Buffy the Vampire Slayer fic: All I Want for Christmas is You
Set in season six. Buffy’s back from the dead and still having a hard time dealing with life; Christmas is almost more than she can handle. While her friends take a break from the chaos that is their lives, Buffy sneaks out, only to find Spike doing his stalker routine. But things aren’t always as bad as they seem, and neither is Spike.
don’t own… wish I did, but I don’t. No infringement intended.
The door clicked softly behind Buffy. She pulled her sweater tighter around her as she sat on the back steps. Her breath hung in the cool December air. From inside, she could hear her friends singing carols, buzzed on too much spiked eggnog. She leaned her head into her hands; everything was so hard.
After a moment, she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “What do you want, Spike?”
Spike chuckled. “You always seem to know where I am, love.”
“I could smell the smoke.”
“Oh.” He looked at his cigarette then dropped it, squashing it with his foot.
“Spike, I’m really not in the mood.”
“Not up with the holiday cheer then?”
“Go home.” Buffy ran her hands through her hair.
Spike came over to the porch. “No.”
“No.” He sat down next to her. “You need some cheerin’ up.”
“What I need is for you to go away.” Buffy jumped up, took a few steps away.
Spike darted in front of her. “Come on, Buffy, you know you don’t want me to go.”
He tried to grab her arm, but she turned away. “Spike-”
Spike got in her face again, invading her space. “Why do you have to make things so difficult, pet? We both know what you need.” He pulled on the free strands of her hair. “Why can’t you just admit it?”
Buffy pushed him away. “What I need is for you to not be here.”
“Don’t make me hurt you.”
Spike pushed up against her. “I like it when you get rough-”
Before he could finish the thought, Buffy slammed her fist into his nose. Spike stumbled back, landing hard in the dirt. He held his face, brow furrowed. Buffy rolled her eyes. She was more than a little tired of his nonsense. Spike’s look of confusion quickly turned to anger then back to confusion then on to hurt. A little bit of something twisted inside of Buffy. Regret?
Spike got to his feet, dusted himself off. “Fine, be a bitch about it. Go back and pretend to actually give a damn about the boughs of holly and the jolly old fat man. Maybe your friends will even buy it, but we both know you’ll be miserable. No amount of tinsel and eggnog could fix that.” He started to walk away then did a quick one-eighty. “You know, sometime I think you like it—being miserable all the time. It gives you an excuse to check out—to not be in this world. ‘Oh, woe is me, I didn’t come back right. Life is hard, think I’ll just disappear. Maybe it’ll feel better if I’m anywhere but here.'”
Buffy sat back down, face in her hands.
“Problem is, love, you can’t escape the pain. It never goes away. All you can do is make it hurt a little less.”
“And you can make it hurt less?” Buffy asked with a snort.
“‘Course I can. You were there.”
Buffy laughed. “I don’t recall there being a lack of pain.”
Spike smirked then sighed. He sat next to her, leaving some space. “Look, things are hard, but they’ll get better.”
“And you know this how?”
He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Because you’re you. You’ve survived everything else the world has thrown at you; you’ll survive your death, too.”
“They made sure of that,” she murmured.
Spike moved to put a hand on her shoulder, but pulled back, letting it drop to his lap. They sat in silence for several minutes. Buffy didn’t know what to think any more. Things were hard, and maybe Spike was sort of right. She thrived on misery. Why else would she let things get so bad? If she’d told her friends the truth about Heaven when she- She shook her head. Spike being right was more than a little disturbing, but lately he’d been right about a lot of things. She shivered.
“Here,” Spike said softly, interrupting her thoughts. He handed her a small, badly wrapped box.
Buffy turned it over, hoping it wouldn’t explode or anything. “Why?”
He let out a snort. “‘Cause it’s Christmas.” At her look, he scoffed. “It’s tradition. Because I- Just open it.”
She tried to hide the small smile as she tore the paper. She wasn’t sure if she was smiling about Spike’s discomfort or the fact that he got her… a locket. She slid her fingers over the gold oval. It had small flowers etched along the edge with a larger rose in the center. “It’s beautiful. Looks antique.”
“Late nineteenth century.”
“I didn’t nick it if that’s what you’re getting at. Found it.”
Buffy wasn’t sure she believed him. A flood of confusing emotions threatened to swallow her whole. Everything was so wrong since she’d come back from the dead. Things were too bright and too loud and too complicated. Except Spike. She glanced over at him as he stared at his boots. When she was with Spike it was like everything slowed down. She hated to admit that—how easy he was to talk to, how good he made her feel, how he frustrated her and made her laugh all at the same time.
She opened the locket to find a picture of her mother on one side and a picture of her sister on the other. She blinked away the tears.
Spike glanced over at her, his expression soft. “It’s just a little trinket, love, no reason to cry.” He wiped her cheek with his thumb, lighting her cold skin on fire.
“I didn’t get you anything,” she said, her voice cracking a little.
“Wasn’t expectin’ anything in return, pet. Isn’t that what Christmas is about? Giving, not receiving?”
Buffy met his gaze, his face a little blurry behind the tears. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.
Spike cracked a smile. “Thank you’s the preferred expression in these kinda situations.”
Laughter bubbled up from some place deep inside of her—a place she’d thought closed off for good. She wiped away the wetness on her cheeks. She wasn’t sure if they were sad or happy tears. Spike’s smile was even bigger when she finally got control of herself. His eyes sparkled in amusement.
“Thank you,” she said through another fit of laughter. She finally calmed, her eyes never leaving his. She could get lost in those eyes—the intensity, the tenderness. Sometimes she wished she could love him the way he loved her, the way he wanted her to love him back.
After a moment, Spiked slapped his knees. “All right then. Did what I came to do.” He jumped up. “Time to go cause some mayhem. Lots of creatures out bumping in the night and all that.” He ran a hand over his hair, rubbing at his neck. “Night, Buffy.”
She watched him cross the yard and felt suddenly cold. Something squeezed at her chest making it hard to breathe. She glanced at the locket—the pictures of her family staring back at her. He’d put a lot of thought into the gift, even if he did steal the thing. And the tears were back.
“Spike, wait,” she called, hurrying after him. “I-” Buffy didn’t know what she wanted to say. “I-” She was being stupid. Looking at Spike, with that bemused look on his face, she knew exactly what she wanted to do. So why was she fighting it?
He gasped when she slid her arms around his neck. She kissed him softly, not daring to deepen it—that led to nothing good. Spike, didn’t try anything either. He kissed her back just as tender, his hands cupping her face. When she pulled away he had a look of surprise on his face.
“What was that about?”
Buffy licked her still tingling lips. “Your Christmas present. You like it?”
He smiled softly, touching his forehead to hers. “It’s exactly what I wanted.”