~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike keyed open the front door and eased inside. He quietly turned the lock and then crept silently toward the darkened living room. His eyes were on the stairs and all of his senses were focused on the second floor. He walked straight into a lithe, feminine body as it entered the hallway from the front room.

Both Spike and Dawn gave high-pitched squeaks of surprise as they jumped back.

"Jeez, Bit," Spike said, grabbing his chest like his heart had just stopped beating. "What the hell are you doing out of bed at this hour?"

"What are you doing outsi...": Dawn began and then broke off as she took in his tattered appearance. "What happened to you? You're all smoky and dirty and cut. Did we have another fire? Is Buffy...?"

"Uhm...Buffy's fine...I was uhh..." Spike looked over his shoulder at the door and then down at his torn, singed clothes and bleeding body. Dawn followed his glance. She noticed he was clutching a plastic grocery bag.

"You went shopping?" the teenager hazarded a guess. "I mean, I know those last minute Holiday sales are rough but..."

"I just needed a few things from my crypt is all," Spike sighed. He examined his grimy hands and added, "There was a spot of trouble."

"What did you need so bad?" Dawn asked, making a grab for the bag.

"Nothing...watch it!" Spike hissed, dodging her. She struck out under his arm and snagged one plastic handle.

"It was like four in the morning," Dawn exclaimed, giving a hard yank on her catch, "What did you go get? Blood?"

"Hey," Spike yelped. The bag tore and the contents spilled out.

Dawn gasped as a festive foil-wrapped package bounced and jingled to a halt at her feet. She leaned over and picked it up.

"A present?" she said, her eyes widening in surprise. "I thought you said you didn't do Christmas?"

"I don't," Spike pouted, not wanting to discuss it. "Well...not usually, but since I'm here..."

"You went out at this hour to buy Buffy a present at the all-night grocery?" Dawn laughed, and then a thought struck her. "It's not another lame box of chocolates is it?"

"I only got the wrapping from the grocery," Spike said, indignantly. "And if you would read the tag you would see that it isn't for Buffy anyway."

"It isn't?"

Dawn turned the present over and looked at the scrawl on the gift tag: "To Lil' Bit from Spike."

"You went out at four in the morning to get ME a present?" Dawn said, in amazement, the blush rising in her cheeks. Her fingers were poised to tear into the gift but Spike placed a restraining hand on her arm.

"Hey, now," he said, stopping her, "not until the official Christmas morning. Gotta wait until everyone is up."

Dawn rolled her eyes at him but then shrugged and relented.

"Okay," she said. "I'll put it with the others."

"You do that," Spike muttered, distractedly. He was searching the floor for something. Dawn's toe hit against the item as she turned toward the living room. She bent down to retrieve it and her face registered immediate distaste.

"Ugh!" she said, pinching the filthy, sodden package between two fingers and holding it well away from her body. "What IS this?"

"That one's for Buffy," Spike said, snatching it from her hand.

"Uhm...Spike?" Dawn cautioned, eyeing the wet, stained and faded bundle of cloth warily. "Maybe you should've gone with the chocolates."

"Maybe you should mind your own business," Spike snapped. Then he looked down at the mess and added sheepishly, "Can't judge a present by it's wrapper, Bit."

"I thought that was a book by its cover?" Dawn said, continuing toward the living room and setting her gift under the tree. Spike leaned over to place Buffy's gift beside the one for Dawn and noticed that there was a big box with his name on it.

"Hey," he said, straightening up suddenly. "There's one for me."

"Santa must know you're here," Dawn teased. "They say he sees where you've been sleeping."

"Dawn," Spike growled out the warning and then he smiled. "You got me a present, Niblet?"

"Yep," Dawn grinned. "But that one's from Buffy. Only...not...'cause she didn't really get you anything."

"Yes, she did," Spike said, glancing affectionately toward the stairs.

Dawn cleared her throat. She knew her face was crimson.

"Okay," she said, huskily, quickly looking away. "I'm pretty sure I don't want to know what it was."

There was an awkward silence, as they both studied the tree and then the teenage chirped, "Do you want to help me fix breakfast?"

"Isn't it a little early

"Nah, it's nearly five o'clock, I used to have everyone up by this time," she informed him. Then with a sad shake of the head, she added, "I'm slipping in my old age."

"You think you could give me another half hour or so?" Spike asked, walking with her toward the kitchen. "Want to pop up and see Big Sis' before the rest of the house is awake."

