Title: "A Happy Christmas to All"

Author: Athena-Parthenos

Feedback: gjohnson@willamette.edu

Rating: PG

Category: Buffy/Spike UST; fluff

Spoilers: "Entropy," "Him," S7 in general (written before "Conversations with Dead People")

Summary: Spike tags along as Buffy goes Christmas shopping.

Disclaimer: Spike, Buffy, and the Scoobs are not mine and never will be. They belong to Joss Whedon and ME.

Author's Note: Yes, I realize Christmas is past. Oops.

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"I can't believe I'm taking you Christmas shopping," Buffy huffed, shaking her head as they entered the mall. "Silent Night" played soothingly in the background; icicle lights lined the storefronts, and cotton masquerading as fake snow was strewn everywhere.

Spike walked along beside her, giving her a mild look. "Well, it's no fun to go it alone, is it? And you can't exactly bring along the Bit or any of the Scoobies, as you're shopping for them." He paused. "Of course, you'll not be getting anything for me, so I'm safe company."

"True," she conceded. "But you're still rather useless. Don't know *what* I was thinking."

"Well, I can always carry things for you," Spike suggested, looking a little hurt. "This was your idea, after all."

"I'm perfectly capable of carrying everything myself, thank you. What's the point of having super-strength if you don't use it once in a while?" Buffy asked loftily. A little boy holding his mother's hand looked at her oddly, and Buffy quickly changed the subject, saying, "But since I'm so kind I'll let you do it for me."

"What an honor," Spike drawled. "I'm all a-quiver."

Buffy grabbed him by the arm, pulling him towards a clothing store. "Ooooh, I bet Dawn would *love* that shirt."

"Not gonna make me try it on, are you?" he groused.

She stopped, glared at him. "Are you going to whine the whole time?"

"Just following your lead, luv," he said, smirking. He reached out and touched a lacy-looking sweater with a deep V-cut. "Think the Bit'd like this?" He held it up to his chest and snorted. "Doesn't look so good on me, though."

"I don't know, Spike," Buffy teased. "Pink goes so well with your hair. And it totally brings out your eyes."

Spike shoved the thing haphazardly back onto the rack. "Bloody hell, I think we're both insane," he said, glancing at her. "You know, I'll think I'll go back home to my cupboard under the stairs, thank you."

"Huh?" She stopped mid-smirk.

"You know, like in that sodding kid's book -- Harry Potter. He had to live in a cupboard, and I live in a closet. Striking similarities, don't you think?"

Buffy stifled a giggle. "You've read Harry Potter? The big, scary vampire Spike reads a children's book?"

Defensively he turned away. "What can I say, it gets boring sitting in one's closet all day! Xander had a copy -- I was looking around for something to do -- blame it on him, stupid git."

She stopped laughing and regarded him seriously. "Well, it's good to know that the vampires of the world are literate." She snickered.

A saleswoman a few racks away raised an eyebrow.

Miffed, Spike gave a dismissive wave of his hand and stalked out of the store. "I'm going now, I really am. And *you're* not getting your present, Missy. Happy Christmas."

She ran after him, grabbed him by the arm. "Wait -- a present? For me?"

He suddenly looked shy. "Oh, hell."

"What?"

"I got you something," he stammered. "I'm turning into a bloody poofter, but . . . I got you something." He stuck his hands into the pockets of the denim jacket he was wearing. He still refused to wear the duster. "I was gonna give it to you tonight, see, after you'd finished with the shopping --"

She crossed her arms, looked up at him expectantly. "Why tonight?"

"Well, I don't expect you'll be having me over for a sit by the fire on Christmas Day, with you lot opening up your presents and drinking eggnog and singing sodding Christmas carols 'til the sun comes up. No, I expect I'll be in my little cupboard sippin' pig's blood under the goddamned mistletoe in the dark. Am I right?" he asked sharply.

She looked down at the ground. "Um."

"You see, then," he said uncomfortably. "So -- so -- so here." He pulled out a thin, flat rectangular package and handed it to her. It was wrapped in shining green paper and tied shut with string. She took it, staring.

Quickly he tried to explain. "When I came back, you know, weeks ago, I was -- confused. Went to the nerds' place. Thought you might be there -- I had the times all mixed up. You weren't there, of course. But I found this, and I thought -- I thought that you might like it. I've been saving it." His voice trailed off.

She pulled off the wrapping paper to reveal a plain gold picture frame. Inside it was a faded picture that looked as it had been wrinkled and smoothed out many times. It had been taken in the Magic Box -- she and Dawn were sitting on the counter, their arms around each other as they laughed. Willow, Tara, Anya, and Xander were gathered around them, also laughing. Giles, on the edge of the picture, was looking fondly at them all, a smile on his face. She stared at it. "How?" she asked, amazed.

"I found it in their little hideout," he said quietly. "You know how they'd been filming you -- well, seems they liked snapshots too. And this one . . . I thought you'd want it." He studied her face, apprehensive. "Is it all right?"

Tears shone in her eyes. "Spike, it's -- beautiful."

The corners of his mouth turned up a little. "I just thought it might -- make you happy, you know. You don't smile much, anymore."

She gazed at him. "Spike. . . ." She frowned suddenly. "I didn't get *you* anything." She paused, thinking. Before he could move, she flung her arms around him, stretched upward, and kissed him firmly on the lips. Shocked, he let her.

She pulled away, smiled shyly at him. "Thank you." He looked surprised and very pleased. Her smile became a grin. "Um, you know, all that stuff about you being useless? Forget it. I was -- kidding."

"That so?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but his voice was weak.

"Yeah. It is." She reached out hesitantly and took his hand in hers. "C'mon, Spike." He stared at her, then squeezed her hand. "We've got a mall to conquer."

"So does this mean . . . ah, does this mean -- I don't have to sit in my closet on Christmas?" He looked at her hopefully.

She laughed, the sound bright and clear. "Maybe not."

~FIN

Yuletide fluff! I love it! And Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.