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BLONDE CHRISTMAS
by perletwo
"Cor, don't these people ever dim the lights in this place?" Spike growled. Fluorescent light gleamed off the white-tile surfaces all over the Sunnydale Mall, just about blinding the vampire. "My eyes haven't 'urt this much since I had the Gem of Amarra!"
Buffy grinned over her shoulder at him. "Just keep saying to yourself: This. Is. For. Dawn."
"I'm carrying forty pounds of stuff for Dawn? 'As she got room for all of it?" the vampire grumbled.
"Poor baby. 'Course, if you can't *handle* a measly forty pounds...." Spike's upper lip lifted and he emitted a feral growl. "Yeah. Right. Like I'm scared. Look, Spike, this is Dawn's first Christmas without Mom. She always made a huge deal out of Christmas for us. I just want her to have everybody she's close to around her and all the trimmings for Christmas this year, you know?"
Spike stopped and put the bags down. "So she won't notice what she's missing, y'mean? I think she'll know Joyce isn't there, Slayer."
"Yeah." Buffy looked down at her shoes. "But I want her to not be missing anything else this Christmas."
He put his hands on her shoulders, turned her to face him. "You sure it's Dawn you're tryin' to distract here, luv?" She grimaced, a rare admission of pain, and he leaned in to rest his lips against her forehead.
"Spike. We're in public."
He jerked back as if burned. "Right! Sorry, Slayer, got carried away there, seein' you act like a common-garden human bein' an' all. Forgot my place. I'm just your guilty li'l secret, after all," He picked the bags up again with a rattling clamor. "And of course, your valet."
"Spike -"
"We almost done here?"
Buffy sighed. Ever since her decision to let down the wall she'd put up between herself and the vampire, it seemed she was always managing to prick his hyperactive sense of pride when she least meant to. She'd gotten so good at it when they were mortal enemies; now that they were lovers, though, she couldn't seem to figure out how to stop.
"I've got two more shops to hit: the jewelry store for something for Tara, and the bookstore. Then I figured we'd grab a bite of food and head on back. You good?" He nodded, and they started off.
"Ohh, now *this* is really cute," Buffy sneered, browsing a display table at the bookstore. Spike ambled over from a shelf a few feet away, a large paperback in his hands.
" 'Car Repair for Blondes?' 'Income Tax for Blondes?' 'Home Maintenance for Blondes?' What's your problem, Slayer?"
"This! This-this is the most - most insulting, demeaning, discriminatory thing I've seen since- since-"
"-since your last conversation wi' me? Dunno, luv, if I'd'a had a copy of this thirty years ago -" he held up a copy of 'Hair Cutting and Color for Blondes,' "- I'd'a prob'ly saved myself some itchy peroxide burns." His lips twitched at the sight of her disgusted scowl. "Hey, you try bleaching your hair with no reflection to work with. See how well you do!"
Her arms crossed. "You've been wearing your hair like that for *thirty years?*"
"Got me you, didn't it? Unless you wanna chalk it up to my wit an' charm." He grinned. "Or my virility, o'course..." She sniffed and flounced off, leaving him standing at the table. Glancing through the 'Blondes' titles, he snagged one with a chuckle, masked it with the paperback and made his way to the checkout counter.
In the food court, Spike sipped overpriced coffee and glowered while Buffy grazed her way through a salad. She didn't look up at him and didn't even attempt conversation.
'As long as neither of us are eating a real meal, it's not like we're out on a real date in public,' she told herself sternly. 'This is just, like, us refueling after a long hard shop. Yeah. Right!'
For his part, Spike knew he was brooding, just like his loathsome, embarrassing sire used to over Buffy. But it made his blood boil, her insistence on keeping their relationship private. He could see the appreciative glances she got from every single passerby in the crowded mall, and while it made him proud to be with her, it roused the territorial nature of the demon in him. Made him want to mark her as his so everyone could see.
But he knew talking about that was the fastest way to infuriate his fiercely independent Slayer. So he kept his mouth shut. Sipped coffee when the urge to say something hit. And brooded.
"Guys! Oh thank God, a couple of friendly faces!" Xander flopped into a chair between the two uninvited. "Okay, one friendly face, anyway. So! We all set for Operation Christmas Eve?"
Buffy ticked off her plans on her fingers. "Traditional dinner fixings, check. Tree, check. Eggnog, check. Gifts, check." Spike lifted up a couple of bags at that. "I'd say everything's under control, wouldn't you?"
"Well...almost everything." Xander started to speak again, thought better of it, glanced back and forth between the two, cleared his throat and started again. "Buff? Could I, ah, talk to Spike alone for a sec'?"
Spike met her eyes in surprise, and she gave an 'I'm clueless' shrug. At his nod, she replied, "Sure, I'll just find a trash can for the rest of this. Want me to take that or you gonna hang on to it?" Spike passed her the coffee cup and she made her way off through the crowds.
