Days in the Sun
December 25th, 2001 – Christmas
Seating on the sofa, Buffy looked happily around the room. All the people
who counted for her were there, around the Christmas tree, in the living
room of her house. Right next to her, an arm curled around a sleeping Lisa
and his other hand resting on her round belly, Spike was smiling contentedly.
Her mom was looking at her from her place across the coffee table. On her
left, Willow and Tara were seating on the floor, on her right Anya and
Xander were on the second sofa, and Giles was next to them in an armchair.
They were all drinking hot chocolate and waiting for midnight, just a few
minutes away now, to open their presents. All the people she had missed
so much just a year before.
“It’s Lisa’s first Christmas. We need a tree.”
She stood in front of Spike, arms crossed under her breast and looking as decided as she could. Christmas was only a week away. She had mentioned a tree before, and he had made some comment about demons not believing in Santa Claus. She didn’t care that he was a demon, didn’t care that he wasn’t interested in Christmas. It was hard enough to be away from home for the holidays without even having proper decorations.
He arched an eyebrow at her, before returning his attention to the baby asleep in his arms.
“Sweet Bit is not even a month old, luv. She doesn’t care about trees.”
His gaze came back to her, accompanied with that irritating sexy smirk. And no she didn’t just think Spike was sexy. Just slip of the tongue,.. err, mind.
“Now if you want a tree because you need one, just say so.”
“Yes I want a tree. It’s Christmas. I always had a tree for Christmas.”
His smirk slowly changed into a warm smile.
“I’m sorry luv. I should have realized it was important for you. You want to call Maryan? Just ask her for whatever you need.”
Buffy only nodded gratefully before getting to the phone in the kitchen. He had told her before to call his lawyer’s wife and have her buy anything she wanted, but she still felt like she needed to ask him beforehand. It was his money after all.
She called Maryan, also known as the Santa lady, and before the end of the afternoon she was delivering the goodies. The tree was just the right size, slightly taller than her, and Spike only complained a little when she had him take care of setting it up. Then she enlisted his help to hang up the ornaments – big mistake.
“There’s no way I’ll let you put these things on a bloody tree in my house.”
He was pouting and holding out delicate porcelain ornaments to her – he had told her to get everything she wanted, and what was the point of having a tree and no decorations? She took the ornaments and couldn’t repress a smile.
“Come on, Spike. They’re like symbols. And they’re women too, it’s not like they look anything…”
“You got your tree, Slayer. I’m not asking much. Just don’t put these two things on it.”
With an exaggerated sigh, she placed the two angels back into their padded box and settled on hanging the rest of the ornaments.
Her gaze sliding on the tree, Buffy smiled at the memory. A few weeks before, he had called Maryan and asked her to send them the ornaments she had bought for them the year before. They had arrived without any of them breaking, which had been a surprise since they were all porcelain or glass. This time Buffy hadn’t needed to plead to get a tree, and he hadn’t complained about putting it up either. But he still had refused to let her hang the angels.
It was time to open the presents and Willow, who was the closest to the tree, passed out the packages, big and small, to their respective recipients. There were some oohs and ahhs with the sound of paper being torn off. The last present Buffy opened was the small jewelry box she knew was from Spike. She smiled when she discovered the familiar brooch. It was an oval shell, of a soft pink hue, set in gold and carved in the form of a woman’s face. It had been her gift the previous year. He had explained, with a voice unusually thick with emotion, that it was a family heirloom. She had forgotten it when she had fled London, and now he was returning it to her. She looked at him, noticing that he was observing her.
“That’s not your real present,” he said for her ears only. “I’ll give you the real one when we’re alone.”
Surprisingly, there was no hint of naughtiness in his voice, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it was that he hadn’t wanted the others to see.
She realized that he still hadn’t opened his present, and she pointed at the small box on his knee.
“Go ahead, open it,” she said cheerfully. “That’s from all the Scoobies. Mom had the idea, Willow found it using the net, Giles went to the auction for me, Xander fixed it, and we all had a hand at cleaning it.”
Everybody was watching him by now, and Buffy could tell Spike was at the same time annoyed to be the center of attention and puzzled by what could be in such a small box. He finally opened the lid, and frowned as he pulled a key out of it. The frown suddenly disappeared as his eyes widened in recognition. He looked at her briefly, then back at the key in his hand.
“It’s…” he started, then hesitated. “It can’t be…”
His eyes returned to Buffy, and she smiled at the hope she could see in them.
“It’s in the garage,” she said softly.
Carefully so as not to wake Lisa, he got to his feet and made his way toward the garage, followed by the laughing Scoobies. He almost hesitated in front of the door, then pushed it open and stepped in the garage, Buffy turning the lights on behind him. He froze in front of the black car, his eyes shining as brightly as a kid on Christmas morning, which was fitting since it was Christmas.
