A Ghost of Christmas Past

By enigmaticblue

Spike ground out his cigarette beneath the heel of his beat-up black Doc. Amazing that his boots and duster had survived both the cave and the re-corporealization, a fact for which he was grateful. While he wore both boots and coat for reasons of style and class, they were also extremely practical, and had weathered many a storm with him. And they were up to three days and nights of demon hunting, while the clothing Angel normally wore would have been beat all to hell about now. Spike was more than a little proud of that fact.

More than a little proud that he’d shown he could beat Angel all to hell.

He’d been a bit shell-shocked after that whole cup-thing, with going back to solid state and being told he was somehow responsible, in a peripheral way, for having the world go bonkers, all pretty much in a manner of minutes. And then, defeating Angel. Spike had gone out and gotten himself good and drunk, then had spent the next week trying to figure out what he was going to do next, while enjoying Harmony’s talent with blood.

(He hadn’t had a chance to enjoy Harmony’s other talents. When a person starts streaming blood from their eyes, screaming about your love for another woman, right in the middle of a good shag—well, that was enough to put you off for a while. More than enough to make you consider moving on to greener pastures.)

So having partaken in most of the delights of being corporeal, Spike had found himself at loose ends, especially since they were no closer to figuring out who the Real Champion was. And it hurt that everyone was voting for Angel, because in Spike’s personal opinion, there was very little the great poof had that he did not, and mostly what he did have consisted of a decent place to live and some very nice, very fast cars. None of which Angel had come by honestly, as far as Spike could see.

The only thing he could think of to take his mind off present worries, and a bleak future at Wolfram & Hart, was a nice bout of hunting. And without a word to anyone, he’d purloined a rather nice ax and a fat wallet from some evil client. Spike figured he was doing the world a favor; killing demons and stealing from the evil rich. And it all made him feel marginally better.

He’d found the sewers easily enough, and he’d started hunting, the way he’d not hunted since the summer Buffy was—Well, he hadn’t hunted like that for a long time. Three days and three nights spent pursuing nasty, baby-killing demons, large demons that feasted on full-grown adults, and the occasional ankle-biter that was more nuisance than danger, but wound up pissing him off. And when it was all said and done, he was filthy and a great deal happier. He bought himself a pack of smokes with the stolen money, and wandered back to W&H, with the hope of a nice hot shower down in the lab, and curling up where no one would bother him for a day or two.

“Spike.” He looked up to see Angel bearing down on him, an annoyed expression on his face. “Where have you been?”

“None o’ your business, Peaches,” the younger vampire replied easily, secure in the knowledge of his own superiority.

“If you think you’re going to be sleeping in that empty office, you can just forget about it,” Angel ground out, surprising Spike. He hadn’t thought Angel knew anything about that, or cared for that matter, as long as he wasn’t bothering anybody.

Spike frowned, angry. “No one’s usin’ it,” he objected. “So why can’t I?”

Angel didn’t bother replying, instead grabbing Spike by the shoulder and directing him towards the elevators. “Come on.” Spike resisted, pulling free of his grip, and Angel sighed, finishing off the command with a half-hearted, “Please.”

Spike followed, but only because he was curious, and not because he cared to do anything Angel asked of him. If Angel seriously thought he was going to stick around and just let himself be picked on constantly—as in the old days—he had another thing coming. Instead, Spike found himself on a floor he didn’t remember visiting before, and frowned as Angel pushed him towards one door in particular.

“Here.”

In spite of himself, Spike held out a hand and watched as Angel dropped a key card of some kind into it. “What’s this?” he asked, with a commendable lack of animosity.

“Merry Christmas, Spike,” Angel mumbled, and left.

What Spike found behind door number one was an apartment. Not as large or fancy as Angel’s of course, and decorated in the modern contemporary style he’d never much cared for, but it had more than one room and actual furniture. After a moment it dawned on him that it was his, and he smiled.

