Summary: AtS Season 5, up to Destiny. A plotless piece of Christmas Spuffy fluff.
Rating: PG-13
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.
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