroxide-blond hero. She was exceedingly grateful to him for cleaning up her bedroom. She doubted she would have held it together if she'd had to see the photographs again. He had also painted over the words on her ceiling and gone as far as changing the sheets on her bed. Sometimes the things he did shocked her and she would have trouble remembering he was a soulless vampire.

"I look like a soddin' toff," Spike grumbled, pulling at his collar. He picked up the knife and two- pronged fork and began to cut the roast. "The things I do for your mum..."

Buffy looked him over from head-to-toe with a grin on her face. He was wearing a cranberry-colored dress shirt, paisley tie in cranberry, black and gold, and a pair of black, dress chinos. His only protest to dressing up were the Doc Martins the black pants were tucked into on his feet. The clothes were just one of the Christmas presents from her mother Buffy had been told to give to Spike when she'd called at four.

They were in the kitchen, transferring dinner from cooking dishes to her mothers China. The sounds of a choir singing Christmas carols floated from the stereo in the living room. The dining room table was set with a red tablecloth, two lit taper candles, and two place-settings. Buffy had asked Giles to join them, but a friend of his had come up from Los Angeles for the holiday.

The Christmas tree was lit up in the living room, adding to the ambiance of the evening. The number of gifts under the tree had grown once Buffy had added her mother's from her closet. There were also several clumsily wrapped ones that Spike shoved with the others, growling at her when she had arched her brow mockingly.

Buffy picked up two dishes of food and headed for the dining room. She set them down carefully so as not to get anything on her deep red, long-sleeved dress. She smoothed her hands over the soft, form-fitting, ankle-length material and returned to the kitchen. Spike was still grumbling over his clothes, the roast and the holiday in general, causing a smile to cross her lips.

"Alright, Mr. Scrooge, I think you've cut enough," Buffy said. He scowled at her, but set the fork and knife next to the sink. She picked up the plate and headed for the dining room, adding over her shoulder, "Bring the drinks."

"I think Scrooge had the right idea," Spike said, coming into the dining room with two wine glasses in his hands. He set one down at each of their places. "Christmas is a useless holiday designed to get people to spend their hard-earned pounds on frivolous things."

"Since when have you worked to earn money?" Buffy asked mockingly, sitting down in the chair he'd pulled out for her. "Do you have another night job at the local Suds-n-Duds?"

"You are just so bleedin' cute," Spike said, taking his own seat. He looked at the food spread on the table with trepidation. "Now what?"

"Now we say thanks to a higher power neither one of us really believes in any more and dig in," Buffy replied. She picked up her glass and raised it, waiting for Spike to do the same. When he did, she gave a toast. "To my Mom, who's stuck in New York. If it wasn't for her, we'd be doing something much more fun and not with each other."

Spike rolled his eyes, but clinked glasses with her anyway. They each took a sip, then began passing the food back and forth, filling their plates. Conversation revolved around the holiday movies on television and memories if Christmas' past, including those that Spike could remember from when he was still human.

By the time the meal was over, Buffy was pleasantly stuffed and relaxed, the events of the morning disappearing in the enjoyment of the evening. Leaving the dishes at the table to clean up later, they moved to the living room with Egg Nog and cookies for dessert. They decided to wait until her mother came home to open the gifts from her and instead only exchanged personal gifts to one another.

"What's this?" Spike asked, looking at a flat envelope from Buffy.

"Snow tires," Buffy replied sarcastically. She fingered the black onyx teardrop pendant Spike had given her and was now around her neck. She had also gotten a vampire teddy bear, complete with fangs and black cape. Next to him on the chair was a stake she'd carved as a gag gift with his name on it. She'd told him it was either for him to use or for her to use on him.

"Actually, I'd be interested in seeing that trick," Spike said, opening the candy cane-striped envelope. He pulled out a card showing Rudolph holding a shotgun surrounded by the bloody carcasses of other deer. The caption read: "Look who's laughing and calling names now."

