Summary: Spike saves Santa. He gets a wish.. (B/S)
Categories: Season 6, Alternate Reality Characters: Buffy, Spike
Series: Merry Christmas Spike Series
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 4,949 Read: 58
Published: November 17, 2006 Updated: November 17, 2006
Chapter 1 by Dutchbuffy2305
Season 6, after Wrecked, on Christmas Eve
The pre-Christmas din in Willy's bar was deafening. The season of good cheer, and a lot of booze, lowered all kinds of barriers; in this case, interspecies barriers. Vampires of all ages and description talked, argued, played and fought with several dozen types of demon under Willy's flammable Christmas decorations. The ceiling of the bar was hung with green branches hung with cute little devils, skulls, inverted crosses and flickering red lights, whose frequency and amplitude were designed to cause a state of euphoria in certain types of demons.
*Go to hell, go to hell,
Hell bound all the way
All the demons love to ride
In Satan's Sabbath sleigh*
The version Willy played used a heavy base under the lyrics, and a conga line of assorted demons tried to weave their way through the throng. Patrons were either shoved aside or trampled by the thousand-ton demon train.
Still, there was one figure among them who did not join in the general mood of steadily rising mayhem. On the corner of the bar sat a lonely vampire, shunned by his ilk and other demons alike. His leather-clad shoulders were hunched over his glass, and the two bottles standing on the counter near him, one empty, one half-full, were evidence of long and steady drinking. His pale hand, adorned with heavy jewelry, was curled around his glass protectively. Spike was not exactly popular among the Sunnydale 'sub terrestrial' population, and pilfering his drink was one of the minor troubles he might have to contend with if he stayed in the bar. The lack of his usual ebullience and willingness to get into a good fight with anyone who was offering, was probably the reason he was still sitting here unmolested.
Spike took a large swallow of his drink. There was so much alcohol in his system that the slight movement of his head caused dizziness. His bright platinum head sank down on his arms. His thoughts kept spinning around in his head in futile circles, never leading to a workable conclusion. What to do about the bloody Slayer? Everything was different now. They had made love! Never mind that she had called it a freak show. They'd made love. Up until then, his love for the Slayer had been a dream, something essentially unobtainable, that he was still striving for out of a stubbornly romantic streak. But now! Actually having touched her body, having made her scream, having her do everything he'd ever imagined her doing to him, or him doing to her...it changed his whole outlook. She was within reach. It was up to him to make it happen again, because he didn't think she would lower her guard ever again.
*I'm dreaming of a blood-red Christmas
Just like the ones we used to know...*
Bing was a long time demon favorite, reputedly half-demon himself. Most of the clientele howled, growled or sang along with the golden oldies.
When Buffy had come for his help again that same night, Spike had hoped for one giddy moment she'd come to him out of a different need. The careful distance she kept between them told him a lot about her state of mind, but it was clear she wouldn't give an inch that night. Then Dawn's car crash incident had driven any thought of making the move on Buffy out of his head. He'd brought Dawn home from hospital (and he hadn't been disinvited! God, that had given him a bright bolt of hope for a moment), but Buffy was too preoccupied and tired to react to him much. He'd left for the moment, but had returned later that night. .He'd smelled the garlic half a mile away, seen the crosses, and sensed the distress of the Slayer huddled on the bed. From impulses he didn't quite understand himself, he'd forborne to force his way into the house. Not as if garlic could hurt him in any way.
After that, nothing. She'd managed to avoid him on patrol, and somehow he hadn't been able to catch her at the house either. He was still skulking at Revello Drive of course; saw the tree going up, her and the Bit decorating it, like he used to see Joyce do...That hurt a lot. Not that he'd ever before even thought about being invited to Christmas, but now it felt so different. Being in love with Buffy had been wonderful to have daydreams about, and have a nice wank or two in the afternoon before getting up, get some stalking in... Now he wanted more.
He furtively wiped away a tear and took another swallow. The bar was now so crowded that there were actually people (well, vampires) standing quite close. With their backs to him, of course. For some reason their fledgling jabber was penetrating his brain.