"So what can I do for you?" Spike asked coldly. "Mate."
"Okay. Okay. I know, we're not exactly best buds. But man, I am stumped, and I figure you're about the only person I know that might actually have an idea how to help. Just, please don't laugh, okay?" Spike nodded, and Xander took a deep breath. "It's Anya. My first Christmas with her, and I don't have a clue what to get her."
"And you came to me with this, why exactly?"
"Well, what's stumping me is...she looks like, physically she is, a 20-year-old girl. Woman. Whatever. If she was a 20-year-old I'd know how to get her something. But she's actually a *thousand*-something years old, Spike! She used to have these huge powers! She used to have people worship her! What do you get someone that used to have all that?! I mean, I don't know anything about how she lived or what she was when she was mortal before, and I don't think I'm up to starting a cult for her..."
"Right. Okay. I see your problem." Spike sighed. "Here's the thing. After I got past a certain point in my unlife, I kinda let go of who I was when I was mortal, right? The world I was born in, everything I knew back then, I'd outlived. So I got with the spirit of the times, when I found one that suited me." He looked questioningly at Xander, who nodded.
" 'Less I miss my guess, Anya's doing the same thing now. She's let go of whoever she was a thousand years ago, she's let go of her life as a demon, she's tryin' to live in the now. So maybe you should get her somethin' that lets her know you love who she is right now."
Xander let out a deep breath he'd been holding. "Okay. Okay. That's - that's actually something I can work with, there." He looked up to see Buffy picking her way through the crowds back to their table. "And I'd better get back to it. Thanks, man."
"Yeah, whatever. You ready to go yet, Slayer?"
"Just about. Bye, Xander," she called as he left with a wave. "So what was that all about?"
"Christmas. Romances. Feelin' like any mistake he makes'll be the end o'the bloody world." Spike shrugged. "Can't think why he'd expect *me* to know anything 'bout all that..."
Willow cringed slightly under the happy greetings of assorted Scoobies as Buffy let them in on Christmas Eve. "Spike, I officially invite you in."
He brushed past her stiffly. "Big of you, Slayer." Finishing off trimming the tree, Willow and Dawn cast inquiring looks at each other - what was this about?
Buffy sighed. "What do you want from me?" He was spared answering by the arrival of Tara behind him, and both greeted her warmly as Willow looked away.
"Hey! Tara! Miss Kitty Fantastico is pregnant, did Willow tell you?" Dawn called as she rushed over to the door.
Tara sighed. "Only eighteen months and she's already a loose woman..."
"Hey, it's the feline way of life!" Spike said, an acquisitive gleam in his eye. Buffy stood hard on his foot and whispered, "Don't even *think* about it," in his ear.
"Well, you know, this *is* what happens to cats who come from broken homes," Dawn said slyly. "Maybe if she saw you around more often..."
"You know what, guys?" Willow hopped up, a bright expression pasted on her face. "As much fun as the Peanuts Christmas Special sounds like, I'm feelin' a wee bit Jewish tonight. I think I'm gonna go take in a movie." She waved down the group's protests and headed quickly out the door, head down defensively.
Spike poked his head out the door as she went, looked around and nodded once. At Buffy's questioning look, he explained, "Thought I saw somethin' moving out there. Turned out it was just a bird. Can't be too careful though, right?" Buffy arched an eyebrow skeptically, but let it pass.
"Uh huh. Suuure...Tara, can you help me out in the kitchen? I've got the goose started, it's got a long cooking time, but the rest, ah...well, let's just say the kitchen's not my best arena?" Buffy took the miserable-looking girl's arm and hustled her into the next room, and Tara brightened a bit at the attention.
"Looks like it's just you an' me, Cutie." Spike leered comically at Dawn, who just wrinkled her nose at him in response.
"C'mon, buddy, we got work to do." Dawn picked up the shopping bag Tara had brought in with her, and they repaired upstairs to a corner of the master bedroom.
"So how did you get suckered into this Christmas craziness of Buffy's, anyway?" Dawn reached across Spike for a roll of ribbon.
"Dam-darned if I know, niblet. But you know how it is." He grinned at her as he struggled with the flaps of wrapping paper on a package. "I hate to be bored an' I love to watch the Slayer make a fool of herself playin' Happy Homemaker. So I figure I can spend a quiet evenin' in the crypt anytime."
Dawn pulled off a couple of strips of cellophane tape and gestured for him to let her at the flaps. "Well, I'm glad you're here, for whatever that's worth. And I know she is too."
"Good to know she appreciates me for somethin'..." he muttered, and Dawn looked at him a bit strangely.
"It makes me crazy when she goes all overboard like this. I mean, I wanna do Christmas, but...it kinda feels like too much, y'know? So soon, after - after everything?" she said shyly after they wrapped a few more gifts.