"Uhm-uh-uhuh," Dawn stammered, glancing up the stairs, "You aren't going to give her another present are you?"

"You have a dirty mind, Platelet," Spike said, but Dawn noticed he didn't deny her accusation. He started up the stairs and then paused, turning to look back at the young woman, "Dawn?"

"Yeah?" she prompted.

"You know I love her, right?"

"Duh!" she said, rolling her eyes at him. "Like you aren't totally transparent."

Spike didn't smile. He came back down the stairs to stand beside her. Dawn was trying not to meet his eye, staring into the kitchen and shuffling her feet. He caught her chin and tipped it up. Tears were just spilling onto her cheeks.

"What is it, Bit?"

"Nothing," she said, brushing him away. "I," she hesitated and then rushed out the words, "It's just that I don't want you to leave."

"You mean after Christmas?"

"I mean, ever," Dawn corrected, firmly. "Everybody leaves. Daddy and Mom...Riley...Tara. Even Buffy left me. One day you and Buffy will have a fight and then you'll leave, too."

"Yeah," Spike nodded, unhappily. "You're probably right about that."

Dawn stared at him with her mouth open for several seconds and then she slapped half-heartedly at his arm.

"You're supposed to tell me it will be different this time," she scolded, laughing through the tears. "You're supposed to say that you love her too much to ever leave."

"Not going to lie to you, Bit. Buffy and I are bound to fight and I can't promise you that I will always be here."

"But you said you loved her," Dawn protested, stomping one foot like a rebellious five-year old. "How can you even say that?"

"I do love her," Spike said, stepping close. "Love you, too. And it's not in my nature to leave but I can't tell what will happen in the future. What if Buffy wants me to go? What if you do? I can't promise you I won't change or die or be driven off. That would be a lie."

"Then what good is your love," Dawn snapped.

"No good," Spike sighed, knowing she was too young to understand. "Love isn't good or bad, Dawn. It just is. People do horrible things because of it as often as they do great things."

"But I don't want you to leave," Dawn sulked. "I don't want you to do horrible things."

He dropped his head to look into her downcast eyes. She didn't look up. After a minute or two, Spike took her hand in his and carried her fingers to his brow. He traced her fingertips over the puckered skin of his scar.

"I got this from the first Slayer I killed," he said, softly. "Do you know why I still have the mark?"

She shook her head and then breathed out the question, "Why?"

"Because I won't let it heal," Spike said, freeing her hand. "It's too important to me. Like Angel's tattoo is important to him. Carrying the scar reminds me of her. Like my duster reminds me of the second Slayer I killed."

He watched Dawn's face as she made the inevitable connections in her mind. She pulled her hand to her breast, rubbing her thumb across her fingers as she glanced up the stairs toward Buffy's bedroom. Spike saw the first spark of horrid understanding in his young friend's eyes. He smelled the sweet perfume of fear radiating from her. She was thinking now of what he would take in the end...what he would need to remind him of her sister.

"You know what I am, Dawn," he said, gently.

"You're...S-s-spike," she said, desperately trying to avoid the issue.

He changed in the semi-darkness, his eyes glowing deadly yellow. Dawn stumbled back into the hallway. Spike didn't pursue her.

"I love your Sister," he said. The words, slurring around his fangs, turned the blood cold in Dawn's veins. "There's only one way for that to end." Moving with cat-like swiftness, he was at the top of the stairs, heading down the hall to Buffy's room.

Dawn thought about screaming. She could wake the house but what if she was wrong? Or worse, yet, right? Even, Buffy might not be able to stop him. If the chip had malfunctioned, her father...all of them...would be slaughtered. For the first time she understood her sister's mixed feelings about Spike, the need and the hesitation to act on it; the conflicting impulses.

Panicking and powerless, Dawn looked for a weapon. She bolted for the living room and opened Buffy's supply chest. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew it was senseless but she wanted to hold a stake in her hand, to feel the comfort of smooth wood against her palm. She pocketed a bottle of holy water, as well and then stood for a moment, still and listening. She heard the slight creak of the floorboards as he entered her sister's room.

"Buffy?" Dawn whispered, the name choking her.

She dashed for the stairs and mounted them two at a time only slowing to a slink when she reached the second floor. She pressed against the wall and crept toward the far bedroom where her sister lay sleeping. Somehow she knew that Spike wouldn't rush this moment. He wouldn't butcher, ripping and tearing. He would savor the kill, lingering over it. Please, God...he would give her enough time.