“It’s not that I mind you using my car,” Joyce said with a smile, “But it was time you got your own.”
“It was easy to find on the net,” Willow continued. “It had been impounded for a year, and they were about to auction it.”
“I must say I was the only bidder,” Giles added. “It was in such bad condition for being abandoned for so long…”
Lisa still cradled on his left arm, Spike let his right hand trail on the hood of the DeSoto. His DeSoto, that had disappeared while they were in captivity.
“Thanks,” he managed to say at last as he gave a grateful smile to everyone.
Buffy couldn’t help grinning as she looked at him, convinced that now at least one demon believed in Santa Claus.
Still grinning, Spike parked the car in the garage. He hadn’t been able to resist and had needed to go try it immediately. He had to admit that the Whelp had done a good job, his little lady hadn’t run so fine in decades. And hadn’t been so clean either! Gone were the empty bottles and the old and worn blanket he had used as much when he slept in the car as to protect himself from the sun. Gone was the scent of booze, blood and cigarettes. If he hadn’t known any better, he could almost have thought it was new.
Giving a last glance to the black beauty, he closed the garage door and strolled to the living room, picking up discarded wrapping papers. Everyone had left, apparently. As he was finishing to tidy the living room, Buffy slowly made her way to him, and he just left the empty mugs on the table to walk to her. Even in her eighth month, she was gorgeous. Even more so than during her first pregnancy, because this time she was happy, not worried. He gave her a quick kiss and wrapped her in his arms, not too tight, nuzzling her hair.
“That was the best gift ever, luv.”
True, he hadn’t received many during his unlife, and Drusilla’s idea of a present usually involved fresh blood, so it wasn’t hard to top.
“I’m happy you’re happy,” she said with a grin. “Can I have my present now?”
He gave a quick kiss to her forehead and left her in the living room to fetch the item in his office. It was clumsily wrapped, and he felt a bit self-conscious after being offered not only a car but the car he had loved and mourned. He almost put the packet back in the desk, already thinking of an excuse, before finally deciding to give it to her anyway. He would still have time to get her something better later.
He returned to the living room, finding Buffy on the sofa. She was caressing the shell brooch with a delicate finger. It was one of the rare items he still had from his mortal life, carefully concealed from his vampiric family for literally a century. He had often thought about giving it to Dru, but never had, knowing that she would have lost or broken it without realizing it meant so much to him.
He sat down next to Buffy and gave her what was her real present at last. She tore the paper quickly, not noticing how pitiful the wrapping had been, and frowned as she discovered the book. She ran a hand on the black leather cover, her fingers lingering on the golden ‘W’ monogram in the bottom right corner. She glanced at him, questioning, and he nodded.
“Open it.”
She did, and a smile appeared on her lips as she read the first lines.
“A blank book?”
Spike raised an eyebrow at Buffy, then returned his eyes to the expensive looking journal he had just unwrapped.
“Well, what could I get to the vampire who has everything?” she asked, sounding a bit apologetic.
“It’s a fine gift, luv,” he said quickly. “Thank you.”
“I thought, I don’t know, maybe you could write stories in it. Like the stories you were telling me before. Or poems…”
“Stories,” he interrupted. “Sounds like a great idea.”
A hesitant smile graced her lips, and he returned it warmly. He didn’t know if he would ever write anything in the book, but she had apparently given some thought about his gift, and that knowledge was in itself a great present.
“I followed your advice, luv,” he said softly as she skimmed through the pages. “’Wrote down the wonderful adventures of yours truly. The beginning, at least. I’ll need another book to continue. If you find it interesting enough for me to continue, that is.”
He wasn’t sure she would enjoy reading all of what he had written. When he had told her his stories, he had sometimes ‘forgotten’ some details or events. When faced to the blank pages, he had felt compelled to write down everything. Some of it was probably worthy of the darkest of horror books. Other parts were of a very graphic sexual nature. He had hesitated a lot about giving this to her, but he felt like she had a right to know all about him if she wanted. And if it was too much for her, she could simply close the book. He explained all that to her, and she nodded gravely before leaning toward him for a soft kiss. She snuggled against him, resting her head against his chest, and his hand found its way to its usual position on her belly. After a couple of minutes, she giggled quietly.
“”What is it, luv?”
“’Was just thinking, this year we just gave each other recycled gifts!”
He smiled at that, before whispering into the silk of her hair:
“’Guess we’ll have to be more creative next year.”
If that was Christmas, he might come to like it after all. Just as long as there were no bloody angels on the tree.
The characters and names used in these stories do not belong to me. All copyrights remain with Fox and Mutant Enemy. No profit is made from this fanfiction.