Spike stopped what he was doing. "Dawn! D'you mean to tell me you're *faking* your Yuletide gaiety?" A huge grin spread across his face, and Dawn blushed.
"No! Not - not *faking*, exactly! I'm all over the Christmas spirit! Really! I mean, it's so important to Buffy, y'know? I know she's missing Mom a lot right now, and she's doing all this sleepover-party stuff to take her mind off it. So, if it'll make her feel better, I am totally Christmas Girl!"
Spike's grin softened, and he reached over to snatch the Santa cap off Dawn's head and dropped it on his own. "Chief elf and gift-wrapper reporting for duty, Christmas Girl..." Dawn laughed and tried to grab the hat back, but he feinted out of her reach.
After a friendly tussle, Dawn collapsed across Willow's bed, sides aching with laughter. Then she propped herself up and gazed at the stacks of packages they'd wrapped. "Oh crap."
"Language, pet..."
"Spike?" He looked over at her worried face. "Whose gift is whose?"
He looked from her to the stacks of boxes, then back at her. "Oh crap..."
It didn't take long for Willow to discover she'd picked the wrong movie to take her mind off her troubles. The sensory-overload experience that was Moulin Rouge just reminded her of her recent experiences with mind-altering magicks beyond her strength and control, and the music just reminded her of the off-Broadway demon that caused her to learn what a ghastly mistake she'd made in reanimating Buffy.
She left early.
She wandered aimlessly along the blustery streets of Sunnydale, not caring what sort of nasties' attention she might attract. Might make a welcome change from her real life, in fact, if she became something's dinner.
No such luck.
She ended up in the alley behind the Bronze, which was of course dark and quiet, closed for Christmas. She walked to the center of the alley and put a hand out in front of her. Head thrown back, eyes closed, Willow reveled in the reflected power from Rack's invisibility spell. She felt as though the whole un-magicked space around her was holding its breath, waiting for her to make her decision.
"I wasn't planning on going in, if that's what you're hoping to see," Willow called without moving or opening her eyes. "I just wanted to feel what it was like again. Like putting your hand too close to an open flame."
"I never doubted it," came a soft British voice in reply. "As you may recall, I've been there."
Rupert Giles stepped out of a pool of shadow, hands clenched in his tweed sportcoat's pockets to hold the coattails down in the wind.
"This being Christmas and all, here's a little present, Giles. You have an open invitation to say I Told You So. G'head. Hit me with your best shot." She put her hand down, but otherwise didn't move.
"I'd just as soon not. But thank you." He stepped up behind her and put a hand up past her shoulder, feeling faint traces of magick. "This isn't over yet, you know, Willow. Not by a long shot. You're going to have a hole in your soul from what's happened for quite a long time. And you're going to be drawn back to...this...for a long time to come, in hopes of filling up that hole."
She turned her head to look at him, and the anguish in her eyes stabbed at his heart. "You're right, Giles. You *have* been where I am. And you got better. You got to be...well, *you.* You've got to tell me how you did that. How *I* can do that." A laugh caught in her throat. " 'Cause I'm not liking who I am very much right now..."
"Now you see, that is the part of this whole business I do not understand, my dear. How could you dislike yourself so much you felt you had to change yourself so? Myself at your age I can understand it of, but you..."
"Oh come *on* now, Giles. You knew me before I had the magicks. D'you remember when we first met, before Buffy came to Sunnydale? That awful, geeky little girl with the knobby knees and a nose too big for her face, that was always hanging around the library blathering on at you?" Willow laughed bitterly. "Even I could see what a miserable little creature I was. I had no strength. I had no power. I was nothing special." Her head dropped. "And I was always standing next to Buffy the Vampire Slayer."
"I loved that little girl, Willow," Giles said softly, and she turned to face him in surprise.
"Oh yes. I admired you tremendously, even then. You were steady and wise and bright and enthusiastic. When Buffy came and you learned about the Hellmouth, I discovered you were also brave and capable and you never backed down. You were, in fact, everything I was not at that age and wish now I had been. I was too busy, being sullen and reckless and resentful of my destiny, you see, and I lost a great deal of time I could've spent becoming, well, you."
He put his hands on her shoulders. "You were my first friend in Sunnydale, Willow, and the truest, even way back then. And you were the last person I'd have expected to have this kind of lapse of judgment. I know the magicks are seductive, but..."
"It's not just a lapse, Giles. I don't seem to have any judgment left anymore. It's cost me everything...Tara, my friendships, Dawn...and now I don't even have the magic anymore." Her head dropped. "What does that leave me with? Nothing."
"Not nothing, my dear. It leaves you with yourself. That's quite a lot more than you think." He pulled her into his arms, the wool of her light blue blazer scratching roughly against his tweeds. "I imagine you haven't lost your friendships completely, either. Let me take you home? You may find you're more welcome there than you think."
Brushing away her tears, Willow nodded, and they started off, Willow tucked comfortably into the crook of Giles' arm.