The door was half-open and she could see Spike standing just inside it. He was still as death. Dawn halted too. Watching the watcher. It was Buffy who stirred murmuring in her sleep and waking. She sat up and blinked toward the door, raising one hand to push the hair out of her eyes. Everyone tensed to spring and then the Slayer spoke.

"William?" she questioned, soft and low. The air in the room seemed to evaporate, leaving a charged vacuum. Reality bent, time slowed to a crawl.

"You're hurt," Buffy said, into the void. It was a simple comment on his physical condition but somehow layered with deeper meaning. Spike gave an almost imperceptible sigh and straightened up from his predatory crouch.

"It's nothing," he said, giving a dismissing little wave of his hand. "I went for a ride...to clear my head after..." his voice trailed off and he shifted from foot to foot, looking down at the floor. "I'm sorry I took you to that place," he said in a rush of words, "showed you what I am."

"I know," Buffy whispered, "but it's done and now we have to deal."

She slid her hip over on the bed and held out her hand to him. Spike went to her immediately, pulling her into a long sweet kiss. Dawn watched them for a moment longer and then quietly reached out to close the bedroom door. She felt certain that neither of the 'super beings' had noticed her presence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy lingered in the kiss, wanting it to go on forever. Spike was shuddering in her arms as his fingers played through her hair. She could feel electricity crawling under his skin, the feeding frenzy threatening to rage out of control. She knew he was balancing on a knife's edge between opposing desires. She could smell the grave on him.

Buffy knew Spike loved her. It was impossible to deny after what they had shared. But love, even desperate passion, didn't excuse what he'd come back here to do. What he'd already done. She pushed him away. Encountering resistance, her fingers splayed out on his chest. Panting, he pulled back, fighting his demon as much as her.

"I want," he started to say, and then checked himself.

"Say it," Buffy demanded. "Say it out loud so we both hear it."

He looked up at her his eyes reflecting the ambient light, his jaw clenched tight.

"I want," he tried, again, "to kill you...to rip out your throat and let you bleed into my mouth...to make you over...and love you...forever." He took a sudden gasping breath, dropping his head into his hands, "I wanted to be inside of you, always. Oh, god, Buffy," he choked, "why can't I be a man for you?"

She studied him coldly. Disengaged from the moment, she responded in a voice like ice cracking underfoot, "Because you're NOT a man. You're a demon, an evil, soulless thing. You're nothing but the memory of a man." He flinched. But she spared him no pity as she continued, "I kill your kind. Everyday. Sometimes just for sport."

Spike looked up and met the eyes of the Slayer. There was nothing in them that would weaken. Nothing in them that was gentle or solicitous. She bared her teeth at the sudden spark of abject terror in him and Spike felt the deep ashy stir of her in his gut.

He started to react but even as he moved he knew that he wasn't fast enough. Buffy took him down in a blur of motion. She was far quicker, far stronger than he'd ever imagined her to be. Her left arm garroted him, pressing him into the mattress. Her legs locked around his hips as she straddled him in a sick parody of their sexual play. A stake materialized in her right hand arcing down into his chest, tearing through cloth, splitting skin and bone. She stopped it a millimeter or two short of his heart.

They held the position, a new understanding growing between them. Spike's mind was cataloging the long list of vampires he'd personally watched Buffy Summers put down. She had always struggled, barely staying alive at times. He knew, now, that was pretense. She had nothing but power at her core. The struggle was a way of retaining her sense of self. It was a subconscious attempt to remain normal in her hellish world. She was, in fact, more than equal to her role as chosen predator of his kind. Somehow, Spike had always known it. He had, even, taken a perverse comfort in it.

The Slayer had never come to grips with her own inhumanity and that held her back from being all she could become. But if he pushed her she would rise to the occasion. She would slaughter him, like she'd killed Angel, like she'd killed the father of his line, the Master. Every vampire that had marked her in blood had died by her hand. She'd brought a stake to the bed where they'd joined together. If it pained her to her very soul...she wouldn't let him win. Seeing the truth uncovered in Spike's eyes, Buffy nodded and pulled back.

"Never imagine you're a match for me," she whispered, as she released him, "out in the street or in this bed...always remember what I am."

Spike massaged the wound on his chest, scooting backward until he could sit up against the headboard. He didn't want to meet her eye, but he forced himself, gulping down the bitter taste of his newborn fear. It didn't change anything.

"What you are is MINE," he challenged.

Buffy stared at him, appalled by his stubbornness. He wasn't a fool. He knew he could never take her, never force her to submit and yet he wouldn't surrender the fight. In the pain of understanding him, she came as close as she ever had to acknowledging his place in her heart.