While he might hate to have to be grateful to Angel for anything, it had been a long time since he’d had his own space. Before the soul, certainly, and it felt good. He let out a sigh of what might have been relief, tossed the key card on the small table by the entrance, threw his duster on the couch, and proceeded to explore his new place, noting both the large shower and the queen-size bed, luxuries he had done without for a very long time. And of which he was going to enjoy taking part.

When Spike woke, it was to the sound of insistent knocking. He sighed and sat up in bed, glancing over at his discarded clothing and making a sound of disgust. His boots and coat would survive, of course, but the pants and shirt were pretty much a lost cause. Well, the jeans were possibly salvagable, if he could manage to find a place to do laundry.

But the knocking continued, and he rolled out of bed, picking up the towel he’d tossed on the floor and wrapping it around him. He didn’t have much of a choice at this point. And then he opened the door to find Fred staring at him. “Spike.”

“Can I help you?” he asked, slightly amused at the girl’s rising blush.

She stared at him. “No. I mean, yes. I mean—Did I get you out of the shower?”

He smirked. “No, got me out of bed. Clothes are a bit the worse for wear today, luv.”

“Oh, right.” She laughed a little then, and rolled her eyes. “Silly me. Angel said you’d gone demon hunting or something and came in all dirty. So I thought I’d bring your Christmas present early.”

Spike frowned. “Christmas present?” Mentally, he tried to count up the days in his head, and realized that it was actually the 22^{nd of December. And he was still standing in his doorway with a towel on, while Fred looked at him hopefully. “Come in, pet. Sorry.” He stepped aside and let her enter, realizing for the first time that she was holding a rather large gift bag.}

“Oh, that’s all right. You should have seen me the first time Angel came to visit my room, when we were still all staying at the hotel. I didn’t know I had to invite him in and I just left him standing there.” She gave a slight giggle. “How do you like your new place?”

“’s nice,” he admitted. “You have somethin’ to do with it?”

Fred shrugged slightly and plopped herself down on the couch, amazingly at ease with him, in spite of his undressed state. She really was a bit of a strange bird. “Well, I talked to Angel about it, but it was really his idea. I didn’t think it was fair that everybody else had a place to stay and all you got was an empty office. Anyway,” she said, brightening, “that’s what this is for. Here, open it.”

Spike took the bag she held out, almost warily. It had been a long time since anyone had gotten him a Christmas present. A very long time indeed. And when he opened it, he was stunned. “It’s just, I figured since you’d just come back, and didn’t have any stuff or anything, you might need some extra clothes. Especially if you’re like the rest of the guys, because they’re really hard on clothing. You should see all the shirts they’ve had to throw away. And then I heard you’d gotten back, and I figured you could use it early. Besides, when I came back from Pylea, I didn’t have anything at all, and everybody was really nice to me, so I thought I could return the favor?”

The last bit was said so hopefully that Spike forced himself to meet her eyes. The mask that he’d kept so firmly in place (with everyone but her) slipped, and he gave her a genuine smile. “It’s about the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me, Fred.” And it was. There was a pair of black jeans and a pair of black chinos, along with few t-shirts and a couple button down shirts too, all in the dark colors he typically favored. He had no idea how she’d known what size, but they were about right, and he was really and truly touched.

Fred smiled at him. “I’m glad you like them, but if anything’s not okay, I’ve got the receipts.” Her smile faltered just a little bit, and she said quietly. “Cordelia took me out shopping. After I came out of my room, that is. Before that she just picked stuff up for me.”

Spike wasn’t sure how to reply to that, and so simply excused himself and went to put on the new, clean, clothing. When he came out, Fred was back to her cheerful self, and she told him she was glad they fit and that she hoped he could make it to the Wolfram & Hart Christmas party, and then she took herself out.

As for Spike, he checked out the fridge, grateful to find it well-stocked with blood already, and fixed himself a meal, all the while wondering at the irony of it. Who would have thought an evil law firm dedicated to spreading chaos and horror would host a party celebrating a holiday meant to promote peace and love?