"...and then we drain him? Share him out between us?"
"Geez, dude, no way. You not been listening? We spike Willy's punch with the blood. Blood with that much magick in it gonna set the whole bunch of losers here off like a rocket, like a Grucci Christmas Firecracker, gonna pop this town like champagne!"
"Wow, man, wow. Like the time I served the whole dorm them spiked brownies, man, that was just wow."
"Yeah, yeah, we know you went to college, not like you haven't been bragging about it the past twenty years, dude. No need to rub it in. Right. It goes like this. We wait for him at the first house, yank him off the sled, Blow here drives the reindeers to Jim the Butcher's, we three drag the old guy to the back alley here and drain him in the punch bowl."
"How do we do that man? Like with gas, you know, with one of them little rubber hoses you have to suck and then maybe get a little gas in your mouth, you know that awful..."
"How dumb can you be, dude? People drain all by themselves when you make a hole in them, you don't have to play around with little rubber pipes or nothing...'"
Spike kept his head on the counter, thinking frantically. Magick blood? Reindeers? Were these tossers actually going to attack Father Christmas and put his blood in the punch, just to get a better party going? Did Santa Claus even exist? His sodden brain knew there had to be something in it for him. Save Santa, save Christmas for the puppies, grateful Slayer, kissing said Slayer, shagging the Slayer...when his fantasy had progressed so far that he could actually feel the pine needles digging in his back while she rode him under the Christmas tree, he roused from his drunken reverie and started to look around. No vamps in sight. Bugger.
He ordered some blood to clear his head and started to think about his options. No way he could do this alone. His stupor had prevented him from seeing who the vamps were, but he could ask Willy. Or send the Slayer to ask, she had extra powers of persuasion. He could check with the witches if Santa existed. Or phone Giles? Well, maybe as a last resort. And where would Santa land, if he did? It had to be in Sunnydale, but that was still a bleeding lot of terrain to cover.
He'd taken such care of his presentation before walking up the drive of Revello 1630. He was clean, sober, even his curls were straight. He had rehearsed his story several times, he had to get this right. Prove himself invaluable.
Spike knocked on the door, congratulating himself on remembering. Dawn opened up, still looking pretty wan, plaster cast full of scribbled remarks and little designs. Her face brightened when she saw him, something that gave him a funny squeezed feeling in his chest nowadays. His sweet Bit.
"Hey Spike! Did you come to visit me? Wanna sign my cast?"
He let her draw him into the house and scribbled "For my Bit, love, Spike", in his ornate handwriting on her cast. He put his name next to Buffy's. It caused a little lurch in his insides to see their names and 'love' so close together.
"Listen, Nibblet, I wanna talk to Buffy about something. A potential problem, business. Is she in?"
"Buffy!" Dawn yelled in her earsplitting shriek in answer to his question. Buffy stuck her head around the kitchen door, her face immediately closing up when she saw Spike. She was not made up, and looked tired and drawn in her old clothes. She was still his gorgeous Slayer.
Spike held his hands up in entreaty. "Not here to bother you, though I will if you ask nicely...It's business. Something's up, I've come to warn you."
She relaxed infinitesimally, but crossed her arms before her chest and stood looking at him, considering. "Well?"
Seconds later, he found himself hurtling down the porch steps, propelled there by strong Slayer arms.
"Don't come around here again with your lame emergencies! You're just trying to get into my...good graces!" She'd been about to say something else, but had refrained because of Dawn, he wagered.
"Smooth dismount, Slayer!" he called out, knowing it would only make her madder. Sometimes that was the only way to go, the only way to get her to react. Even if he preferred a different reaction entirely, it was better than that awful blankness.
Oh well. He would try Glinda. She would probably at least listen him out before blowing him off.
Spike found Tara's room easily, the same way he'd found the Slayer's years ago; these administration people had no idea of security. He just had to push in a window, find the password taped to the monitor and in he was.