"I'm not," she said, softly, the dark light dying in her. "I can't be." She leaned in brushing her lips over his brow, whispering, "This is all I have to give you. Past time you learned the rules of this game."

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An hour later, balancing a bundle of clothing before her, Dawn climbed the stairs and knocked at Buffy's room. She waited patiently for the scrambling and light giggles to subside, smiling slightly at the noise. Finally, Buffy peered out, obviously hiding her nakedness behind the screen of the door.

"What?" the Slayer asked, imperiously, raking the teenager with no-nonsense 'I'm the adult here' look.

"Breakfast," Dawn said, totally unimpressed by her sister's show of supernatural authority. "Hello? Christmas morning? Family gathered downstairs?"

"Oh," Buffy blushed beet red. "I'll be right there!"

"WE'LL be right there," Spike's voice corrected from somewhere nearby.

"You might need these," Dawn said, pushing her bundle forward even as she explained. "Spike's clothes from the dryer."

Buffy took the stack of folded jeans and tees and one paisley dress shirt and passed them to the unseen Spike before snapping the door closed in Dawn's face.

"And you're welcome," the teenager muttered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh, I'm stuffed," Annette said, rubbing her belly.

Dawn wasn't surprised. The exotic dancer had downed a truckload of pancakes and enough bacon for an Olympic wrestler in training. Buffy, in marked contrast, had only picked at her plate. Her eyes kept drifting toward Spike at the other end of the table. She was obviously fighting some internal battle. The vampire was trying to ignore the change in the Slayer's demeanor since they'd come downstairs. He'd seen this from her before. This drawing away. This pulling within. What had seemed so clear to her in the night was fading into memory as the day progressed.

Spike wondered again if he was doing the right thing, walking the human path with her. Turning her might be easier. Buffy was setting the rules but she wasn't comfortable playing by them. Spike knew she wanted more than the occasional, no strings attached tumble. She wasn't that kind of girl, not really. Both of them needed more.

Dawn picked up on the undercurrent at the table as it threatened to sweep them all away.

"Time for presents," she said with forced cheerfulness, clapping her hands together in a sorry attempt at girlish glee.

Only Annette responded with enthusiasm. The stripper seemed to be genuinely excited as they filed into the living room. Her eyes sparkled and she chattered on in aimless fashion about Christmas Presents Past.

They opened the family gifts first. Hank Summers gave Buffy a card with fifty dollars inside and Dawn a stuffed teddy bear. The young women exchanged telling glances but thanked their father for his generosity. They had nothing for him as they had already mailed the package with ties and gift certificates to his home in Los Angeles. Annette collected a fur jacket and a diamond pin shaped like a butterfly from Hank and presented him with an imported espresso maker. Dawn and Buffy gave each other their small tokens, a green sweater and a floral dress, both indicative of love and strained circumstance.

Buffy reached under the tree again and dragged out Spike's gift for Dawn. It jingled slightly as she handed it over. Dawn ripped into the present like the Tasmanian devil and then paused her mouth forming a startled 'O' as she studied the twirling carousel pendant.

"You like it, Bit?"

"Oh, Spike," Dawn said, rushing over to hug him. "It's so...so..."

"Perfect," Buffy breathed and caught Spike's eye over her sister's shoulder. She looked away suddenly embarrassed and her searching glance fell on a white-wrapped present she was sure hadn't been there yesterday.

'From Buffy to Spike?' the Slayer read the gift-tag with confusion and then shot her sister a narrow-eyed glance.

"You shouldn't have," Spike smiled, holding out both hands for the large flat box. Buffy turned her glare on him but she had no choice but to give him the gift.

He tore the end of the box open and reached inside. He broke into a wide grin as his fingers closed on loosely folded leather. He recognized the heavy drag of it. Hank and Annette both gasped as Spike pulled his duster free of the cardboard and shook it out. Mr. Summers stood up and came around the coffee table to brush an admiring hand over the black full-length coat.

"Fine quality," he commented. "Antique I think...but soft as butter...well cared for..." He turned to look at Buffy, "this must have set you back a bundle, Sweetie?"

"No," Buffy answered, too quickly, then prevaricated, "I mean, it was...used...and old and..." she ran out of excuses and breath and looked up as Spike snapped the duster out, flaring it around like a cape; slipping it on. "I...uhm...just...thought...you'd like it," she finished, lamely.