Spike chuckled and opened the card. The inside read "Happy Holidays" and was signed: "Love, that Slayer you hate." Two tickets were included and, when he turned them over to see what they were for, he gasped. "Holy fuck, these are Sex Pistols tickets!"

"I take it you like," Buffy said. He nodded enthusiastically and she laughed. "I thought you would. When I saw the article in Entertainment Weekly that they were coming to the U.S., I thought I'd get them to use as a bribe for a future favor."

"Name it," Spike told her immediately. He held the tickets as if they were gold.

"Nah," she replied. "Seeing you act like a total goob is enough for me."

"Cor, pet, this is...thank you," he said.

Buffy smiled. "You're welcome, Spike."

The doorbell rang.

Her smile slowly faded. She stared at the entry to the living room, not moving from her seat on the couch. Her heart started to speed up in her chest and she felt the licks of nervousness inside of her. All her relaxation and good humor disappeared with the single chime of the doorbell.

Spike rose and went to answer the door. When she heard the door open, she almost bolted from the couch. She was not yet prepared to deal with whatever the stalker had planned next.

"Slayer, it's for you," Spike said, returning into view in the entryway to the living room. He gave her a half-smile. "Merry Christmas, luv."

Angel stepped into view.

"Angel," Buffy breathed. She stood on shaky legs and stared at him. When he opened his arms, she was across the room and in his embrace in a second. "I'm so glad your here."

"Well, I'll leave you two alone before I lose my supper," Spike said. He turned and walked into the dining room.

Angel released Buffy and dropped his gaze to her. "How are you doing?"

"Including or not including this week?" Buffy asked. She led him into the living room and they both sat down on the couch. She gave him a thoughtful look. "Not that I'm not happy you're here, but why are you here? There's not something evil happening that I need to change clothes for, is there?"

"Spike called me this morning," Angel answered.

"He called you?" Buffy said, surprised. Angel nodded. "Will you excuse me for a minute?"

She stood and headed into the kitchen, where she could hear Spike doing the dishes. "You called Angel this morning?"

"I like to call him a bloody nonce," Spike replied, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and his hands in the soapy water. "'This morning' just doesn't have the same ring to it."

She leaned against the counter beside the sink and frowned at him. "Why?"

Spike looked at her and said quietly, "Why do you think, luv?"

Buffy had to blink back her tears. She straightened and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," she told him softly.

"Go on, then." He gestured with his head. "I'll do the cleanin' up."

She reached over and yanked on his tie. With a smile in response to his scowl, she returned to the living room. "So, what did Spike tell you about my stalker?" she asked Angel, sitting back down on the couch.

"Everything that he knew," Angel replied. "Letters, phone calls, the clapping, the tree, the pictures..."

Buffy shivered and rubbed her arms. "I didn't like that."

"I don't like it, either," Angel said. A hard gleam entered his eyes. "We're going to put a stop to him."

"That's fine by me," Buffy said. "That's very fine by me."

Buffy left the two vampires in the kitchen discussing the stalker at eleven. As she had listened, she was unpleasantly reminded of why Angel was one of the most cruel vampires in recent history. In a span of an hour, he'd come up with all sorts of other things the stalker hadn't done to her in trying to figure out his next step. She was extremely happy she'd only gotten a taste of the soulless version of her ex-boyfriend.

Spike hadn't helped matters, either. He kept interjecting disgustingly graphic ways they could kill the stalker. She had sat there as long as she could until deciding she'd better leave before she became afraid of them.

In her bedroom, she carefully removed her new necklace and set it on her dresser before slipping out of her dress. She put on her robe, grabbed some comfy clothes and headed to the bathroom.

Once there, she unpinned her hair, cracked open the frosted window, then got into the shower. The hot water felt wonderful. She stuck her head under the spray for several minutes and let the water wash away her worries.