Walking through the hallway of the dorm building was more fun than he‘d had in a long time. All that nubile female flesh, simply oozing ‘eat me' vibes. Not that he could, it was just fun to imagine it. He put an extra swagger in his walk, and noticed dozens of eyes on him. He could have had sex with half of them, easily. Why fixate on the Slayer if there were so many other humans up for grabs? The thought disappeared as quickly as it had risen. Purposefully he strode up the stairs. Of course, there was the, probably self-appointed, hall monitor stopping him. She reeked of menstrual blood and Coca Cola, a perfect combination. He talked circles around her, and like all the librarian type girls anywhere in the world had, she caved in and swooned under his practiced flirting. Silly bint. She even showed him Tara's room.
Tara seemed sad and distracted, but after he'd convinced her he was serious, listened closely and asked sensible questions.
"Of course Father Christmas exists! That's not what he started out as, maybe, but this is his present form of power. If those vampires manage to pull it off, there's no knowing what the magick in his blood might loosen, here on the Hellmouth!"
"Well, Glinda, do you have any way of sussing out where he might land first? Or could you send him a warning with your crystal ball?" He paced restlessly in the small cluttered room, still full of unpacked boxes. Tara warily kept an eye on her pretty pottery statues.
She sat thinking for a moment. Then she made a decision. "I'm going to call Buffy," she announced. "We'll need her help and W-willow's too. I will ask her to meet us at the Magic Box in a few hours. Could you ask around for those vamps?"
To his surprise, he didn't mind doing what Tara asked. He knew he would have reflexively bristled if anyone else had suggested it, except maybe Buffy.
Later in the Magic Box, after a fruitless search for the four vampires, he told his story again. Buffy just glared at him, probably pissed because she'd been shown up.
"And then they said they'd drain his blood into Willy's bloody Christmas Punch!" He looked around expectantly. They all wore their usual looks, except that the red witch was looking like hell.
"Buffy, we have to save the reindeers!" Willow said.
"Huh," Buffy said. "Why do demons even celebrate Christmas?"
"You know what demons are like," and Spike smirked at her suggestively. "Always in for a bit of lark or a round of mayhem. It's tradition to have a really rowdy Christmas party, ‘cause the humans are too busy or too sozzled to notice!"
"I know nothing about demons!" Buffy declared huffily. Then, at the astounded faces of her friends, she clarified, "About demons and having fun, I mean!"
Spike winked at her, and she squirmed in her seat and looked away form him.
They divided up tasks. Willow and Tara would do research, Xander would find out about the butcher the vampires had mentioned, and Buffy would kick ass. Anya would mind the shop and act as information center. Dawn would be escorted home by Spike.
"Okay," Buffy announced, "I'm going to Willy to beat him up for information."
"But you don't know what these vamps looked like, how are you going to know he tells the truth? You'd better take Spike with you!" Anya suggested with her usual practicality.
The plans were changed around. Dawn would help Anya, Buffy and Spike would go to Willy's and other demon haunts.
Buffy walked a little ahead of Spike, as fast as her heels and lack of height would allow. Spike had no trouble keeping up.
"What's the hurry, Slayer?" he complained. He backed her into an alley wall and stood very close. She didn't protest or resist. He pitched his voice low and rumbled into her ear: "We could take a little time out here?"
Buffy turned her head sideways and compressed her lips. "Stop this, Spike. There is no *we*. There never will be."
Spike noticed her fast, tripping heartbeat and breathed softly into her ear. "Buffy..." He felt rather than saw her thighs start to tremble. With one finger, he traced a path down her neck into her cleavage. She moaned softly. He leaned in even closer, pressing his erection against her.
"Buffy....you smell so good..."
He nibbled her ear first gently, then harder. He felt her breasts pressing against him as she panted. Dizzy with lust, he grabbed her head and roughly turned it towards him, capturing her lips in a hard kiss. For one searing moment, she kissed back and then seemed to regain her resolve. She pushed him away hard, making him stumble and mill his arms about to keep his balance.
"Get.This.Straight.Spike!" Her jabbing finger punctuated every word, and her voice shook. "I'm never ever going to let you close again! Got that!"