"Great dinner, Buff. But the turkey's kinda fatty," Xander mumbled around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.
"It's a goose."
"Oh, well in that case it's perfect." He looked around the table. "It is, isn't it?" he asked sheepishly.
"As near to as you can get without actually cooking it over an open flame, at least," Spike replied. Then he caught Buffy's freezing look. "Would you have believed me if I'd said it was perfect?" He asked innocently. She sighed, shook her head and hid her smile in a swallow of wine.
"Grinch," Dawn cat-called from the opposite end of the table.
"Me or him?" Buffy called back.
"Both of you," she answered, sticking out her tongue at her sister.
"Whattaya know, Slayer? A perfect match..." Buffy shook her head warningly at the vampire.
The banter was interrupted by the opening and closing of the front door. "Hey gang! I know I said I wasn't getting anyone much for Christmas this year, but look what I found wandering around out there," Willow said brightly, bringing Giles by the hand to the table.
Dawn laughed, breaking the shocked silence. "Awww, he's so *cute!* Buffy, can we keep him? Please, sis? Pretty please?"
"Ah, he may already have a home someplace, Dawnie," Buffy said finally, getting up and circling the table to greet Giles. After a moment's awkward jockeying for position, the two hugged, and their initial stiffness passed for good.
Xander got up and brought another chair up to the table, and began shifting dishes and glassware to make room for another diner. "Will, c'mon over here and sit with me. Giles can have your place up there with Buffy, okay?" Willow nodded gratefully and made her way around Dawn to the corner space her old friend had opened up for her.
Buffy brought Giles back up to her end of the table, and he took the empty plate from the seat opposite Spike and headed into the kitchen to serve himself, mumbling answers to the Scoobies' friendly greetings as he went. A moment later, Spike picked up his own half-full plate and followed.
"No joy?" the vampire said in an undertone to Giles, who shook his head.
"Not much. I got her back here for the holiday party, but it was a struggle to break through her misery even to do that much," he said in the same low voice as he carved some meat off the bird. "Thank you for calling me, by the way."
Spike shrugged. "Not my first choice, y'understand. Just didn't know what else to do. Slayer couldn't do anything with her, her friends couldn't do anything with her...they're just about outta things to try, y'know?"
Giles nodded. "I'm afraid there's no magic bullet. The only solution is to keep trying the same things until you get through. Willow has to know the people that love her won't be driven away by her mistakes."
Plates full, they headed back to the dining room...unaware that a sharp-eared Vampire Slayer had overheard every word of the conversation.
Buffy caught Spike's free hand to stop him as he moved behind her chair, and took his plate from him and set it carefully at his seat. Holding him behind her, she called, "Everyone? Can I say something to you all, please?"
"Speech! Buffy!" Xander applauded lightly until the table talk died down.
"Not really a speech, I'm afraid. More like an announcement." Once all six faces had turned to her, she took a big swallow of wine for courage and continued. "Spike and I are...well...we've been seeing each other."
Xander paled. "Seeing each other as in, ah, patrolling, friendly games of pool, maybe a beer here and there?" he said hopefully.
Buffy shook her head. "We're lovers," she blurted out.
"Shagging her senseless," Spike contributed helpfully, and she let go of his hand long enough to thump her fist into his stomach.
"No-now, I-I'm sure there's no need to exaggerate..." Giles stammered.
"No, that's actually a pretty fair description," Buffy said, a pink tinge staining her cheeks.
"Good for you!" Anya said stoutly. "Good for both of you." Xander reached over and took her hand.
"So, does this mean we can take down all that garlic off your windows?" Willow called across the table. " 'Cause it's really starting to stink up the house." Tara sputtered with laughter despite herself, and the mood at the table lightened considerably.
Spike sat down at his place, wearing the stunned expression of a man who'd just been beaned with a two-by-four...and liked it. Dawn leaned across the table and, pointing to the vampire, said to Xander, "And in Whoville they say that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day!"
Xander tossed an ice cube at her. "Dawnie! *Schultz.* Not *Seuss.* Got me?" She tossed the ice back at him and stuck out her tongue again.
Giles sighed. "So good to be back...now I remember why I left..." he mumbled.
Buffy laughed and patted his hand.
An hour later, Buffy and Spike moved back and forth from dining room to kitchen, clearing plates and glasses while the distinctive pounding piano notes of the music to "It's a Charlie Brown Christmas" sounded from the television in the living room. The bright, upbeat music fit Spike's buoyant mood nicely, and made a nice counterpoint to the tinkling of china, silver and crystal.
Once the clearing was done, the couple moved to lean in the doorway separating the kitchen from the living room, watching their friends watch TV with familiar jokes and teasing. Spike put his arms around Buffy's waist from behind, and she leaned back comfortably against him. "Do this every year, do they?"
"Well, Willow and Xander do, at least, and have for just about forever," she answered. "I've always been welcome to join them, and I have from time to time...but it kinda felt like I was intruding, y'know? Like, it's their own little family tradition."