Reaching for the shampoo sitting on the window ledge, she poured a good amount of the sweet smelling stuff onto her hand. She absently noted that she was almost out as she went to put it back on the ledge.

A hand came through the window opening and clamped a handcuff around her wrist.

Angel and Spike froze mid-argument when a scream split the air. Chairs flew backwards and the two almost knocked each other down in their rush from the kitchen. Spike hit the stairs first and sprinted up them with Angel at his heels. He didn't pause when he saw the closed bathroom door.

Buffy was crouched up on the sink, her back against the mirror, a bloody hand and wrist clutched to her chest. She screamed again when the door flew open, but threw herself at Spike when she recognized him.

"He's here, he's here, he's here," she squealed in fright, grabbing the front of his shirt.

Spike practically shoved her at Angel, then ran back down the stairs and out the front door. Buffy buried her face against the familiar chest, the strong arms around her body giving her a feeling of protection. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to calm her ragged breathing.

Angel's gaze found the end of a broken handcuff hanging from the window ledge. Fear and anger slammed into him at the same time. Hearing about the stalker and seeing something he did first hand were two entirely different things. If Buffy hadn't been the Slayer or had been home alone... He didn't let himself complete the thought.

Reaching behind the open door, he pulled her robe off the hook and wrapped it around her wet shoulders. He could feel her trembling against him. She was truly afraid, he thought. He was infinitely glad that Spike had called him.

"Um, ow," Buffy sniffed. She stepped back from him slightly and looked at her wrist. Her mind and body was slowly comprehended the fact that she was hurt.

"Here, slide your other arm in," Angel said, holding up one side of her robe. She did as he said, then pulled it closed around her. "Where's the first aid kit?"

"There's one in my room," Buffy told him, her voice shaky.

Angel put his arm around her shoulder and led her towards her room. He pushed open the partially closed door and froze.

Buffy screamed again.

Hanging from a hook in her ceiling was a naked, blond, blow-up doll with her name scrawled across its stomach in red.

"Nothing," Spike said in defeat. He shut the kitchen door behind him. "I searched around the area, but the pillock must be part soddin' greyhound."

Buffy and Angel were sitting at the island counter, with the Slayer dressed in the clothing from the bathroom. She had a white bandage around her wrist and a haunted look in her eyes. "He was in my room again," she told Spike.

"What?" Spike shot a disbelieving look at Angel.

"He left a present," Angel said from between clenched teeth.

"Now how the bloody hell did he do that?" Spike said. "We were down here the whole fucking time."

"Through my window," Buffy said, her voice small and slightly scared. "He must have come through my window, put the...put it up, then climbed around to the bathroom to..."

Angel put his hand on her arm and squeezed gently. "It's ok, Buffy."

"It's not ok!" Buffy exclaimed, standing abruptly. "He handcuffed me! If I was here alone, he could have done stuff to me!"

"Luv, you're the Slayer, you would have been ab-"

"Spike, I was terrified!" Buffy yelled. "I couldn't even open the damn bathroom door!"

Angel stood and pulled Buffy into his arms. "Let's get away from 'what ifs,'" he said. "He's gone now and you're alright, that's what's important."

"But I'm not alright," Buffy said, starting to cry. She pressed her face to his chest. "I'm so scared. I hate it."

Angel exchanged an angry look with Spike. At that moment, he would feel no remorse if he were to tear the stalker's head off. After torturing him for days, that was.

"Why don't you two go downstairs," Spike suggested, silently communicating with Angel that he would take care of everything. Angel nodded and led Buffy to the basement.

After the door had closed behind them, Spike slammed his fists down on the island countertop. He was furious that something else happened while they were sitting right there in the kitchen. He hated that Buffy had been frightened. He hated the frightened Buffy, period. He wanted his sarcastic, tough, could kick his ass into next week Slayer back.