Spike hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans and grinned unabashedly. "Sure, Slayer, Just like you said last time and after very time we kissed. I can bloody well wait you out! Come on, no dawdling now, we've got Christmas and puppies to save!"
Now he was taking the lead, and she had to totter along on those silly sexy heels of hers. On that thought, he slowed and let her go in front again. The sight of her lush bum swaying and jiggling was too good to miss.
Willy didn't know a thing; in fact, he offered to send word to them if he heard anything. He claimed he was still human and would hate to see anything happen to Santa Claus. He threw Spike odd looks and gave him the thumbs up when he left, trailing after the Slayer again. Spike's brow furrowed in irritation. Was nothing bloody secret in this town? Did all the sodding demons already know he'd shagged the Slayer? That did not bode well; if she got wind of it, she'd think he'd been spreading the word...and poof went his chances of getting any, ever again!
Back in the Magic Box, the other Scoobies seemed to have the same kind of luck he and Buffy had had, namely, none.
Tara wrung her hands, such an annoying habit in an otherwise fine woman. "I'm s-sorry, Buffy", she stammered. "We have nothing on Father Christmas, except theories on which god he used to be."
"In the commercial, Santa always comes to town in huge trucks," Xander offered, "And all the colored lights go on one by one. We could keep an eye on the lights?"
Buffy did not grace that remark with an acknowledgement. She turned to the vampire again. "Well, Spike," she said and her voice was icy, "once again you've sent me on wild goose chase. Got anything to say for yourself?"
Spike drew himself up to his full height and glowered, stepping in close. "Slayer, I'm bloody serious about this. Something's going to happen to Santa. But if you're not willing to put in a little extra effort, fine! I'll do it by myself!"
Buffy didn't budge an inch and bit back: "Fine! You do that! As if we care!"
Xander tried to intervene, vaguely upset by how close Buffy and Spike apparently needed to stand to be nasty to each other. "Back off, Spike, you are way too close to Buffy. Go away, get drunk with your demon pals, we don't need you here."
The muscles in Spike's cheek clenched, but he turned on his heel and strode off without a word. He heard Tara say softly: "But Buffy, I think he was serious, shouldn't we..."
The doorbell jangled, and Spike was out on the streets again. His rage propelled him forwards at first, but after a few blocks, he slowed down for a fag. Bloody Slayer. Would she ever take him seriously? Listen to him? She knew he loved her, why on earth would he fabricate a threat? Okay, right, maybe in the past he hadn't been totally upfront all the time, but that was then. Love was now. Did she think his love didn't count because he was a demon?
He strode on, deep in thought, not immediately noticing the funny lights in the sky. It took the faint jangling of little bells to make him look up. His mouth dropped open. Bloody hell! There really was a Santa! A sleigh made out of what looked like white bones, an eight-legged reindeer pulling it, the fat jolly man in his loud clothes at the reins.
"Oi!" he shouted, waving his arms and jumping up and down. "Oi, Santa! Wait up! You're in danger! Santa!"
Neither Santa nor bloody ugly Rudolph seemed to hear him, and he stood staring helplessly after them for a moment. Then he threw away his fag end and at his best speed ran after the sleigh. Vampires are supernaturally fast, of course, but the reindeer had his magick legs to carry him though the air. Desperation made Spike faster, but when he finally caught up with the pair, they were already landing on a suburban street, quite close to Revello Drive.
"Santa! Look out!' he bellowed again at the top of his lungs, as he came barreling down the street, duster flying out behind him.
He saw Santa Claus look up in faint surprise, but at the same time, four vampires jumped out of hiding and started to close in on the sleigh with its unsuspecting occupant. Spike drove his legs to a last huge burst of speed, whipped out a stake and had the first vampire dusted before the fledgling even knew there was an opponent incoming. The other three took a little longer, but they were no real match for his Master-level powers, bloody stupid youngsters that they were. Rudolph tossed one of them his way from his antlers, very obliging of him, and the last one was being kicked to death by Santa's sodding big boots, size 27, looked like, so Spike could finish him off.