Buffy unlocked the door to her father’s apartment wearily. She had no idea why he would have chosen to keep a place in L.A. After all, it wasn’t like he was ever here, or was ever coming back here, for that matter. That much was obvious at the moment.

She was supposed to be spending Christmas with him. He’d finally gotten in contact with her. After Sunnydale disappeared into a “sinkhole” he’d been worried enough to track her down, and had suggested they spend the holidays together in California. But he’d reneged at the last moment; work was keeping him in Rio de Janeiro. Right.

So, it was supposed to have been just her and Dawn, except that her younger sister got an invitation to spend Christmas in the English countryside with a school friend, and Buffy hadn’t the heart to tell her she couldn’t have some normalcy. Giles was buried in his work, and they weren’t as close as they used to be anyway. Willow was off somewhere with the coven for a mid-winter retreat of some kind. Even Xander had seemed to be able to establish himself in Cleveland with Faith and Robin, working on containing the Hellmouth. And Buffy was on her own.

Well, not really. There had been a reason she’d wanted to visit her father in L.A. that had nothing to do with Hank Summers. He was alive, and she wanted to see him. To make sure it was really real.

Finding out had been an accident, of course. She was quite sure that Angel had meant never to tell her, knowing him. But Fred had emailed Willow to let her know abou their new deal at Wolfram & Hart, and her missive had been filled with all sorts of other details. The bit about Spike had been buried in with a number of other things, but the fact that he’d been a ghost and had recently been recorporealized was fairly clear. More than that, Fred hadn’t said.

She’d found out a few weeks ago, but it had taken her a while to come to a decision about what to do with the information. A part of her wanted to just let it go, forget she’d ever heard. It was the part that worried that since he hadn’t believed her in the cavern, he wouldn’t want to see her now. The part of her that worried that he had changed completely, because death had a tendency to do that to a person.

But that part of her was in the minority. The much larger rest of her had had time to, as she’d told Angel, bake. She’d taken six months to figure out who she was in the larger scheme of things, and she’d come to realize something. It wasn’t all about Buffy. Sure, she’d been the Chosen One, who’d stopped the world from ending any number of times, but now there were a number of Chosen Ones, and there were a lot of places in the world where she was just another face in the crowd. And she’d realized something else as well: Spike was one of the few people on the face of the planet who could make her feel special.

For Spike, she wasn’t special because she was the Slayer, or because she was someone’s ideal of a California girl, or any reason at all, really. She was special because she was Buffy, and he loved her. She hadn’t gotten it completely then, when he’d given her that speech, the first night he’d held her. But she got it now. And she realized what an amazing thing it was to have someone who loved you that much.

He’d been right, as usual, down in the cave. He’d said she didn’t love him, and she hadn’t. Spike had been in her heart, and she had cared for him, but she hadn’t loved him. But she had been right too, when she’d said, “Maybe someday,” because she’d known that if given half a chance she could have loved him. When he’d sacrificed himself, they had lost that chance.