He nodded and kissed her temple. "So what're your family's holiday traditions, luv?"
"Oh, when I was little it was like, Mom 'n Dad fighting in the kitchen, Dawn 'n me trying not to listen and wishing they'd get it out of their systems so we could open presents, and then everybody did the present thing and pretended like mad nothing was wrong at all," Buffy explained, cuddling in a little closer. "Later it was Mom, Dawnie 'n me opening presents Christmas morning and pretending not to jump every time the phone rang, thinking it'd be Dad when it never was..."
Spike growled low in his throat. "Someday I'm gonna track down that father of yours and -"
"- and what? Scold him?" she laughed. "Doesn't matter. Look at that." Her head dipped in the direction of the living room. Just then a cheer went up from the group huddled round the TV set - "YES! The TREE!" and Dawn chiming in, "Oh, I *love* Charlie Brown's tree! I, like, *identify* with that tree..." - and Buffy sighed happily. "How could I possibly ask for a better family than that?"
His arms tightened around her protectively, and she turned her head to look at him. "So what're your family's Christmas traditions?"
"Ohh, you know....the usual Christmas Eve stuff....go out, kill somebody and steal all their presents..." Buffy's hand swung up from his forearm to backhand him on the shoulder.
"I meant your real family, back when you were human."
He grinned wickedly. "So'd I, luv..." She shook her head and laughed, and loving the sound, he laughed along with her, watching Xander rise and begin to flail like an epileptic. He put out a hand to the sofa and they saw red hair swing back and forth in a 'no.'
"C'mon, Will, it's not Christmas if you don't do the Snoopy dance with me..." At length she let herself be coaxed out of her seat and made a few tentative arm-flaps. After a moment the infectious piano line got into her system and her flailings picked up speed and intensity, miraculously never connecting with Xander's, and the laughing and cheering from the Scoobies intensified along with it.
Buffy was pleased to note that Tara was laughing the loudest at their antics. She also noted Giles smiling very hard at the two, and when his eyes swung over to meet Spike's above her head, she caught that look and Spike's faint nod as well.
After a moment's thought, she began to squirm her way out of his arms. "Wait right here. I've got something I gotta take care of upstairs, be right back, 'k?" Puzzled, he nodded and lifted a hand in goodbye as she scurried up the staircase.
Much later, after Dawn and all the Scoobies were settled in for the night upstairs, Buffy crept down to find Spike sitting on the couch in a pool of light from the lamp, reading and sipping eggnog. The nutmeg scent reached her at the bottom step.
"Where's Giles?" she asked, curling up into the opposite corner of the sofa, pulling her short satin robe into place around her thighs.
"Left. He's got a motel room, went back there for the night. Said he'd be back for the gift exchange in the morning." He turned a page idly. "I think he's worried you'll latch onto him again if he acts like family 'stead of like a guest."
"Well, he's right to worry. It's nice to have a Dad around. Novel, even." She nodded at the cup in his hand. "That good?"
"Once I topped it up with a triple jigger of whiskey it was," he said, taking another sip. "Y'know, I'm about ten times Giles' age..."
"And you wear it with such gravity and dignity, too. Don't go borrowing trouble," she said, making a face. "And furthermore, you're lying, too. I'd be able to smell that much whiskey from here even if I wasn't the Slayer." He grinned wickedly at her and nodded, a fencer acknowledging a hit to the heart.
"It's perfect, luv." He closed the book, set it aside and reached across the sofa back for her hand. "Everything was perfect. You should be proud of yourself."
"Not everything. Not quite." Buffy nodded at the Christmas tree. "I realized all of a sudden tonight, I got you the wrong gift."
He squeezed her hand. "I doubt you could ever do that, luv. An' even if you got me somethin' I hated, that li'l stunt you pulled at the dinner table was a more'n good-enough gift..."
"Oh, you won't *hate* it. I don't think. Either you'll love it or you won't care one way or the other. It's a book of Victorian love poetry."
He held up the book he was reading: a black-spined Penguin Classics paperback, "Victorian Verse," battered from use in one of her old college classes. She smiled. "Got a favorite?"
"Gerard Manley Hopkins." He flipped a few pages and began to read aloud, softly.
"I wake and feel the fell of death, not day,
What hours, O what black hours we have spent
This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went!
And more must, in yet longer light's delay.
With witness I speak this. But where I say
Hours I mean years, mean life. And my lament
Is cries countless, cries like dead letters sent
To dearest him that lives alas! away.
I am gall, I am heartburn. God's most deep decree
Bitter would have me taste; my taste was me;
Bones built in me, flesh filled, blood brimmed the curse.
Self-yeast of spirit a dull dough sours. I see
The lost are like this, and their scourge to be
As I am mine, their sweating selves; but worse."