"Tanks, me lad, tanks a million, me boy, let me take you in me arms!" boomed Santa's voice.
"You're Irish?" Spike blurted out. Last thing he'd expected, Santa Claus a blooming bogtrotter? His accent was thicker than Angelus' had been in the old days!
"Not really," Santa admitted and took him in a crushing hug. "The punters expect something a little bucolic and this is the only accent I know how to do. I rewatch ‘Home Front in the Garden" for the authentic brogue the last weeks before Christmas. The way that man pronounces the word ‘concrete' is pure poetry!"
"I'm more of an interior man, myself," admitted Spike. "I wouldn't mind letting that Lawrence having a go at my crypt!"
They shared a moment of BBC-love.
"Well, well, young man," Santa resumed. "How unexpected, help from a vampire! You do remember you're supposed to be evil?"
"'Course I'm still evil!" Spike puffed himself up, before he remembered what he hoped to get out of this little encounter. He hadn't felt like a young man for a long time, either. "Helped you out of the pure goodness of my non-beating heart, for Christmas and puppies and Dawn." The last bit was actually true, of course.
"Naturally!" Santa's easy laugh rang out in the night air. "Well, saving Santa entitles you to a wish, how about that? What would you like to have for Christmas?"
The words came out of Spike's mouth before he had time to think them over. "I want the Slayer, um, Buffy, to love me back?
Santa tilted his head quizzically. "A vampire in love? How quaint. How sweet." He looked up at the sky for a moment as if asking the stars for the answer. "Well, that was easy. Yes. She will."
Spike felt as if he'd been clubbed in the head. He was aware of himself standing there, gobsmacked, mouth hanging open, hands dangling by his side. He realized that he'd expected the answer to be ‘no'.
"She will?" he finally managed to croak out. "She really will? When?"
"Well now, me lad, that's not what you were after asking, now, was it?"
The vampire continued to stare at him in the most endearing mix of bliss and anguish, and Santa took pity on him.
He clapped his hand on Spike's shoulder. "You know, me sweet, I won't count this a true wish. You see, Buffy loving you was already written in the stars... You made it happen all by your lone self. I cannot tell you when, of course. Not under this Christmas tree, though!"
Spike was still unable to speak. His skin tingled and his ears buzzed. Buffy. Love. Someday!
"So," Santa continued, "I'll allow you a little extra. What would you like?"
Spike thought frantically, although his brain didn't seem to be cooperating willingly. "I want...I want to see it. I want to watch when she says it to me. Can you do that?"
Santa pursed his lips and ran his hand through his snowy beard. "Can do, old son, can do." He snapped his fingers. "Sleipnir! I mean, Rudolph!" The great ungainly looking beast lumbered over.
"Hop on his back, William, and he'll take us there."
Spike climbed on the reindeers' back. It was bloody uncomfortable with that thick ridged spine, not to mention the reindeer-smell. Santa hopped on nimbly, light as a feather he seemed, although he could have been described as quite portly, not to say bloody fat. Rudolph didn't break as might have been expected, and they took to the air with a light hop. After what seemed only a minute of dizzying speed, they descended again and landed in a grubby alley. It still looked like Sunnydale.
"Look in the window, lad!" Santa directed.
Spike wiped a spot clean of the thick layer of grime coating it, and peered in. He saw himself, stacking dishes in some kind of huge professional washing machine. He saw this other Spike push the tray in, turn it on, and start unloading another great machine full of damping hot dishes and utensils. Onlooker Spike recoiled in horror.
"No! This can't be true! Santa, I'm a dishwasher! You must be bloody joking! Never! Not even for Buffy!"
Santa chuckled. "Just wait, me lad, just wait! We'll follow him, see where he's after going."
The dishwashing Spike put on a black denim jacket and went out. Spike let out a few more expletives and gripped Santa hard in his meaty shoulder. "Where's my duster? How did I lose the duster? You turned me into a poof, a tool, I look like a nobody!"
They clambered back on Rudolph's back and followed the other Spike as he trudged off. At first Spike watched him numbly, dumb with agony and indignation, but then he started to recognize the streets the other took.