Now, she wondered if they hadn’t gotten it back.

~~~~~

“Angel, don’t be stupid about this,” Buffy said, exasperated. Angel was being his usual stubborn self, insisting that seeing Spike would not be a good idea. To be honest, she didn’t really care at this point.

He sighed, really more of a growl, and said, “Look, Buffy, Spike is trying to adjust to being solid again, and I’m not sure that seeing you would do him any good.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows. She might be blonde, but she hadn’t been born yesterday. “Let’s pretend, just for a minute that you do care about Spike’s well-being. And then let me take the opportunity to tell you I don’t care. I need to see him, Angel. There were things we said, things we didn’t get a chance to say. I think I should at least have a chance at closure.”

The look he gave her told her he was giving up. (As if he’d ever had a chance at winning this argument.) “As long as you know that there’s some issues with Spike being solid again. There’s a prophecy, and…” he trailed off.

The Slayer rolled her eyes. “Right. Another prophecy. I’m sure it’s fascinating, but all I really need is directions to Spike, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Which was really what Angel was worried about. There had been something in her eyes after they’d kissed, after he’d given her the amulet, when he’d asked about Spike. She’d professed not to love him, but he wasn’t so sure that was the case. The kiss itself had been more good-bye than hello. That was what had prompted him to ask, really. And yet, hadn’t they both moved on? Wasn’t that what he’d told Cordelia after he’d come back from his summer away? Just because Buffy had been brought back from the dead, didn’t make the fact that he’d moved forward go away.

It didn’t thrill him that the person she might be moving on to was Spike.

Buffy gave him one of her patented, “I’m waiting” looks, and he sighed. He could only hope that this would be their own version of moving on, and after seeing him, she would realize that there were greener pastures. Much greener pastures. “As far as I know, he’s still in the building,” Angel admitted reluctantly, and told her where to find her vampire.

Spike was beginning to come dangerously close to depressed. Fred’s gift had touched him, but it had also served to highlight the fact that there wasn’t one other person on the face of the planet (who knew he was alive) who cared. At any other point in time, Spike would have sneered at the knowledge, opened a bottle of Jack, and moved on. That wasn’t working for him this time, not least because it was the middle of the day and he didn’t have any alcohol in his place. And he didn’t feel like stealing any from Angel, tempting as that might be.

He had turned on the TV for a distraction. (One thing he had to say for the place, it came equipped with a rather nice entertainment center.) But all he found were holiday specials. Old movies, new movies, day time talk shows, all centered around the magic and beauty of the season. All celebrating family and friends.

The only family he had left was Angel, and he wasn’t about to go claiming that association, thank you very much.

When you were a vampire, holidays didn’t have much meaning, really. They were only another way for humans to mark the passage of time, and why would you need to do that if you were going to live forever? Once he’d gotten the chip, and had been forced to associate with people as more than food, he’d noticed the days. Not that he’d done much about it, but he’d noticed.

The first Christmas after he’d gotten the chip he had been in Xander’s basement, if he remembered correctly. Or maybe he was in the crypt by then. Right around there anyway. That had been a depressing year. He’d been just about ready to kill himself, even though looking back, if he’d really wanted himself dusted, he would have found a better way to do it.

The second Christmas he’d been in love with Buffy, and he’d been helping her out a bit here and there. He had watched them that Christmas, Buffy and her friends and Joyce, though he hadn’t let himself be seen. He’d peeked in the windows and watched their celebration with scorn and a touch of wistfulness, because it might have been nice to have been invited. Not that he would have gone, but it might have been nice.

Last year though, last year had been something else. He’d spent the day—well, weeks, actually—in that bloody cave waiting for the First to get tired of it all and finally finish him off. But it had all been worth it, if only for that one moment when Buffy had come for him, and she had looked at him like she was happy to have found him. One of the best moments of his life that, ranked right behind her telling him she believed in him and her telling him she loved him, even if she hadn’t meant it.

Which might have been why he was so depressed. For the last three years, since dates had made any difference to him at all, she’d been at the center of all of them. Because he’d hated her and wanted her dead. Because he’d loved her. She was still the center of his world. And that was going to have to change, he decided. He needed to move on, because he had a long unlife ahead of him, and it didn’t look like she was going to be a part of it any time soon. Besides, it was just another date on the calendar. Didn’t mean anything.

