Simple Gifts by scarlett2u

Chapter #1 - Simple Gifts

Title: Simple Gifts Author: scarlett2u Timeline: Season 4 Christmas, after “Something Blue.” Summary:  Since they won’t be needing a hope chest, what’s the best holiday gift for a Slayer and her former fiance? As the old adage goes: ‘The best gifts cannot be seen or touched; they must be felt with the heart.’ Disclaimer: BtVS, its characters and canon all belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made. This is merely an homage with nog. Thank you, Joss Whedon, for some of the best gifts I’ve ever been given: my fellow fan friends. Feedback: It’s the rum in my eggnog. Dedication: For my dear friend and sister of the heart, Kathleen (pfeifferpack) Author’s Note: Merry Christmas to all and to all a good Spike!     SIMPLE GIFTS     It was hard to say which startled Spike more: the brief flash of movement behind the Christmas tree or the menacing growl coming from his gullet.   A look at the “tree” yielded no evidence of suspicious doings, unless one found the idea of having a garishly lit doppelganger of a Douglas fir standing in the living room to be cause for alarm. Ah, for the days when the Yule log and holiday tree were real wood. Not that Spike was a big fan of the stuff—wood and vamps being natural enemies--but traditions were traditions, after all. Right now the main tradition on Spike’s mind was feeding the needy, starting with his own voracious self.   Joyce’s cherished grandfather clock struck half past the hour, indicating that midnight and Buffy’s likely return were at least thirty long minutes away. It was still Christmas Eve.   Bah bloody humbug.   You couldn’t fault a fellow for not feeling festive while being forced to spend the holiday season tied to a chair in the home of his archnemesis. He was the Big Bad.  William the Bloody.  Slayer of Slayers. He should be snacking on the Slayer, not waiting for her or one of her bloody Scooby Gang to bring him midnight munchies.   Lo, how the mighty have fallen.   Spike wouldn’t have believed he could come down any further in the world than turning up half-starved on the Slayer’s doorstep, but he just kept reaching new lows with these people. There were the threats, the taunts, the manacles--okay, maybe it hadn’t all been bad--but then the little witch had cast her damn spell and ruined everything!   That damn spell.   Not that it hadn’t had its moments…. In retrospect, seeing the Watcher blindly blundering around or Harris playing hide-n-seek with an Energizer bunny parade of demons was rather amusing, even though it hadn’t seemed so at the time.   Back then, all he could think about was Buffy.   Buffy. Buffy. Buffy.    She had been his entire world. The love of his unlife. The woman he was going to marry.   And they couldn’t get enough of each other.   The slightest touch of their fingertips led to entwined hands and eager, exploring caresses. The briefest brushes of their lips turned into long, slow, deep kisses that seemed to go on forever. When he held Buffy close, the warmth of her skin and strong, rapid beat of her heart echoing against his chest made Spike feel alive again for the first time in over a century. Suddenly, he had family, friends, a mission. He had her.    Then a few badly rhymed words changed everything.  In the briefest of seconds, Spike realized that he had…nothing, nothing but a very brassed off Slayer who still couldn’t quite meet Spike’s eyes, even though weeks had passed since their “broken engagement”. And on the rare occasions when she did deign to look his way, Buffy’s glare burned right through him.   To be sure, Willow’s baked offerings for forgiveness were tasty, but not as mouthwatering and not nearly as satisfying as the sweet treat he had lost. The hunger he felt for the Slayer was not the kind to be satisfied by snickerdoodles…or even oatmeal chocolate chips. The whole botched spell had left him feeling an emptiness somewhere north of his stomach. He felt hollow and…lonely?   Lonely?! He snorted at the absurdity of the idea. How could anyone feel lonely in the zoo that was the Summers house? So many Scoobies running through the place that Joyce needed a revolving door to handle the traffic. Especially tonight, when Spike had been an unwilling witness to that holiday horror known as the Scooby Christmas Eve. If Spike thought that Joyce visiting her sister somewhere in the Midwest and the Watcher running off to the airport to pick up his cozy armful from across the Pond meant a quiet evening, he had quite another thing coming.   Red had bounced around the Summers’ living room, adding more tawdry decorations to the already overburdened tree. She kept babbling about the glorious history of their celebration, something about Xander beheading her Barbies and how he had saved Ira Rosenberg’s little girl with his Snoopy dance.   By the time her little ramble was through, Spike had concluded that a) the Christmas Eve gathering of friends was a long-standing tradition; b) Willow and Xander shared a long and complicated history; c) the holiday apparently unleashed some sort of inner dancing demon in the whelp; and d) Willow was much more appealing when morose, covered in flour and sharing in his misery.   