Never Ever Tell by Lilachigh


Under her skin


Buffy paused at the outside door leading down to Xander’s basement. The fairy lights that he’d fixed across the front of the house were still twinkling, but half the line were trailing down the wall where they’d been blown down in the wind. She winced. Raised drunken voices rang out angrily from inside the house. Mr and Mrs Harris were celebrating Christmas in their own fashion.

Xander and Anya, however, were sitting happily on the sofa in Buffy’s living-room, eating nuts and candy, watching silly films on TV.

After the horror of The Gentleman incident, everyone needed to relax and have fun.
Joyce Summers was cooking a huge meal, helped by Willow, who kept telling everyone that being Jewish, she didn’t celebrate Christmas, but hey, where else would she be on Christmas Day when both her parents were away.

Buffy opened the door into the basement flat, then paused. She remembered flinging open her own front door a couple of hours ago to find her three friends standing there, Xander and Anya singing carols at her. She’d laughed as she’d ushered them in, then - “What have you done with Spike?” she asked, peering out into the gloomy afternoon street.

“Spike?” Xander said, puzzled. “He’s back in the basement. He wasn’t invited for Christmas, surely?”

“What? Oh, no, of course not.” Buffy laughed briefly, shutting the door behind them and watching as they piled presents under the tree. “I mean, we had enough trouble feeding him at Thanksgiving, didn’t we?”

“I don’t think he’s even awake, Buffy,” Anya said. “He hadn’t come out of his room before we left.”

“Right! Well, can I get anyone a drink? I’ve made punch.”

Willow must have caught something in her tone, because she said swiftly, “I don”t think vampires celebrate Christmas, Buffy. Evil and all that. And Giles is coming over later. He wouldn’t be too pleased to find Spike here.”
Buffy had agreed. The last thing she wanted was the sarcastic tongued vampire in her living-room on Christmas Day. Still - after a couple of hours, she announced, “I’m going to do a quick patrol, then get back for dinner. Don’t eat anything till I’m back.OK?”

“Buffy, surely you don’t need to patrol today?” Xander said.

“Oh, I’ll just race round, grave-yard to grave-yard. I’ll be back before you know it.”

And now she was here, inside Xander’s basement and she didn’t know why. She didn’t want Spike at their Christmas dinner. She didn’t even want to speak to him today. He was an irritation, like a splinter that had lodged under her skin that she couldn't reach to pull out.

“If you’re coming down those steps, Slayer, you might get a move on. You’re letting out all the warmth.”

Spike’s drawl made her jump and she hurried down the final few stairs to find him lying slouched in a chair. Scattered on the table in front of him were several magazines; he was reading what looked like - well, there were bodies and she was not going to look any closer. It was obviously something gross!

“You’re a vampire. You’re not bothered by cold air. Anyway, Xander forgot the beer in his fridge,” she said brightly. “I said I’d pick it up as I finished my patrol.”

Spike leant a long arm over the edge of his chair and picking up a can, waved it at her, his sharp gaze taking in the bright red festive top that clung to her breasts, the black leather trousers and high cut boots. “Sorry, all gone, Slayer. Hope it won’t spoil your Christmas cheer.”

“What? Oh no. We’ve got plenty. Honestly, Spike, have you drunk the whole pack already?”

He shrugged. “And a Happy Christmas to you, too, Slayer.”

“Happy - don‘t be silly, Spike. You’re a vampire. You don’t do Christmas.”

Blue eyes, shadowed with dark lashes, he looked bored. “Right. You all having fun?”

“Yes,” Buffy said defiantly, wondering why she was suddenly feeling guilty.
“I mean, well, we haven’t eaten dinner yet. Giles is coming over this evening. ”

Spike grinned. “Hey, hey, the gang’s all here! All the fun of the fair, then.” His eyes glittered dangerously and Buffy felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

She didn’t understand the tension in the air. Surely he didn’t expect to be invited to Christmas dinner. This wasn’t like Thanksgiving. Then he’d had nowhere to go to hide from the Initiative. Now he had a safe hiding place here in Xander’s basement and a little gratitude from him wouldn’t have gone amiss.