Mesmerized by his voice, Buffy nodded, toying with his fingers. "You'll like this one, then. You'll see it tomorrow morning. The thing is, it's a safe gift. It speaks to who you used to be when you were human, you know? It's not about how I feel about the 'you' I know, and it's got nothing to do with who you are now."
Astonished, Spike felt a rare moment of speechlessness come over him, and Buffy rushed on into the breach. She reached behind her and pulled a flat package out from under the sash of her robe. "So I put this together in kind of a hurry, I'm sorry it's not neater. But it's the right thing to give you, I think."
He took the package out of her hands and looked it over. Whatever it was, it wasn't in a box and a thin, wrinkled strip of gift paper with an oversized pattern was wrapped around it clumsily and thickly taped together. "It's heavy."
With that he vamped out and used a clawlike nail to slit the paper and tape. Buffy threw him a halfhearted scowl, for form's sake. "I just love that you don't really freak out when I do that anymore..." Inside the wrapping was a paper bag, folded lengthwise over something long and narrow. Inside the bag, wrapped in thin cotton batting, was a leather sheath with a thick, gleaming knife, two smaller spikes affixed to the hilt.
Spike whistled. "Slayer, this is a beautiful weapon. It's beautifully forged...it's got perfect heft and balance..." Testing it in his hands, the blade passed in front of his face, glinting wickedly in the lamplight. "An' it's slightly used, too?"
"Uh-huh. Faith's blood. I cleaned it up pretty good, I thought...can't fool a vamp when it comes to blood though, I guess." She looked down at their still-linked hands. "The knife...it belonged to Faith, that's the other Slayer, she was called to replace Kendra, the one Drucilla killed. I don't think you ever met her."
"Not to know, no." He noted the shadow of old pain that crossed her face at the mention of the other Slayers.
"She went bad, worked for the Mayor, and I had to stab her with this to stop them. She'd left it behind stuck into a wall when she killed a little demon-critter with it, and I could tell from how she looked at it it meant something to her, so I kept it...after. She's in jail now, and I guess I was hanging on to this stupid, little-girl hope that someday she'll come home and be a Slayer again, and I could give it back to her."
"Not stupid, luv." He squeezed her hand again, and she shook her head.
"No, it is, 'cause I'm not a little girl anymore. Faith's not going anywhere anytime soon, and even if she does she most likely won't be coming home to me. I just wanted her to, even though I knew it would never happen, because Faith was my partner, my sister-at-arms, and I shared experiences in battle with her that I thought I'd never share with anyone."
She looked up and met his eyes. "But I know, even if she straightens out, she'll never be my partner again. That place in my life, that bond she broke, is already filled...by you. You're the one I count on to be at my back when I need you, and you're better to have there than Faith ever was, because I don't even have to think twice about trusting you in the crunch; I *know.*"
She rolled her eyes lightly, giggled breathily. "Faith was also a *very* baaaad influence on me, by the way. You've taken her place in *that* too..." He laughed with her and released her hand to stroke her cheek, eyes glowing softly in the dim light. Then he rose from the sofa and crossed over to the coat rack where his leather duster hung, and fished a flat gift from an inside pocket.
"Okay, confession time," Spike said, settling back into his place on the sofa. "I also got you the wrong gift. It's under the tree there someplace, it's a joke gift really, and a cheap laugh at that. I'll fish it out before morning and we'll never speak of it again."
He toyed with the thin box in his hands. "But I did know, all along, what I really wanted to give you. I brought it and kept in reserve, thinkin' well, if she goes out of her way to get on my nerves I'll just hold onto it 'til next year. But, since you've come through somethin' spectacular tonight not once but twice now..." He held out the box, but when she reached out to take it he pulled it back and up, over his head.
"Ah-ah. Not so fast, pet. Thing is, this is my most prized possession. You have to promise, before I give it over, that you'll let me borrow it every now an' then when I need to."
She looked at him strangely and nodded. "Nuh-uh. Need to hear you say it first."
"I promise." He handed it over, and Buffy examined the box. It was thin, narrow and flat, like a scarf box, wrapped in matte red paper with a white silk poinsettia stuck into the white ribbon. "It's too light to be a weapon...there's not, like, a string of dead goldfish in here, is there?"
She reached across and snatched the knife out of his lap, and he laughed. "Can't keep your hands off my blade, can you Slayer?"
"You wish." She slit the paper and ribbon cleanly up one side with the knife. "I swear, Spike, if this thing explodes and wakes up Dawn..." Her voice trailed off as she opened the box and pulled away the cotton batting inside, revealing an envelope of familiar pale peach stationery, addressed in a familiar floral cursive. "How...when..."
"Just read it, luv." She pulled the thick sheets carefully from the envelope and studied them.
