The Nutcracker?

Well, that seemed even more on the nose than usual.

“She’s really looking forward to it,” said Buffy, letting her fingers drift over his bare chest. “It’s sweet of you to do it. I know it’s not your thing.”

Spike thought back to St. Petersburg in 1892 — and a certain zaftig ballerina — but decided not to argue the point. He was more interested in the other part of her statement.

“I’m a sweet bloke,” he asserted. “Just try this patch, here.” He turned his head, exposing the place behind his jaw, under the ear, and she obliged him by tasting it. He shivered as her little tongue slid across his neck.

“Mmmmmm,” she replied. He could get used to this amiable version of Buffy. “You’re also kind of salty, with a hint of smoke. A big, sweet, salty, smoky bad.”

“Is that a good thing, pet?” He gasped as she nipped at his throat.

“It means you’re on my ‘naughty but delicious’ list.”

Her hands slid slowly up his arms to the tinsel that bound his wrists above his head. It was getting very difficult to follow the conversation, but he gave it one last effort.

“That’s all right, then.”

+++

When he awoke in his crypt the afternoon of Christmas Eve, he knew where he was, and why he was alone. He was sore in a number of very nice ways, but not at heart. This Buffy was still a very demanding lover — no complaints there — but she saw him when she looked at him and had even talked to him last night like he was an actual person.

They’d made out a little on the couch after Dawn went to bed, the lights from the tree making her eyes sparkle in a way that made him wonder if he was dreaming this whole thing. After the witches got home, they’d gone out on patrol and ended up at his crypt. Where, she explained, they didn’t have to worry about keeping the noise down. And he thought he’d loved her before...

She’d even kissed him when she left for home, citing the need to spend the day with Dawn. A proper goodbye kiss, with no kicks to his head or bitter promises that this would never, ever, not ever happen again. He was well and truly damned, but he’d go to perdition with a smile on his face.

No time to woolgather. Apparently, he had a date with his two best girls at the ballet tonight. He’d been thoroughly instructed on proper attire and everything.

+++

Spike was under no illusions — he’d been asked to come so that he could do the driving. Los Angeles wasn’t far by his lights, but Buffy was still not comfortable navigating freeways. They left in Joyce’s SUV just after sundown. The first stop was Pink’s Hot Dog stand for dinner, which was a mysterious Summers Christmas Eve tradition, or so Dawn insisted.

“We were always kind of rushed to get to the ballet, and Dawn had this weird affinity for odd food combinations even as a kid. I don’t think mom liked it all that much, but I guess dad thought it was funny: fancy ballet, super unfancy dinner,” explained Buffy.

The line moved up a few feet. Buffy glanced at Dawn, who was intently examining the menu, and lowered her voice.

“Jokes on him, I guess. He’s still paying for the fancy ballet. Three tickets. He must have forgotten to cancel the subscription before he left for Spain.” She stared at the ground, her mouth starting to look pinched and worn. Spike would never forgive the pillock for putting that expression back on her face. He’d do what he could to buoy her back up, though.

“Whereas I am the lucky bloke that gets to buy you ladies dinner. Anything you want, Slayer. Sky’s the limit.”

She blinked and then gave him an challenging look. “Even the Chili Cheese Dog with Sauerkraut?”

“Even that,” he agreed. “Bet you can’t eat two.”

“You’re on.”

After dinner — and the promise of a stop at House of Pies after the ballet — Spike felt his plan of feeding up the Summers girls was starting to get somewhere.

+++

They barely made it before the curtain went up, but once they were settled in their seats with Dawn between them, Spike realized that this was something more than a date. This was a real, true family tradition, and he’d been invited in. It was almost more affecting than when he’d been reinvited into the house before the final fight with Glory.

The ballet passed in a blur while he savored this new feeling. Buffy frequently glanced over at Dawn, whose shining eyes and rapt expression seemed to satisfy her. It was clear that Dawn’s happiness was making her happy, and Spike felt as if he was on the verge of understanding something about humans that he had somehow forgotten. He knew full well that they could make one another miserable, and did so regularly. But that they would do things just to bring pleasure to another person — it had been awhile since that had been an element in his existence. He’d done plenty for Drusilla, of course, and had never expected much in return. But this easy, open pleasure was something that put him in mind of his human days. He’d yearned for a grand passion, of course, but could remember the sweetness of his mother and sisters’ kind attentions, and how he’d delighted in bringing a smile to their faces. It seemed so far away, but seeing Buffy’s example before him, he felt he could almost manage it again.

Dawn gave out a sigh of contentment at the close of the Suite and wriggled happily in her seat. Buffy’s eyes met his in conspiratorial look — one adult to another. It hit him then that he wasn’t just invited along on this outing, important though it might be. He was in on the project, the project being to make Dawn’s Christmas a nice one.

That was what he’d wished for, wasn’t it? To make Buffy and Dawn happy for the holidays? It just seemed so responsible and upstanding, now that he was in the middle of it. Not that it wasn’t without its rewards, mind. It just was starting to seem more like the thing was supposed to be its own reward, and that was a bit of a change of gears for bad old Spike.

Before he knew it, they were bundling back up into the car for the trip home. Dawn soon fell asleep in the back seat, undone by the sugar overload and the monotony of the drive. Buffy fiddled with the radio until she found some carols which played softly as they headed north.

“Thanks, Spike,” she said. “It was a strangely nice night. I’d go into more detail about all the hideous, monstery things that didn’t happen, but that would probably jinx it.”

“Yeah, best not tempt fate, pet. We are headed to the Hellmouth, after all.”

“Yeah.” She subsided into silence, and seemed to find the hands in her lap riveting.

“Out with it, Buffy,” he said. “Know you’ve got something to say, so you might as well say it before Dawn wakes up.”

She started a little and glanced back at Dawn slumped in an ungainly posture in the back seat. She nodded.

“It’s not that big a deal. It’s just that it’s Christmas tomorrow, and we’ll open our stockings in the morning, and then have Christmas breakfast, and then open presents, and then work on Christmas dinner for the gang, and well, Ithinkyoushouldbethere.”

She looked at him expectantly, her big, shining eyes imploring.

“‘Course I’ll come, if you want me there,” he answered her not-exactly-a-question. “Only have to tell me how high you want me to jump. You know that.”

She blanched a little. Her brow wrinkled fetchingly.

“That’s not what I, um, okay, that’s good to know, I guess. But what I meant was that I think you should sleep over tonight. If you want.”

“If I… You mean, in the basement?”

He glanced over and caught her little minx smile as she shook her head. He looked back at the roadway and steeled himself.

“Not the sofa, either?”

He looked over again and saw her brows hitch a fraction and her lips twitch. Once more, she shook her head. He looked away and gripped the wheel a little tighter.

“In that case, I want,” he purred. Before he could stop himself, he added, “If you’re sure.” He nearly smacked his forehead on the steering column, wondering what possessed him to be so assiduous about the niceties tonight.

“I’m sure.”

A highway sign reading “Sunnydale, 42 miles” flashed by. He reined in his impulse to floor it, and tried very hard to focus on the precious cargo he carried.