“Do you want to come back with me for Christmas dinner?” she blurted out

Spike stared up at her. He could see how torn she was, that she was only inviting him out of guilt and although he hated her with a vengeance, there was part of him - buried very deep, but always there - that knew she would be far more relaxed if he wasn’t around tonight. And for some reason that was important to him.

He laughed and waved a hand at the magazines in front of him. “Thanks for the invitation, Slayer, but I reckon I’ll have more fun sitting here enjoying myself - if you get my meaning!”

Buffy wrinkled up her nose in disgust, then wondered why she was feeling both relieved and disappointed at his refusal. “Right, well, as you’ve drunk all Xander’s beer, I’d better get back.”

She stared round the dismal basement; it smelt of damp and dirty clothes and Xander’s over-powering aftershave. She pictured home: the tree glittering with tinsel and candy canes, the wreath on the door, cards and decorations and lots and lots of presents.
Suddenly she was angry at herself for standing here, worrying about an evil vampire who was obviously anxious to get back to his skin mags.

Buffy fled back up the stairs, into the fresh air. The wind was blowing again, the string of fairy lights had finally hit the ground and gone out and the Harrises had reached a new level of anger in their Christmas shouting match.

She headed for home, brushing away stupid tears that the cold wind forced from her eyes.

In the basement, Spike scowled and pushed aside Xander’s girlie magazines that he’d used to hide what he’d had laid out on the table when he scented Buffy outside. The silence of the basement crowded in and a wave of despair swept over him. A vampire who couldn’t bite, couldn’t feed properly. Chipped and controlled. What the hell did he have to live for?

Christmas, no one should be alone at bloody Christmas - why had he ever imagined the Slayer was coming to ask - that they would want him there - how ridiculous and pathetic he was becoming, that he’d half hoped those - those - odious children, the Whelp and his demon tart, Red and the Wanker Watcher would invite him to spend time with them. He thanked all that was evil in the world that she hadn’t seen -

And he smashed both hands down on the pile of little parcels in front of him, destroying the presents he’d taken the time and trouble to steal and stupidly wrap for the people who hated him as much as he hated them.


Meeting: Man or Monster


Buffy made her way into the kitchen. She could hear the TV in the family room, the murmur of Giles’ voice talking to her mother, a splutter of loud laughter from Xander, Anya giggling. It was peaceful in the kitchen. She took a can of Coke out of the fridge and rolled its coldness against her hot forehead. She’d run all the way home from Spike’s crypt, that was why she was all sweaty girl.

The worktop was covered with different plates of food. Joyce Summers had bought and cooked enough for an army. A rib of beef resting under a cover, a turkey roasting in the oven; vegetables, potatoes, yams, salad and rolls, Buffy could see and smell it, but for some reason it didn’t make her feel hungry.

All this food for just a few people. Her mom had made a cake, too. There was a bowl with the remnants of chocolate frosting on the side. Buffy stuck her finger in it and scooped up a little of the soft icing sugar. As she licked at it, she found herself wondering what Spike would have eaten for Christmas dinner all those years ago in England when he was an ordinary man. How weird to have had nothing to eat but blood ever since.

Although - she pulled herself together sharply - where Spike was concerned, she knew damn well he ate other things. Only half an hour ago she’d found him drinking beer at Xander’s and eating chips. He’d devoured practically all of Willow’s cookies after the ‘getting engaged’ spell.

She felt her face going red as memories of that time came flooding back. Memories she’d buried so deeply in her mind that she’d thought them gone for ever. The overwhelming emotion she’d felt, the passion, the desire. It was appalling to remember what they’d done in the dark courtyard outside Giles’ house.

Buffy sat down at the table with her drink. She was shivering, even thought the kitchen was warm. She knew she ought to go next door and be festive girl with all the others, but there was plenty of time for that.

The only sure way to get rid or the memories, she decided, was to go through them, one by one, then she could safely discard them and never think again about cool lips and muscular bodies and the sensation of being carried forwards along a river of feeling before they plunged together down a roaring torrent of bliss.