Spike covered the distance between them in one quick glide. He leaned in swift and sure, gripping the back of Buffy's neck with one hand. Tilting her head up, he kissed her lips with fierce passion. It was a long, hard, open-mouthed kiss that caused everyone in the room to lose their train of thought.

Breaking off at last, forehead pressed against the Slayer's brow; he breathed out, "I love it!"

Dawn decided to intervene before they witnessed something even more graphic, "And this is from me," she chirped thrusting a blue foil bag at the vampire.

Spike came back to the land of the living. People were staring at him. He took Dawn's proffered gift and carefully opened the top of the bag. He peered inside at the present and frowned. Then, eyes sparkling with amusement, he pulled out the long strip of black cloth for everyone to see.

"Oh, you are kidding me," Buffy snorted, shaking with mirth. "A tie?"

"What?" Dawn complained, as both Spike and Buffy collapsed into helpless giggles. "It's traditional," she reminded, scolding the pair, "stop it, stop laughing."

Dawn shoved playfully at Spike's shoulder and he pushed back. As she fell sideways, he guided her down, rolling over to pin her. Buffy leaped to her sister's defense. They were all wrestling about on the floor, when a camera flash brought them back to their senses. Hank Summers had captured the moment on film.

Buffy scrambled free of the tangle of limbs, brushing herself off.

"Dawn," she said, more harshly than was necessary to get the girl's attention, "we need to get this mess cleaned up and start dinner."

"Uhm...okay," Dawn said, not really understanding what was wrong. She stood up, moving toward the kitchen, "I'll get the trash can."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Spike remarked, nodding toward the base of the tree. Buffy glanced behind her and spotted the small cloth wrapped package. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for it. It fit easily into her fist.

"Good things come in small packages," Annette observed, fingering her new diamond brooch. Then she noted the disgraceful state of the gift wrapping and wrinkled up her nose, "Ewww! But it's all moldy."

"It looks a hundred years old," Dawn said.

Buffy's eyes widened and she bit down on her lip. Her mind was playing back Spike's story of Christmastime loss. But surely...this wasn't...

"It belonged to my mother," Spike answered her unspoken question, "but she never got to open it. I've been dragging it around for years."

"Oh," Annette said, leaning forward. "A mystery gift. What do you think it is?"

"Let's find out," Spike encouraged. Nodding at the Slayer, he shared an intimate smile with her.

Buffy's heart banged against her ribs. Her mouth was dry and her fingers shook as she untied the brittle ribbon and pulled away layers of stained cloth and heat-sealed waxed paper. She glanced across at Spike as she reached the final layer of soft cotton batting. A coil of gold and ivory nested at the heart of the packet. Buffy gently lifted the gift out, transferring it to her open palm.

"What is it?" Dawn asked. Her sister didn't answer; she was entranced by the delicacy of the thing.

It was a bracelet, obviously one of a kind. Lovingly crafted by some long dead Victorian artist. Its ivory beads were carved into the shape of long-stemmed roses and linked by twining vines of old gold. It was a work of singular beauty...designed for a particular person...

"Emma Rose," Buffy whispered, looking over at the dead woman's dead son.

Spike nodded and the Slayer felt the sting of tears forming. She couldn't process the scope of her feelings. All of those years he had spent with Dru and yet he'd never given her this part of himself. Never shared what he was sharing now. Why?

Spike read her mind again. "She would have wanted you to have it," he said, simply.

Buffy gave a tiny cry, half laugh, and half sob. She started to rise, to run, but Spike was there, blocking her escape, his hand pressing down on her shoulder. Her eyes glistened as she looked up at him. She held the bracelet fisted against her heart, knowing he had outmaneuvered her. Spike had cheated. He had changed the rules of their game, taken it to another level. For a moment, neither of them moved and then Buffy held the strand of ivory and gold out to him. He started to back away, afraid of rejection, but she stopped him with a soft touch on his forearm.

"It is the best Christmas present ever," she said, sincerely, offering the linked chain again. Spike blinked down at her in bemusement and she smiled up at him presenting her wrist, "but I need you to help me put it on."

Spike's face softened in sudden understanding of his victory. Taking the bracelet, he complied with Buffy's request. His touch was light and caressing as he draped his beloved in the family heirloom, marking her as his own.

"You know what?" Annette inserted, breaking the hush of the reverent moment. "This was fun."

"Yeah," Hank Summers agreed, with a paternal nod. "We should do this again sometime."

"How about next year?" Dawn suggested, causing both of her predatory guardians to whip around and stake her with identical glares.