"Look!" he hissed. "He's turning onto Revello! Yes! He's going to her home! Go on, Spike, go on!"
The future Spike walked up the drive, did something to the door that was obscured by his body, and stepped in. Santa motioned Spike to follow his alter ego. The Spike deposited some packages under the Christmas tree and went into the kitchen. Spike saw him get a package of blood from the fridge and put it in the microwave.
"Will you look at that! He's got blood stashed in the sodding fridge! He must come here a lot!"
Santa pointed at the small heap of packages under the tree, and when Spike looked closer, he saw several packages with his name on it. Tears rushed into his eyes, blinding him, and his throat choked up. Presents, for him! Never, in his whole existence, had he experienced feelings as sweet as those piercing him now.
Santa poked him lightly to get his attention and pointed to the hallway. The other Spike was starting up the stairs. Spike wiped the tears from his eyes and followed the other. He saw him enter the bathroom and heard him brushing his teeth and taking a short shower. Well, he had some nerve, doing that in Buffy's house. Spike imagined there would be spectacular arse kicking if Buffy found out, but he could understand what made the other do it. Buffy's toiletries, Buffy's bathrobe...Too bloody tempting.
The other Spike, unclad, went to Buffy's mother's bedroom door and stepped in. What the hell was he doing naked in Willow's room? Spike's mind boggled. Santa pushed him in.
"It's not her room!" he whispered to Santa, resisting.
Santa just shoved him harder, into the room. The Spike casually threw his clothes on the floor. Spike felt a little relieved. At least the tosser was not folding his clothes yet. The future Spike climbed in bed, sliding in close to the tawny-haired occupant.
Spike's heart jumped in his throat. Buffy! She turned over sleepily, throwing her arm around the future Spike.
"Hi baby," she said in a drowsy voice, "Come here, let me warm you up!"
Spike stuffed his fist in his mouth to keep himself from crying out. He felt the urge to yell like Tarzan and do a little dance. Yes! He was in!
The sheet slid off Buffy's golden breasts, and he saw his other's white hand rise to cup one, while he was kissing Buffy deeply at the same time. Spike clapped his hands on Santa's eyes. "Don't look, you pillock! That is my future girlfriend, alright?"
The two in the bed started to make love. It was all quite unspectacular, languid, two experienced lovers making sleepy comfortable love before bedtime, but it moved Spike deeply. He swallowed. He was going to have this someday? Might even be worth dishwashing.
Buffy locked her arms around the Spike in the bed and looked into his eyes.
"I love you so much, Buffy!" the love-making Spike said.
"I love you too, honey," Buffy murmured back, and onlooker Spike thought he'd die right there and then. This must be what heaven was like. His traitor eyes filled up with tears again, obscuring his view of the happy pair in the bed. He felt Santa's hands tugging at him and let himself be led away like a lamb. This must the feeling of true happiness. She loved him. She would love him. He could bear anything to hear that from her sweet lips.
Outside, on the grass, he sobbed on Santa's shoulder.
"There, there," Santa said, and patted him on his back. "There's a good lad. Come, dry your eyes, we have to get back. I've got work to do!"
Spike looked on as Santa Claus hitched Rudolph to the sleigh again.
"Santa?" He ventured. "Was this next Christmas I saw?"
He imagined he saw a look of pity in those merry, twinkling little eyes. "Can't tell you, lad. And I wish I could let you keep the memory, to strengthen you in your coming journey, but alas, I can't." He waved his hand before Spike's eyes and hopped on the sleigh.
Spike stood on the shiny asphalt of the parking lot, feeling completely befuddled. Why was he standing there waving to Santa? And was it actually Santa Claus? For a moment, he thought he saw a one-eyed giant sitting on a huge white eight-legged horse, instead of jolly full-bellied Father Christmas, but the next moment he saw only stars.
He shrugged, and lit a fag. Time to head for Willy's, get roaring drunk, and paint the town red (or any color, for that matter) with demon blood. He was feeling bloody cheerful.
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