Angel opened his eyes when he heard Spike come down the stairs. He was half-sitting, half-laying on the blond vampire's bed, Buffy curled against him, asleep. Whatever awkwardness that should have been between him and Buffy had been displaced. He had sworn to himself when he had left Sunnydale that if she should ever need him, he would be there for her. And here he was.

"She ok?" Spike asked quietly, walking across the basement. He pulled off his tie and tossed it onto the dresser.

"For now," Angel replied, equally as quiet. "But until we get this bastard..."

"She's going to be a scared little twit," he finished. His shirt got thrown into the laundry basket. "Makes me want to kill her."

"Harm one hair on her head and I will rip your heart out through your nose with a coat hanger," Angel growled.

Spike rolled his eyes. "Right."

"You're not going to get undressed down here," Angel said, glaring at Spike when the younger vampire started to remove his pants.

"It's my room," Spike replied. "And it's not like you haven't seen it before, you git." He smirked. "The Slayer's seen it all, too."

If Spike was a lesser vampire, he would have turned tail and ran at the look Angel gave him. However, since he wasn't, all he did was chuckle and throw on a pair of sweats. He grabbed a book off of the top of one of the book towers, then settled onto the opposite side of the bed.

He paused after opening the cover and looked over at Angel. "Tomorrow, we kill the bloke."

Angel gave Spike a single nod, then closed his eyes again. Tomorrow couldn't get there soon enough.

"Still nothing," Buffy muttered to herself. The lights from the tree behind her were reflecting on the front window and she pressed her forehead against the glass to see outside better. Her arms were wrapped around herself in an effort to feel protected.

She mostly felt afraid.

Merry Christmas, Buffy, she thought sarcastically. Her eyes shifted from shadow to shadow nervously. Spike and Angel were outside somewhere, watching and waiting. Her demon guardian angels.

Waking up between them had been a new experience. If there hadn't been someone stalking her, she might have taken advantage of the situation. It wasn't everyday a girl was pressed between two very sexy men. But, alas, she hadn't been in the mood, so after a quick fright-filled trip to the bathroom, she had returned and snuggled back between them as if they were vampire security blankets.

They didn't seem to mind too much.

Now they were outside and she was inside, alone, hoping to draw the stalker. All the windows and doors in the house were locked. That way, if he did come, he'd have to take the time to pick the lock. Then Spike and Angel would catch him and, more than likely, kill him. She wasn't feeling too upset about that notion.

She lifted her head from the window and leaned against the back of the couch. The foot wide gap between the wall and the couch was just wide enough for her to stand behind. From outside, she probably looked like a young woman, waiting for her Christmas Day company to arrive. She wished that was really the case.

Buffy felt the hairs rising on the back of her neck and she tensed. Not moving, she stared outside the window, searching for the cause of the feeling. She inhaled shakily when she saw someone walking straight towards the window. Straight towards her.

Him.

She knew it was the stalker. She could feel it in her bones and by the fear bubbling up inside of her. He was taller than her. He had dark, scraggily hair. He had a thick, bushy beard and mustache.

Buffy froze as reality hit her. The stalker couldn't be heading straight towards her across the lawn and be taller than her. He would have to had come up the steps to the porch. Even if he ducked down, she would have seen him crossing from the stairs to the window.

Which meant that he was reflected in the window.

Buffy whirled around and pressed her back against the window, just as the stalker reached out to grab her. Their eyes met and she opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. She was frozen in terror as the man slowly smiled at her.

Her mind was screaming over and over: "He's in the house! He's in the house!" The part of her that was still an eighteen year old girl was petrified.

Then the part of her that was the Slayer got pissed.

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!!" the Slayer screamed, then launched herself over the back of the couch at the man. They both hit the coffee table hard before sliding off of it onto the floor. She got to her knees beside him and threw several punches at his face. When he brought his arms up to block her, she grabbed one and broke it with little effort.

He let out a choked scream and she smiled evilly. Rising to her feet, she grabbed his shirt and threw him out the front window. Glass shattered and rained down onto the porch and the grass beyond it. Before the stalker even hit the ground, she was out the window after him.