Bliss? The can bent and crumpled in her hand as she tried to wipe the word and memory out of her mind. But it wouldn’t go. She could deny most things in life if she tried hard enough. She’d had enough practice to make perfect. Denying her calling was second nature. Denying other things just followed on, easily, smoothly. Sometimes she didn’t even know she was doing it.

So why couldn’t she deny that she had felt bliss with Spike? That they had made love on the ground, tearing desperately at each other’s clothes, consummating some urge that she did not and never would understand. Was that why she hadn’t wanted him here in her house for Christmas dinner? Because she was scared that somehow her friends and family - her mother! - would look at them and guess what they’d done together?

She knew in her heart of hearts that he would have liked to have joined them for a Christmas meal. Had he refused because he knew she would have been on edge with him there? Did the monster have that much sensitivity? Surely not. He’d just been annoying on principle.

“Buffy?”

She spun round as her mom came into the room, her gentle eyes looking puzzled. “There you are? I was beginning to think you’d got lost.”

“No, just taking a moment. Everything smells good. And I can hear Giles is here. So, are we eating soon?”

Joyce smiled. “Yes, I think so. I don’t suppose you saw Spike when you were patrolling, did you?”

“Spike? Why?”

“Well, I know he’s not a friend - ”

“Mom, that’s the truest thing you’ve ever said!”

“But it’s Christmas, Buffy. A time when we’re supposed to look outside of ourselves and our immediate families to people who are lonely or alone. We’re all here, together, and even Giles is having fun because he knows all the answers to the quiz show questions on TV. I don’t like the thought of anyone I know being alone at Christmas.”

Buffy got up and threw her squashed can into the trash. “He might be spending it with friends. I don’t think vampires ‘do’ Christmas.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I’ll save his present for when I next see him.”

Buffy turned slowly and stared at her mother, her eyes wide and green. “You’ve got Spike a present?”

Joyce looked surprised. “Well, yes. Just a little bottle of Scotch. I know I shouldn’t give him alcohol, but he’s not the easiest person to buy for. I wanted to get him a video of Passions, but I couldn’t find one.”

“Oh!” Her voice sounded small and lost. Her mind was whirling. Her mom wouldn’t have thought it odd if she’d asked Spike to dinner. Joyce‘s compassion was so much greater than hers. “You quite like him, don’t you?” she asked, quietly, staring out of the window at the dark yard beyond.

Joyce Summers’ lips twitched. “Like? That’s the wrong word, Buffy. I’m not stupid, I do know he’s still a monster inside a human form. The man I hit over the head with an axe once. But - ”

“But?”

Her mother started to speak, then looked puzzled, as if the words coming from her were unexpected. “Sometimes you meet men who turn out to be monsters. Spike is a monster who somehow always turns out to be more of a man than a lot I’ve known.”

Buffy stiffened. “Well, you’d better lay another place at the table,” she said. “The monster is walking across our back yard!”





Meeting: Wrong time, wrong place


Buffy stared at the coffee dripping down slowly into the glass jug. She could hear laughter coming from the family room. Dinner had finished and for some bizarre reason, Giles wanted to play charades, with Anya’s enthusiastic, if inept help. Joyce had a headache and said she was dying for a cup of coffee.

Buffy couldn’t remember a weirder Christmas meal. OK, Spike had behaved himself. He’d seemed stunned when her mom had flung open the door and called out to him as he crossed the yard, asking him in. And Buffy had noticed he’d thrust something under the porch steps. It had looked suspiciously like a shotgun and she knew she’d have to check on that soon.

He’d sat between Joyce and Giles and although Xander had scowled at him throughout the whole meal, they hadn’t gotten into any word fights at the table, so hey, Christmas spirit all round. Her mom had given him a soup bowl with gravy in it, but Buffy noticed that he’d also managed to eat several slices of turkey and a bowl of ice-cream.