Xander was off picking up a pizza and some videos while Buffy clanged around in the kitchen preparing snacks. His former fiancée, Spike noted wryly, was following her new routine, always managing to be where he was not.   When she finally came into the room, their hostess with the mostest was carrying a tray laden with holiday goodies and eggnog, which she promptly busied herself in arranging on the coffee table. The return of Xander from pizza patrol completed the group. The games were about to begin.   First on the schedule was a ceremonial critique of Xander’s video offerings. Willow and Buffy dumped the bag--rather unceremoniously, truth be told--and inspected its contents. The first two offerings, “A Charlie Brown Christmas” and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” were pronounced classics. Xander was given two enthusiastic thumbs-up. Then there were squeals of delight when “A Christmas Story” surfaced.   “Hey now, what’s this?” Spike chimed in from his post in the La-Z-Boy.   “You’ve never seen “A Christmas Story?” Buffy was stunned, but fortunately Willow was composed enough to untie Spike so he could get a closer look. Xander just gaped.   “Somethin’ like ‘A Christmas Carol’?” Spike flexed his hands and wrists, trying to get the blood flowing again. He would swear the Slayer was deliberately binding him even tighter than usual these days, the little minx.   “You know…Ralphie, the Red Ryder BB gun, the Bumpas’ hounds, the leg lamp…“you’ll shoot your eye out!” That ring any bells for you, Quasimodo?” Christmas spirit did nothing to dim the Xan Man’s snark.   Spike sneered and shook his head.  Guns weren’t exactly his style, but he was fairly certain he’d recall any cinematic effort that involved an eye maiming.   “Never mind. On to the next…” Willow tried a brief foray into peacekeeping by diversion but stopped in her tracks upon seeing the final film selection. “I Saw Muffy Killing Santa Claus?” She looked aghast at the lurid cover art that depicted a bloody, feminine hand slashing away at a demonic-looking St. Nick. The illustration was, if possible, even cheesier than the title.   “Hey, are you cracking on my calling here?!” Buffy sounded indignant and more than a little offended.   “Lighten up, Buff. No resemblance whatsoever. See, here on the back it says, “Can a perky blonde teen save the world from the holiday from hell?”   “Rip-off,” Spike coughed under his breath as he sneered once more.     Xander looked at three pairs of knowing eyes and had the grace to look shamefaced. “Oops, my bad. It was totally subconscious, I swear.”   “It’s okay, Mr. Subliminal,” Buffy reassured him. “Besides, there has to be a shiny happy ending or else no sequel, right?”   “So why do I feel the sudden need to make mass quantities of baked goods to appease my guilt?” Xander was unconvinced of his reprieve.   “No need,” Buffy broke in, whirling around to present her tray of treasures. “Looky!”   “Willow, what you have been up to now?” Xander demanded. “Say, these don’t look like your usual cookies and the round ones there…those look like….” He scrunched up his face, considering the question, as the others crowded closer to get a better look.   After a moment’s reflection, recognition dawned as Xander and Willow exclaimed in unison, “Jabba the Hutt!”   “What?! How can you say that? It’s Santa! He’s just a little more roundish is all. More jelly in his belly…,” Buffy’s voice trailed off as even she had to admit St. Nick had somehow morphed into a very orange intergalactic gangster during the baking process.   “You rolled too thick” was Willow’s expert assessment as she popped part of one of the frosted monstrosities into her mouth.   “Still edible, no big,” was Xander’s comment. At least, that’s what it sounded like over his hearty, open-mouthed chewing.   Buffy looked crestfallen, a look that didn’t get past Spike’s knowing eyes. In a flash, he nicked a cookie from the tray and sampled it, savoring the sweet, buttery taste on his tongue. “Right tasty,” he declared with a grin.   Buffy shot him a look that was a combination of gratitude, shy pleasure and something that almost resembled a smile. It wasn’t quite the megawatt, megatoothy offerings she’d given him during their brief “engagement”, but it was a vast improvement over her usual glares and Spike was going to be happy with what he got.   Because that was all was he was getting. The cookie munching somehow segued into a gift exchange and Spike was left feeling somewhat awkward as he had neither a gift to give nor receive. He reminded himself that this was normal; one didn’t go around shopping for one’s archnemeses, regardless of the season. The only things to be exchanged between enemies, even enemies under truce, were threats and fisticuffs, and if the Christmas spirit didn’t put a damper on the first, the chip definitely nixed the latter.   