The knock on the door startled him. He didn’t know of anyone who might visit, except for Fred, and he certainly wasn’t expecting to see her again this soon. Hesitantly, he walked over and opened up the door.

And saw Buffy.

Dumbfounded didn’t even begin to describe it, and he stared at her like she might be a ghost, conjured up by his own memories. “Hey,” she said, dispelling the idea.

“Hey.” It was stupid, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say at the moment.

She stood on the threshold, looking at him expectantly. “Can I come in?”

He moved aside for her, turning to face her once the door was shut. “Does Angel know you’re here?” he asked. Again, it was stupid, but it was all he could think of. Was she really here? To see him, or to see Angel? Was he just a pit stop?

Buffy herself looked a little surprised that he didn’t say anything else, but she nodded. “Yeah, he’s the one who told me where to find you.” There was only a brief pause, and then suddenly she had her arms wrapped around him. “I lost you.”

Spike stood frozen for about half a second before he returned the favor, hardly believing what was going on. “Never.”

She pulled back from him. “You weren’t supposed to die, stupid vampire.” At his raised eyebrow, she frowned. “I mean it. You weren’t supposed to be the one to die.”

Spike shrugged casually, pleased that she was as upset as she was, in a way. “Someone had to do clean up, pet.” He put a hand to her hair. “Why’d you come, Buffy?”

The Slayer pulled away from him then, as he’d half-expected. “Oh, you know, I was in the neighborhood, and—” Her back to him now, he watched as her shoulders stiffened. “I told myself I was going to be honest with you,” she said softly. “I didn’t want to lie anymore.”

“Then don’t lie, luv.” When she didn’t say anything, Spike said more forcefully, “I can handle the truth, Buffy. Just tell me why you came.”

Buffy turned and looked him straight in the eye, no easy task. “I came because I was supposed to be visiting my dad, and he bailed on me again. And I came because I knew you were alive, and I had to make sure it was real.” She bit her lip. “I came because you didn’t believe me at the end, and you were right.”

If the blow was unexpected, he gave no sign. “Satisfied then, Slayer? I’m solid enough.”

“I came because you were right then, but so was I when I said maybe when all this is over, and I thought we might actually get a chance to do things right this time.” And then she smiled at him, and it almost blinded him with its brightness. “Oh, and I wanted to say, Merry Christmas.”

Spike was still stuck on the “maybe when” bit of her explanation. “Mind telling me what that’s supposed to mean, luv? Maybe when, what?”

Buffy stared at him. “You know.”

“Spell it out for me, Slayer, because you lost me somewhere in there.” He was terrified that he hadn’t heard her right. Terrified that he had.

“That night,” Buffy faltered ever so slightly. “The night after I asked you to hold me, and you told me why you loved me. And I said, ‘maybe when,’ and you told me to let it go, and I did. I never got to finish it. I was going to say that ‘maybe when all this is over it could be different.’ You know, I thought it might actually work.”

“What happened to the ‘you, vampire, me, Slayer,’ Buffy?” he asked, swallowing, and letting himself take just one step closer to her.

She smiled at him, a hesitant smile. “I couldn’t figure out why you loved me before that, I just knew that you did. And then you died, before I was ready for you not to be there, and I had months to figure out that I’m me. I’m just Buffy. And you’re the guy that loves me best.”

“Bloody right,” he agreed. “And what about you? What do you feel?”

Buffy stared at him, and then said very quietly, “I feel like there isn’t anyone else I’d rather spend Christmas with. I feel like I want to try this scene again.” She reached down and took his hand, touching his palm with hers, entwining their fingers. “I love you.”

Spike looked at her, and just like it had in the cave, time stood still. And, at last, it felt like a bloody good Christmas. “Yeah, you do. Love you too.”

~~~~~

A lifetime later, Spike let out a sardonic chuckle. “Angel’s goin’ to love this,” he murmured.

Buffy rolled over from her place against his chest, and propped herself up to get a better look at his face. This time (well, times) had been wonderful. Like their souls had touched almost. “Love what?”

He grinned at her. “Peaches’ Christmas present to me was this apartment, luv. Before this, I was in an empty office. And the first thing I do…” he trailed off and ran cool fingers down her cheek. “Best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at him good-naturedly. “As long as you don’t go rubbing it in,” she warned. “Though,” she said, thoughtfully, “I have to say it’s good timing on his part.”

“Better timing on yours, luv,” he replied. “You willin’ to stick around for a while? There’s this prophecy—”

“He mentioned that,” she replied. “I don’t mind, if you don’t.”

Spike stared at her, and she was looking at him with nothing but love in her eyes. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. “Mind?” And then his hand went questing, exploring his newest Christmas present. “Don’t mind a bit.”

Buffy smiled, and let her hands send their own message. “Good. Merry Christmas, Spike.”

It was a very merry Christmas, indeed.