No, the problem had been her reaction to him. He annoyed the heck out of her. She was sitting directly opposite him at the table and it seemed every time she glanced up, those sparkling blue eyes were glinting in her direction. And what was that obscene thing he’d been doing with his tongue when he’d licked the ice-cream spoon!

His gaze had caught hers and she’d felt the heat rising in her face as his tongue flicked out, removing the last speck from the silver surface. It was almost as if he was reminding her of what else he could do with his tongue, reminding her of that dreadful evening in the courtyard outside Giles’ house when they’d been so enthralled by Willow’s spell.

Oh God, why wouldn’t the coffee finish dripping? The sooner they all had a hot drink, the sooner they would think about going home and she could show Spike the door.

The final straw had come when the phone had rung and it had been Riley calling to wish her a Merry Christmas. Even though she’d turned her back on the table as she replied, she could feel Spike’s gaze boring right through her shoulder blades.

“Your mom wants to know if you need any help?”

She jumped as Spike appeared silently in the doorway. “What? No, I’m good. Don’t let us keep you, Spike, if you need to be anywhere else.”

He hitched himself up onto the windowsill and sat, swinging his dusty boots. “Do I detect a note of sarcasm in the Slayer‘s dulcet tones?” he said dryly. “Don’t worry, pet. I’ll clear off soon. Leave the coast clear for soldier boy to clamber up the wall into your waiting arms and opened legs. Is that what the phone call was about? Arranging a rendezvous. Not very clever of him, doing it while your mum was around.”

Buffy glared at him. “No rendezvous. No arms or…legs. We’re not – shut up, Spike. It’s none of your business. Friends can wish each other Merry Christmas without there being anything – Oh, just go away. I’m tired and you’ve spoilt my Christmas dinner. I don’t know why Mom wanted you here.”

Spike frowned and for a split second his face shimmered and gold glimmered in his eyes. Then he was back to normal. He felt a rush of anger flood over him. How had he spoilt her evening? By existing? Well, that was her fault. She could have got rid of him a long time ago. Perhaps she should ask herself why she hadn’t.
He opened his mouth to speak, then shrugged as two glaring green eyes fixed on him like twin stakes. This wasn’t the time or place to settle this problem.

“Well, evil here, pet, There’s all sorts of ways to hurt someone. And I take it by your whispering down the phone that your Watcher is someone else who doesn’t know about army boy. Out of the loop now, is he? Poor old Rupert.”

He wondered what she would say if he told her exactly how he’d like to be hurting her that night, then pushed the thought away. He could remember the time when they’d been under Willow’s passion spell. Okay, it had been revolting. She was the Slayer, for god’s sake. He‘d been surprised his dick hadn’t dropped off from the contact with all that – but he could feel in every nerve ending exactly what they’d done in the courtyard outside Giles’ house. Oh god, she’d been so hot and tight and –

He jumped down from his perch and headed for the door. “I’ll get out of your way, then, Slayer. Tell Joyce – ”

Buffy felt her temper snap and flung a coffee cup at him. He dodged and it smashed against the wall.

“Buffy!” She heard her mom call, anxiously.

“OK, Mom. Just being clumsy. Coffee’s coming right up.” She spun back to Spike. “Get out, Spike. Now, while you still can. At least Riley is trying to do good in the world, trying to help people. He is what he is, a good man. And what are you? A stupid, pig-headed, toothless vampire. You can’t feed yourself, can’t bite, can’t fight. God, Spike, you’re not even worth the effort of staking. Just go away and stake yourself, why don’t you!”

The door clicked shut and she realised he’d gone into the night. She busied herself with coffee and cups, finding cream and sugar and spoons. Then everything blurred and she realised she had tears in her eyes. Why on earth was she so upset? Oh God, of course, that was it - she’d forgotten to check up on that shotgun she thought she’d seen Spike hide.

How ridiculous to be worrying over something like that. It was Christmas evening; all her friends and family were here. Riley had rung. Things were good. It would soon be 2000, the new millennium. Goodness knows what would happen in the coming year.

Spike was an evil vampire. What did it matter what she said to him? No one would ever know. And she refused to feel bad about it. Absolutely refused…….


To be continued