Chapter 16: Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Buffy followed Dawn out of the kitchen, but hesitated in the doorway, taking in the subdued group gathered in the Summers’ living room on Christmas Eve. Willow was parked on the sofa, still weak from her prolonged mystical illness, with Tara beside her, doting on her in her mother-hen way. Giles stood by the fireplace, leaning against the mantle and gazing into the dancing flames, no doubt preoccupied with Council business, until Dawn caught his attention as she passed around glasses of eggnog.

The Christmas tree glittered in the corner, the broken ornaments swept away and replaced with extras from the box of leftover decorations, and a decent-sized pile of presents now lay underneath. They were still minus one coffee table, but Xander had offered to build a new one as a belated Christmas gift.

The emotional wreckage was harder to repair.

She hadn’t seen Spike since the big battle. It was probably safer that way, since the past four days had been full of Watchers’ Council interrogations. Giles had assured her that it was always like this when such an event happened, that she shouldn’t worry.

“It’s just that when a human is involved in demonic activities – especially a high-profile person like Jacob’s father – it can get… messy,” he’d explained. “The Council may not always be trustworthy, but in this, they do know what they’re doing. Just let them handle it.”

Buffy had realized that keeping the Council in the dark about Spike’s role in things was really the best way to avoid trouble. The last thing she wanted was for the hard-line Watchers to get the wrong idea and try to deal with Spike themselves.

It was hard to stay away, when all she wanted was for Spike to wrap her up in his arms and tell her everything would be all right, the way he had the morning after the demon attack at the house. She’d finally caved and snuck over to the crypt the night before, but he was either out or avoiding her, and she’d resorted to a hastily-scrawled note assuring him that her invitation for Christmas Eve was still good.

“So, Jacob’s going back to Chicago?” Willow asked, as Buffy took a seat on the sofa next to her.

“Yeah. After what happened, he’s transferring schools. He only came out here to be closer to his dad, so…” She cupped her glass of eggnog in both hands, staring into it as though it held answers.

“That must be so awful,” Tara said sympathetically. “It was a terrible way to find out what his father was doing.”

Willow nodded in agreement. “How did he take it, when he found out his dad was, you know… dead?”

Buffy was silent for a moment. “I think he realized his dad was gone long before I killed him.”

“Oh, Buffy.” Willow put her arm around her best friend, wanting to comfort, but at a loss for words.

“It’s okay, Will,” she replied unconvincingly. Desperate to change the subject, she asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Way better. Once the spell was broken, it was like, miracle recovery.” She shrugged. “Or, you know, like magic. I’m just sorry I missed the big battle.”

“Don’t be,” Buffy assured her. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Hey, where’s Emma?” Dawn asked. “Didn’t you invite her?”

“She went back to England,” Giles spoke up. “She said that she found the Hellmouth far too distracting for her purposes.”

Buffy’s eyes widened with guilt. “Oh, Will, I’m so sorry! I know you were looking forward to her teaching you.”

“No, it’s okay!” Willow grinned. “Tara and I are going, too. We leave the day after Christmas.” When Buffy looked amazed, she added, “What? I can’t be spontaneous? We’ve got three weeks of winter break left. Might as well learn something.”

*****

Jacob trudged through the airport, shifting his bags and the heavy winter coat that was draped over one arm. He didn’t need it in the balmy California weather, but he knew he’d probably walk out into a snowstorm at O’Hare. Stepping up to the baggage check, he handed over his paperwork, going through the motions of checking his luggage without any of it breaking through the numbness.

The airline employee at the desk handed him his ticket and boarding pass. “There you are, Mr. Kessler. And for your return flight –”

“I won’t be needing that,” he cut her off. “I’m not coming back.”

He thought he would have to stay, to answer questions, but Giles had told him that the Watcher’s Council would take care of everything. Within twenty-four hours of the horrific events, an army of stodgy Brits had descended on his father’s house, clearing out the demon bodies and all evidence of magic. The official police report had said suicide, which was ridiculous by any stretch of the imagination, but no officers had even come to the house to investigate. It was somewhat unsettling, that his father’s death would be swept under the rug because of its paranormal connections. But part of him thought maybe it was best just to forget all of this, forget Sunnydale, pretend it had never happened.

Slinging his carry-on bag over his shoulder, Jacob went to find a seat in the terminal waiting area until his flight was called. Just as he settled down, his phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me.” Her voice was soft, hesitant. “Are – are you at the airport?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have to wait long?”