"Dear Spike,
I'm glad to hear you're enjoying the mole sauces in Brazil. I agree it does seem an odd thing to put over chicken, but then very few things aren't improved by adding chocolate, in my experience. If you ever get back my way, stop in and say hello, and I'll fix you some hot cocoa, which my grandmother taught me to do rather well. Never bother with those little prepackaged mixes in envelopes is the trick she taught me; stick with the real stuff, boiled milk and chocolate, and it'll turn out right every time.
And yes, I am trying to stall answering the question you wrote to ask me in the first place, because right now I feel much more confident dealing with nice solid things like chicken and chocolate than I do about dealing with the real stuff. After all, you said you thought I might have an answer for you because you could see I was a good mother, and I'd raised a good daughter, who does the right thing even when it hurts, and how did I do that and how does she cope?
That was awfully nice to hear, right now most especially. Buffy and I quarrelled the day she introduced us, just after you left the house in fact. I couldn't handle the real stuff in her life, you see, I wanted everything nice and pre-packaged and labeled 'home and family,' and like an idiot I said the worst thing I could possibly have said. If you leave this house now to go save the world, don't ever bother coming back, I said. Well, yelled.
I was angry. I wasn't thinking. I never for a moment considered she might take me at my word. It's been a month now since I've seen or heard from her, and I'm not really feeling like such a good mother, especially late at night when I'm sitting up listing all the terrible things she could be facing out there. Which is what I'm doing right now as I write this, so taking a stab at your question is as good a distraction as any, I guess.
You say you're afraid you're losing your Drucilla, and you believe the truce you established with Buffy to stop Angel from whatever it is he was planning is what's costing you her love. I should tell you first off that I'm handicapped by never having met your Drucilla, and that love and romance is not my strong suit.
A quick and painless history: a couple of brief and messy flings in back seats of cars in high school, less said the better. Met and married Buffy's father in college, was happily married for four years, unhappily married for four more, in a state of open warfare for two and in divorce court the two after that. Moved to Sunnydale and, let's just say the dating pool on what Mr. Giles tells me is called the Hellmouth leaves a lot to be desired.
But one thing I do know, based on what you told me about your lady's mental instability. Either she's competent enough to decide for herself how she feels about what you did, or she's not competent enough to cope with life and you should be telling her how to feel about everything.Yes, you do deserve a great deal of credit for hanging in for so many years with a mentally ill lover, but you don't get to have it both ways. If she's well enough to love you, then you can't use her illness to keep her if she doesn't want to be with you.
It seems to me you're asking the wrong questions, Spike. It shouldn't be, should I lose Drucilla over what I did? - it should be, Am I prepared to stand by my actions, now that they're done? Mr. Giles tried to explain what Buffy did, and I doubt I understood one word for every five he said about demons and hell portals and magic swords. I did get that it's very unlikely Buffy could've stopped it if you hadn't come to her and offered to help.
And you got what you wanted out of the bargain. A clean getaway, safe passage for Drucilla and Angel out of your lives for good. I'd say that clears the slate between you and my daughter, and what comes next for you and your lady is no concern of hers. Except, love doesn't work like that in my experience. It's a big and messy emotion that spills over into everything else, and you can't keep it neatly bottled up where it belongs. Things like reason and fairness and good intentions fly right out the window when love's in the picture. I doubt you'll ever think of Buffy without feeling at least a twinge of what you're feeling right now, whatever happens.
I found out the hard way, love isn't hearts and flowers and pretty words. They're the lure that hooks you in so you can't get out when you find out what love really is. Love is opening yourself up enough to somebody so that they know all the places that'll hurt you. Love is the engine that drives the sex and the battles and yes, even the hate when it turns bad.
What happens when you love someone is, they get in your blood and in your bones (in your case, literally) and all the reason and fairness and good intentions in the world won't get them out. To this day I play out in my head quarrels with my ex-husband over things I doubt he even remembers.
And when all else fails to hurt you, they can leave, as you fear Drucilla is considering. What's left when they leave? Just you. And once it's just you, you go over and over everything you said and did, questioning if you did right, if it was worth what you're going through now. You can't affect how Drucilla feels about what you did; she has to decide that for herself. What you can control, though, is to decide this: If I knew then that Drucilla would be the price, would I do anything differently? Could I live with myself, knowing I didn't do what I had to, just to keep her?
Personally I don't think you would. I didn't get the impression you're someone who could sit by and do nothing while other people play out actions that'll profoundly effect the course of your life.
My daughter would probably tell me otherwise at great length if she was here, but you're a good boy, Spike. (Yes, I'm sure you're I-can't-even-guess-how-many years older than I am. But you carry yourself like a boy, and your letter's brought out the mother-hen in me, and I'm feeling starved for chances to mother-hen. So humor me here.) As terrifying as the thought of her facing Angel was for me, I was very comforted knowing she had you on her side. That makes up for a lot of past misdeeds in my mind.
I don't think you need to fear facing life alone. And I think you deserve a love that's built on the real stuff, like respect for the things you think are right in life. Maybe Drucilla can't give you that. Or won't. Sometimes what you want and what you deserve are very different things.