Spike felt more in the spirit of things once the video viewing began. Despite himself, he got drawn into the story of the unusal reindeer who was misunderstood by his own kind and set off into the world, formed his own band of misfit friends, and ultimately saved Christmas. It seemed wrong to Spike that a fellow’s effulgence should be held against him. Apparently it also did to Willow, who sobbed pitifully at the cruelty the heroes had to endure. She sat between Xander and Buffy, with Xander constantly feeding her tissues and Buffy rubbing her arm in support. Red even misted up again at the end when the outcasts were welcomed back with open arms.   It was relief when Charlie Brown was cued up next. Surely that wouldn’t turn Willow into a watering pot. But no, it was worse than that! In fact, it was one of the most horrifying spectacles Spike had ever witnessed in his unlife.   It looked like convulsions or an electrocution or possibly demonic possession.   But it was worse than all three combined: it was the dreaded Snoopy dance.    And like a train wreck, the spectators just couldn’t stop watching as Xander performed a series of skips, hops and gyrations that defied gravity and all human dignity. Willow was completely enthralled (perhaps it was indeed demonic?), Buffy was grinning and Spike was horrified beyond measure. Thank goodness Christmas came but once a year.   They paused for snack replenishment as Buffy and Willow headed to kitchen for Chex mix and microwave popcorn.  Xander took the time to catch his breath and Spike managed to keep the bile down by deliberately purging all memory of the Snoopy dance from his mind.   Everyone was psyched for the next offering, “A Christmas Story”. With promises of firearms, bullies, triple-dog dares and ocular mutilation, Spike was feeling this might be a film he could really embrace.  Unfortunately, Scut Farkus--could he have become anything less than a terror after being given such a gloriously menacing name?—turned out to be a disappointing bully in the long run, and despite a multitude of deliciously teasing references to Ralphie’s shooting his eye out, the only casualty turned out to be a pair of eyeglasses.   Spike was deeply disappointed and not even the manic mayhem that was “I Saw Muffy Killing Santa Claus” could alleviate the pain. Granted, Kristy Swanson, the film’s star, was all the things the case had promised: cute, perky, blonde and a slayer of satanic Santas. Still, she was not his Slayer, who was having a marvelous time critiquing the fighting techniques and playing armchair quarterback with the quips and stunts. Buffy was the maven of Slayer style.  The girl knew her art, he thought with a smile.   The party broke up after the Santa movie and an unpleasant holiday toast made with Xander’s eggnog, the unpleasant part being the eggnog itself. Clearly too much egg and not enough nog.   “Now I see why my family puts so much booze in this at home,” Xander confessed with a grimace.   On that note, Xander and Willow said their good-byes, Spike was bound in the recliner once more and Buffy was out for a brief, late-night patrol.   Waiting for Buffy’s return and his own midnight snack, Spike nodded off only to be startled awake by some undertermined sound. Then came the cruel knowledge that Buffy’s return was still long moments away. Sure, he’d had his share of cookies, pizza, Chex mix and even the nog (shudder), but hello, vampire here! He was in need of something with a plasma chaser. O negative, AB positive, it mattered not to him at this point.   What he needed was a distraction. The telly beckoned, but the remote was at the far end of the coffee table and it might as well be on the other side of the world for all the good it was doing his tightly trussed self. Just as he thought his empty innards were making him hear things ‘round the tree, Spike heard another noise altogether: the unmistakable sound of stylish yet affordable boots on the front porch.   Salvation in the form of the Slayer!   After interminable minutes spent divesting herself of her boots and yet another of her endless rotation of leather jackets, she entered the living room, a brown bag under one arm.   “Well, if it isn’t the ghost of Christmas past…” Buffy began the conversation in the same way their converstions always began: with the throwing down of the gauntlet.   “Feelin’ a mite peckish here.” Spike was in no mood to waste any time on the pleasantries.   “I knew it! I knew you didn’t really like my cookies tonight!”   “Cookies are all well and good, luv, and yours were better than good, but I’m needin’ a little sustenance with a positive or negative factor just now.”   “Sorry.” Buffy flushed. It was easy sometimes to forget he was a vampire. Too easy, she thought with chagrin, remembering her behavior during Willow’s spell. Diversion, she thought. A diversion would be a good thing now. Or maybe retreat. “Some of the butcher’s best coming up in a sec,” she threw over her shoulder as she sat down her sack and headed for the kitchen.   “Bring some cocoa! And don’t skimp on those little marshmallows this time!” he bellowed after her.   She was soon back with three mugs, two filled with chocolately goodness and a third with the promised pig’s blood. She then untied Spike, who proceeded to down the bloody beverage with gulping gusto before starting on the cocoa. Buffy had to laugh at his unabashed delight in the mini-marshmallows that topped the cup.   “A great lady, your mum. Always has all the trimmin’s.” Spike was getting a melted marshmallow moustache from the cocoa.   “Sorry you had to wait, but duty called.”   “Rough night tonight? I could’ve gone along, you know. Help put the beasties in their place.” He sounded wistful.   “Yes, but I wanted a quick patrol. I wasn’t looking for trouble. You would’ve found some…or started some…or something. And I had my hands full with a nest of fledges that decided to snack on the live Nativity scene on Maple Street.”   “So Buffy saved Christmas?” Spike grinned.   “Beats Muffy killing Santa any day,” she quipped back. “Please, I could sooo wipe the floor with her,” Buffy sniffed.   They were interrupted by the grandfather clock chiming midnight and the arrival of Christmas Day.   “Almost forgot!” Buffy grabbed the brown paper bag and awkwardly presented it to Spike. “It’s not wrapped or anything, but this is for you.”   “For me?” Spike was nonplussed and, for once, speechless. She’d found time to bake cookies, save the world AND buy him a prezzie?   “Go ahead, open it!” Her eagerness made the words come out a bit sharply.   Spike reached inside the bag and pulled out a slim volume bound in antique red leather. “A Christmas Carol?”   “It’s from your time, right?”  Buffy looked expectantly at him. “I thought it was written back in seventeen-something-or-other.”   “Hey, I’m not that old, Slayer! Dickens wrote it in the 1840s; a bit before my time, but still appreciated. Thanks, luv.” It seemed strange to be saying those words to her.   “Don’t make a thing of it. Everyone deserves a Christmas prezzie, right?” And she was off, gathering up the remains of their snack and not meeting his eyes again.   Spike sighed. One step forward, two steps back. It was always the same old dance with them.   “Buffy, wait! Forgot to give you your present.”   That stopped her in her tracks. She sat down the tray and whirled around. “Present?” Now it was her turn to look abashed.   Spike looked around in desperation. What was he going to give her? His only thought was to stop her from leaving and shutting him out again. Now his mouth had written yet another check that he had not the slightest idea how to cash. After taking one more look at Buffy standing in the doorway between the living room and the foyer, inspiration struck.   He got off the couch and went to her side. “Haven’t done much shoppin’ of late, bein’ all tied up as it were..,” Spike gave her a little smirk and continued, “but you know what they say, sometimes the best gifts are simple ones. Look up, luv.” His last words were a husky whisper.   Buffy’s head shot up as her eyes tried to focus. She got a hazy impression of a tiny cluster of white berries and green leaves in the dim doorway. Her brain didn’t even get the chance to register that it was mistletoe before Buffy was drowning in the depths of Spike’s blue eyes and being pulled into his arms. Time stood still as emerald eyes met blue and Spike’s face drew ever closer to Buffy’s. Their lips met, slowly at first and then with deepening intensity.   With the first brush of Spike’s lips, Buffy froze. ‘Spike lips! Lips.Of.Spike. Mmm….lips of Spike!’ was her last coherent thought before thought became an impossibility. In a split second, she and Spike were drinking each other in like two parched voyagers who’d been lost in the desert for a thousand years.   Memory was a liar, Spike decided. He was certain his memory of Buffy’s kiss was accurate in every detail.  He’d certainly spent enough time reliving every single detail of every single kiss. But memory, it seemed, was a pale shadow of the real thing. He breathed in the unique scent of night air, citrus-y shampoo and vanilla that clung to her. So, so, so much than better than anything else on earth. The accelerated beat of her heart hypnotically drew him closer until he could feel the sleek softness of her cashmere sweater. His hands wrapped around her and plunged into the honey silk waves of her hair. The echoing beat of her racing heart against his own unbeating one made him feel more than alive; it felt like heaven.   For an instant, they broke the kiss, allowing Spike to take an unnecessary breath and Buffy to get some much needed oxygen. Any minute now, Buffy was going to come to her senses and stake him good and proper, Spike thought. But it was all worth it. He would go to his big pile of dust a very happy man.   Of course, before he went, he needed just one…more…kiss…   Buffy sagged against the door frame. Her pupils were dilated, her lips were all warm and tingly and she could still feel the imprint of each of the buttons from Spike’s shirt down her neck and chest.  She felt dazed, dizzy and completely wonky.  What on earth was she doing? There was no spell to blame this time, unless you could count Spike-tasting as being under the influence. No one should taste this good. Nothing should feel this good. It had to be wrong.   