“Another half hour or so.”

He heard Buffy sigh on the other end of the phone. “I just – I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know, but – I really am sorry. For everything.”

“Me, too.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the line, until finally Jacob said, “You should go.”

“Merry Christmas,” she offered weakly.

“Merry Christmas.” Hanging up the phone, Jacob stared at the people hurrying past on their way to catch their flights, his gaze focusing on nothing.

*****

Buffy placed the phone carefully back into its cradle and went to rejoin the gang in the living room. Willow and Tara looked up at her with expectant faces, but she didn’t have the energy to rehash the conversation. Instead, she picked up her empty glass from where she’d abandoned it on the end table.

“I need more nog. I’m nogless. Anyone want anything?” When they shook their heads, she headed into the kitchen, stopping short in the doorway as she took in the figure standing there. He was facing the refrigerator, head bowed as though he was studying the grocery list or Dawn’s school picture, stuck to the door with magnets.

“Hi.”

Spike turned, as if startled to see her in her own house. “Hi.”

“What are you doing lurking in here? Everyone’s –” Buffy started to gesture over her shoulder towards the living room.

“Wasn’t sure if you wanted me around,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “Pretty sure they won’t want me around.”

“Spike –”

“Way I figure, if you intended to stake me, you’d’ve done it already.” He paused, looking to her for confirmation.

“Spike, I have no intention of –”

“That’s why I’m leavin’ town.”

Buffy’s empty glass clattered to the countertop. Surely she hadn’t heard him right. But then he said, “Just came to say goodbye,” and her knees almost gave out.

“What?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Why?”

“You know why.” When she just stared at him, he shook his head angrily. “Everything’s changed, Slayer. It’s all – you can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I told them I did it.”

He stopped, his face frozen in incomprehension. “Or… maybe you can.”

“I told them I killed him. I knew it would be… hard for them to understand, so I made it easier.”

He was perfectly still, speechless. The only way she knew for sure that he’d heard her was the look in his eyes – bewildered, searching, agonized, all at once.

She tried to reassure him. “You did the right thing, Spike. You know that, right?”

“Did I? That’s just it, Buffy. I don’t know. Don’t have a precious soul to tell me.” There was a harsh, mocking tone to his voice, throwing back in her face all the times she’d held that up as a precondition for love and acceptance.

“All I know is how it felt.” He backed her up against the sink, grabbing her arm roughly as he leaned in, the full length of his body pressed against hers. “Same as it felt to drink from you. Same as it felt to rip the throat out of every one of my victims.” He could feel the bloodlust rising up in him just thinking about it, and he let out a low growl. “Can’t just shut that away. It’s what I am.” He pressed his forehead to her temple, and she could feel bones shifting as the ridges formed against her skin.

He whispered in her ear. “Demon.”

“No…” She tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go. “Spike… please…”

“What am I, Buffy?” he demanded, his demonic visage inches from her face, challenging her to deny its dominance. “A monster or a man?”

“Let’s leave the existential questions until after dinner, okay?” Buffy replied lightly, partly to ease the tension, and partly to show him that he couldn’t intimidate her into revealing the fear he thought she should feel.

“I mean it, Slayer. Never be a man, will I?” He let her go, shoving her against the cabinets as he took a step back.

“Spike –”

“I thought I’d changed,” he said, his anger draining away into regret as he slipped out of game face. “Thought I loved you enough, even without the chip, could still be good. But I can’t, Buffy.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I killed him,” he insisted. “Didn’t even blink. Maybe it was all right this time, but what happens next time? I killed without battin’ an eye for a hundred an’ twenty years. Few years of forced restraint haven't changed that.”

“Are you even listening to yourself? Tell me that the Spike who killed for all those years would’ve ever had this conversation. Tell me he would’ve cared about right and wrong. Tell me he would’ve done all the good that you’ve done.”

She placed her palm on his chest. “You have changed, Spike. Soul or not, there’s something there. And it’s stronger than your demon. I’ve seen it. I know what you’re capable of.”

“So do I,” he said darkly.

“Shhh. Let me help you. Please.”

They stood there for what felt like an eternity to Buffy, eyes locked in a silent battle of wills, until finally he gave an almost imperceptible nod and flicked his gaze toward the floor. She stood up on tiptoe and placed a kiss on his lips.

“I want you to live here, with me. With us.”

Spike shook his head. “Dunno what the rebound period is for shackin’ up with the guy who killed your boyfriend’s father, but I’m sure it’s longer than this, Buffy.”