Spike ran around the corner of the house when he heard the loud crash and stopped abruptly when he saw the scene before him. That's my girl, he thought, a broad grin crossing his face. Buffy was wailing on the downed man with a fury he knew and loved.

He saw Angel come around the opposite side of the house, pause, then run over to Buffy and pull her off of the man. The grin was replaced by a scowl for his sire and he jogged over to them.

"Let me go, Angel," Buffy was saying, struggling against the dark-haired vampire.

"Buffy, no," Angel said, holding her tight. "You don't want to kill a human."

"Yes, I do," Buffy growled.

Angel turned her around and met her angry eyes. "No, you don't," he said firmly.

"I'll do it," Spike happily volunteered.

"No, you won't, either," Angel said, raising his gaze to meet Spike's. "Take Buffy inside."

"But-," Buffy started.

"Bugger th-," Spike began at the same time.

"Now," Angel stated, his eyes flashing gold as he stared down his childe.

"Fine," Spike sighed heavily. He stepped over the unconscious man and put his arm around Buffy's shoulders. "Come on, Slayer. Let's do what the kill-joy says."

Angel waited until the two went inside before looking down at the stalker.

The stars shuddered at his smile.

"You have to, Slayer, it's tradition," Spike said.

"Forget it," Buffy stated.

"Afraid you'd love it?" he taunted.

She snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Prove me wrong, then," Spike said. He shook the piece of mistletoe he was holding. "I dare you."

"Not gonna happen, Spike," Buffy told him before heading to the basement with a laundry basket.

"Wuss!" Spike yelled after her.

"Pervert!" she yelled back.

Spike grinned and dropped the plant on the counter in the kitchen. Angel had left a few hours before, which he was exceedingly happy about, and Buffy was trying to bring herself back to normal. He had called the window people as soon as the sun set, but no one seemed to want to work the day after Christmas.

Picking up the local newspaper that he'd retrieved after making sure his sire was really gone, Spike scanned the headlines. His eyes widened briefly at what he saw.

Serial Killer Found Brutally Murdered In Alleyway

Bruce Sarno was found at two o'clock a.m., December 26, in an alleyway outside of the Sunnydale Police Department. The serial killer, number one on the FBI's Most Wanted list, had escaped from California's Maximum Security Facility during an appellate hearing.

Sarno was sitting on death row for his crimes that spanned twenty years and took forty women's lives when he escaped. His modus operandi was horrifyingly clever - he'd break into his intended victim's home and conduct his plan of terror, and eventual rape and murder, right from the victim's own attic.

The body was found by two local police officers returning from their tour of duty. Despite swelling and numerous contusions, Sarno's face was easily identifiable.

Laying beside the body on the ground.

"It was the sickest thing I've seen since I saw that movie 'Silence of the Lambs,'" Officer Charles Davies, one of the two who found the body, commented. "His face had just been cut right off of his head. The rest of him wasn't too pretty to look at, either."

At the time of printing, the medical examiner stated that Sarno died from massive blood loss. Time of death was approximated to be shortly before midnight on Christmas Day.

"This may sound cruel, but Sarno's death should be considered a Christmas gift to the women of California," the medical examiner stated.

"Why you old dog," Spike said in amazement. "I'd of never thought you had it in you."

He needed to tell Buffy about the story, minus several pertinent details she didn't need to know her soulful ex had done, in order to reassure her the stalker was gone. After turning to page two, he hurried down the steps, still reading. "Hey, Slayer. I found out how the stalker was getting in here without us hear-"

Spike looked up just in time to hit his nose between Buffy's breasts. He staggered back a step, more surprised than hurt, a cupped a hand over his face. He stared for a moment at the upside down Slayer hanging from the pipe in the ceiling. He dropped his hand and grinned.

"Bloody hell, pet, your tits should be registered as lethal weapons."

The End

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