That's the best I can do for you at this late hour. I doubt it'll help anything. I know it won't change anything that happens where you are. All I can do is hope this letter finds you safe and well, and that my thanks and well-wishes help to offset a little any losses that might be ahead of you. It's more comfort than I seem to be able to muster for myself, sitting up worrying about an absent child at 3 a.m., and nobody but myself to blame.
Please let me know how things turn out, one way or the other. You're in my prayers, for whatever that's worth to creatures like yourself and Drucilla.
Love,
Joyce Summers
"Oh no. Don't cry, luv, please." Spike reached across the sofa to brush tears off Buffy's cheeks. "I didn't mean - maybe I shouldn't've -"
"No! No no," she gasped, putting the letter to her chest and folding her hands over it. "Good cry. *Happy* cry. You did exactly right. It's perfect." She laughed, taking in air painfully. "Prize possession, huh?"
"Yup. Irreplacable, too. That's why you've gotta let me borrow it when I need it. I made Xeroxes, love that modern technology, but -"
"- but it's not the same," Buffy finished, smoothing the linen pages in her fingers. "Holding the real thing, seeing her handwriting, hearing her voice - it's almost like having her here in the room with you..." He nodded, and she carefully replaced the letter and envelope in their box. "Spike?"
"Yeah?"
"For what it's worth...I wouldn't change anything. Okay, I maybe could lose that whole Parker episode. But as far as you and I are concerned? I may've been wrong sometimes. But I was honestly wrong, based on the best information I had at the time, and I'll stand by everything I said and did. Somehow it's all got us here, to a really good place..."
"Dunno about not changing anything, Slayer. But I know I won't regret doing *this.*" And he pulled her across the couch into the sweetest kiss she'd ever had.
The next morning found everyone up early, even a bleary-eyed vampire, crowded around the Christmas tree. Amazingly, Giles had turned up at the door with a stack of presents for everyone in hand to go under the tree as well; Buffy didn't know if he'd packed them all, most being quite small, or hit the 24-hour Superchainstore in desperation.
"Thanks for wrapping my gifts for me, Dawnie," Xander said, slipping a mug of hot chocolate into her hands. Dawn smiled in acknowledgement.
"Oh! Spike, this is really nice!" Tara called to the vampire, who was leaning over the back of the armchair Buffy occupied. Giles leaned over to check out the title of the large paperback book: 'Appalachian Folk Medicine and Magic.' He nodded approvingly.
"Yeah, it looked interesting. Talks a lot about how that kinda magic grew out of the medicine-man tradition. Seemed like something you'd be into." Tara nodded happily.
Dawn squealed with delight over the silver bracelet from the Magic Box she'd hinted broadly about to Anya, and Buffy was pleased to find Giles had given her a locket with her mother's picture in it, and a prepaid calling card for trans-Atlantic calls.
"Now, this is neat..." Willow said, opening a Palm Pilot from Xander. "Pricey, but neat."
"Yeah, it looked like the kinda thing you used to love to tinker with, Will," he said, slipping an arm around Anya's shoulders.
"Well, I think the BuffyBot pretty much burned me out on tinkering, Xand, but I'll have a lotta fun putting my class stuff in this..." she smiled gratefully.
"My turn," Anya said, pulling the present labeled "To Anya From Xander" into her lap and tearing into it. Xander paled and tried to snatch it out of her hands. "Ahh, Ahn, that's not - I mean, I - ah -"
" 'Sex for Blondes'?" A shocked silence fell over the Scoobies. Buffy looked up and mouthed, Mine? as Spike covered his eyes with his hands.
"Thank you, honey! It's one of my favorite subjects, I'm sure I can get some pointers from this." She beamed. "I didn't know blondes do it differently, though. I wish someone'd told me before I colored mine..."
Unable to control herself, Willow burst out laughing. She leaned across the pile of gifts and kissed the ex-demon's cheek. "Anya, you are a wonder, and I'm glad my best friend was lucky enough to find you!" Anya looked puzzled at this outburst, but happy.
Xander, for his part, looked like he was about to faint dead away. Dawn offered him some of her cocoa.
It would be another two weeks before Dawn found the birthing nest Miss Kitty Fantastico had crafted out of shredded wrapping paper, a thin cardboard box and the clawed and chewed remains of an expensive leather-bound Day Runner, wrapped in the same paper as Spike's gag gift for Buffy.
"A Very Spuffy Christmas" Challenge
Must include: -a trip to the mall for Buffy & Spike; -a group viewing of "It's a Charlie Brown Xmas"; -a gag gift for one of the scoobies; -a very special gift for Buffy; -Spike wearing a Santa hat; -a Grinch reference.
May include: -a visit from Giles; -Scooby caroling; -Dawn and Spike trying to wrap presents; -Xander asking Spike for advice about a present for Anya.
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