But she could think about that later. Right now, she just needed one…more…kiss…   If possible, they came together with even more abandon than before. Buffy pulled Spike even closer, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting her fingers playfully entangle in the naturally wavy strands of hair that hung teasingly at his neckline. Her lips parted and her tongue slowly, languidly traced his lips, parting them and slipping inside. His eager tongue joined hers and their mouths moved together in a dance as old as time. So engrossed were they in each other that neither noticed the two surreptitious cohorts slip past them down the hall and into the kitchen.     “Did you see that?” Willow whispered once they reached the relative safety of the Summers kitchen.   “What? You mean Buffy kissing Spikey Claus down the hall just now?” Xander hissed in a stage whisper. “I can’t believe this, Will. I thought you’d sworn off the messing-with-other-people’s-lives magic after that whole ‘my will be done’ mess.”  He looked disappointed and more than a little mad.   “It’s not me, I swear! Besides, when was I supposed to have done this? You’ve been with me ever since we decided to put together a present for Spike. I haven’t been out of your sight. And I have sworn off bad spells. No more bad witchy-poo for me.” Willow raised her hand as if to swear to the facts.   “If it’s not you, what is it then? They’ve been in there macking on each other for the last…,” Xander paused to consult his Timex, “fifteen minutes and they show no signs of coming up for air anytime soon.”   “I dunno. Maybe it’s the spirit of the season. Maybe it’s chemistry.  Maybe they just want to kiss each other silly.  I don’t know!”   “Want to…oh God, I can’t even say it! Bite your tongue, Will, or better yet, let’s call Spike in here right now and after he’s done nibbling Buffy’s neck to pieces, he can bite your tongue for you!”   “He’s not going to hurt her, Xan. He can’t, even if he wanted to…which he so does not.” Willow hoped her confidence was not misplaced. She stuck her head out and peered down the dim hall. Yep, it looked like Buffy and Spike were still having a wonderful time.   “Still?” Xander asked tensely.   “Still,” Willow replied matter-of-factly.   Xander made a face. “I’m going back out there and giving Captain Peroxide a piece of my mind,” Xander started off in a huff, only to be stopped by the firm grip of Willow’s arm on his.   “Sorry, can’t let you do that, not even for a million and one Snoopy dances…though the offer is very tempting.  Buffy’s a big girl. She knows what she’s doing. I don’t know what she’s doing, but I trust that it will be the right thing for her. And last but not least, it’s none of our business. Let’s go, Santa Xander, it’s time to blow this holiday happening and go home.”   And with that, the little witch turned and dragged Xander out the back door, closing it gently behind her.       The soft click of the door was barely audible, but it somehow startled the passionate pair in the hall. They came apart as slowly and gently as they had come together. Buffy’s lips still tingled and and she unconsciously raised her hand to her lips to steady herself. Spike still loomed over her and, in the light from the Christmas tree, she could see that his eyes were shining, almost glowing, and the corners of his mouth were curved up in a little smile. “Merry Christmas, luv,” he uttered in a soft, hoarse voice.   “I..if you…I…,” Buffy stammered, unable to speak. She knew she should deliver a firm set-down, should clarify matters lest he try to kiss her again, but the words would not come. She finally muttered “Merry Christmas, Spike” and raced up the stairwell, leaving a bemused vampire in her wake.   As if on auto-pilot, Spike stumbled back into the living room and, despite being unshackled, back into the familiarity of his La-Z-Boy. In doing so, he nearly knocked over the brightly wrapped package on the arm of the chair. Curious, Spike picked it up and shook it. Seemed safe enough and it did have his name on it. But who could have…?   Ah, the witch and the whelp had been bitten by the Christmas bug, it seemed. Spike ripped into the package without delay and tossed the wrap aside. A tin of Willow’s best oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and a mix CD of what they thought might be Spike’s favorite songs. Some of their guesses had been right on; others not so much. Still, Spike was absurdly pleased by his collection of gifts.   As he fingered the Dickens volume again, Spike thought of the kiss, his “gift” to Buffy. True, he’d meant to give her a kiss she’d not soon forget and he’d been willing to deal with whatever fallout there might be, even if it was his remains in a dustpan. Still, he hadn’t expected her amazing response and that was something she couldn’t take back. Oh, she might be glaring at him or ignoring him again in the morning—and knowing Buffy, she would be—but she couldn’t deny that there was something there, something between them. It might not be easy or pretty or even simple, but it was still there and it was not some by-product of a spell gone wrong.  That knowledge was Spike’s true gift.   As he settled back and cracked open “A Christmas Carol”, Spike eyed the cookies longingly. He was tempted, but not beyond resistance. After all, he still had Buffy taste in his mouth and he wanted to preserve that delicious flavor as long as possible.   Mmm…Buffy lips. Lips of Buffy.   ‘God bless us every one’ indeed.   FIN