She flinched, as though his words had physically hurt her. “I didn’t mean it like that. We can take it slow, if you want. You could have your own room and everything. I just think it would be good, you living here, like we planned before.”

“You’re getting a paycheck now, yeah? Don’t need a boarder anymore.” He ran wistful fingers over the countertop, tracing the crevices with care.

“It’s not about the money, Spike. It’s about trust.” She placed her hand over his, stilling his motion, and he looked at her curiously. “My sister lives here. There’s no one in the world I want to keep safe more than her. If I thought you were dangerous…”

“I get it.”

Their eyes met again, and he could see in hers everything he’d been hoping to see for over a year.

Buffy reached up to cup his face in her hand. “Merry Christmas, Spike.”

Pulling his head down, she met him in a gentle, open-mouthed kiss. His lips parted against her tongue, his hands grazing over her arms, her back, before settling at her hips, tugging her flush against him.

Her touch was tender, unhurried, not the frantic fumblings in his crypt or the zero-to-sixty lust of the graveyard, but the languid kiss of someone who knew she had all the time in the world. Someone who knew what she wanted, and recognized that she was holding it in her hands.

*****

A knock on the front door sounded, and Dawn hurried to answer it, only to be met by the sight of Xander dressed in a Santa costume, bearing a shopping bag full of colorfully-wrapped presents in each hand. Even though they all had their own trees in their apartments, there had been a silent understanding to bring all the gifts to the Summers’ house, where they would open them together, as a family.

“Ho ho ho?” Xander offered half-heartedly.

“Okay. You know I’m too old for this, right?” Dawn asked.

“Anya made me dress up for the Magic Box,” he grumbled as he stepped past her into the house, causing Willow and Tara to dissolve into giggles at the sight of him.

“I think it’s very sexy,” Anya replied. Xander just gave her a dirty look as he dropped his bags to yank the white beard off. The others avoided eye contact, their gazes suddenly darting around the room with discomfort, pondering whether they’d unwittingly stumbled onto one of Anya’s weird sexual kinks.

“I, uh, wouldn’t think you’d get a lot of business at a magic shop on Christmas Eve,” Tara said, diplomatically trying to change the subject.

“Everyone has last-minute shopping,” Anya replied. In a gleeful tone, she added, “And they’re usually desperate, so you can charge more.”

“Honey, I think someone’s forgetting the true meaning of Christmas,” Xander teased, putting an arm around his fiancée.

“Hey, speaking of which, you’re just in time for Charlie Brown!” said Willow.

Xander glanced at the television, where the assembled group of cartoon children had just broken into a chorus of Hark! The Herald Angels Sing. “It’s over, Will.”

“Yeah, but we’re gonna watch it again, and this time you have to do the Snoopy dance.”

As they all settled down to partake in Xander and Willow’s holiday tradition, Buffy and Spike came out from the kitchen, the vampire looking a little hesitant even as Buffy intertwined her fingers with his encouragingly.

“Spike! You came!” Dawn threw herself at him, forcing him to drop Buffy’s hand to catch hold of her as she flung her arms around his neck in a hug that nearly lifted her off the ground.

“Happy Christmas, Bit,” he replied, hugging her back. Over her shoulder, he glanced at Buffy, who smiled, and then at Giles, who surprised him with a nod as he raised his glass of eggnog in silent greeting.

Taking in the rest of the group, particularly Anya perched on Santa’s lap in the armchair, Spike raised an eyebrow. “Finally found your true calling, Harris?”

“That’s ‘Xander Claus’ to you, buddy.” He pointed at Spike with jocular mock-seriousness. “You’re on my naughty list.”

“Don’t worry,” Anya assured Spike with a wink. “I’m on his naughty list, too.”

Xander’s cheeks suddenly matched his outfit. “Not the same list, Ahn!”

“Come on, guys. Snoopy time,” Willow said, shifting closer to Tara to make room on the sofa for Spike, while Buffy perched on the arm next to him.

As Charlie Brown and his friends continued to carol, Spike felt Buffy’s hand on the back of his neck, her fingers gently running through the hair at his nape. Part of him felt like an intruder; if they knew what he’d done, what he was still capable of, they’d never have welcomed him so warmly. But she believed in him. She trusted him, and she was giving him a chance to prove that he could be a man.

And as he leaned back into her touch, he realized that was the best Christmas present she could’ve given him.

*****

the end