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He growled in frustration as the old chinese monk grabbed and threw him. This was ridiculous, he was Spike, the Big Bad, or at least the former Big Bad. Fighting is what he did. He was an expert. It was second nature. So how could he be loosing?

"GAME OVER" boomed the computer voice.

"Stupid bloody game!" he cursed. "Virtual Fighter my ass, got nothing to do with real combat." That was it, he told himself. In a real fight you could watch your opponents eyes, tell what they were going to do. But not with some silly machine. Besides, he thought, my fingers still haven't fully recovered from being chopped off. If I had my full dexterity back I'd beat this game hands down.

He winced at the idiom. No gonna keep my hands fully attached from now on. And if I want them to be good as new, I'll just have to keep on playing, he thought as he hit the start button to replay the fight.

Just then there was a knock on the door. "Come in," he yelled absently, as he tried to execute a flying kick.

The door opened, and before he could turn his head to look, he heard a familiar squeal as he was enveloped in a hug.

"Spike, you big jerk." said the armful of teenager he was now holding.

He smiled, "And how are you Nibblet?" He hugged her back, breathing her in, clean and young with the scent of apples in her hair. Then he disentangled himself from her. Stood, and held her at arms length so that he could get a good look at her and avoid looking at the figure in the door. "Bloody hell, you've turned into a young woman, you're not a bit anymore, are you?"

She smiled shyly, a little embarrassed. Blushing, she looked down at her feet and shoved her hair behind her ear as she said, "You can still call me that, it's okay."

There was no avoiding it anymore, he looked at the figure in the doorway. Her hair was long and straight, spilling over her right shoulder the end coming to rest half way down her breast so that, he imagined, were she naked, her nipple would just peek out from underneath.

Of course she wasn't naked. She wore a white turtle neck sweater that clung tightly to her curves. Her long jean skirt lead his eyes down to her feet. She wore delicate black heels, the thin black straps crisscrossing her feet to show off her toes which were painted with a white glittering polish.

She was holding a brown paper bag which she was balancing on her left hip. The way she had her weight on her right leg with her left hip jutting reminded him of an Indian statue. As soon as the thought entered his head he regretted it. Suddenly his head was filled with images of Buffy, topless, with long necklaces or garlands flowing between her breasts, and her arms up and open, welcoming like a fertility goddess. Or better yet, Durga in the middle of killing some demon.

As he tried to wrestle the fantasy's involving Buffy and some of his favorite pictures from a copy of the Kama Sutra (which his uncle had secretly given him on a Christmas Eve over 130 years ago) out of his head, he realized that Buffy hadn't said anything, hadn't moved, and neither had he.

Typical, he thought, I save the world, and she can't even say thanks. Or give me a kiss. Save the girl, get a kiss. Isn't that supposed to be the deal?

It was Dawn who had to break the long silence that hung between the two. "So umm, Merry Christmas Spike. We have presents, but Buffy's is lame, and not even wrapped, so she might as well give it to you now."

"Dawn!" Buffy snapped. Then she reached into the bag. "Merry Christmas William," she said as she handed him a bottle.

William. Why the hell had she called him William. The only other time she'd done that, it had been when she'd broken up with him. Fuck, why doesn't she just say, 'Stay the hell away from me,' he thought.

He looked at the bottle. "I always thought you had good taste," he laughed as he saw that she had bought him a bottle of 21 year old Irish whisky. "Thanks, pet. Would you like a glass?"

"Ewwww. God no Spike, I can't stand that stuff. I just guessed it was good by the price. I suppose I could have called Giles and asked him what type to buy, but. . . anyway, I also brought some wine for Dawn and me. One glass only." she added glaring at her sister, "I figured since you weren't expecting us you might not have much in the way of refreshments for the living. Unless of course you have plans. Do you?"

Her voice dropped on the last part, and he thought maybe he detected a hint of apprehension in her voice.

He turned toward the kitchen area of the small one room apartment, chuckling. "No plans, luv. A couple people invited me to dinner, but Christmas, not really a big holiday for vampires. Better than Easter though." He pulled three glasses out of a cupboard, grabbed a chair from the table, and brought it over to the couch.

"Huh? What's the wrong with Easter? It's vengeance demons, not vampires that have bunny-phobia." Dawn asked.

"Crosses." Spike answered, as he motioned for them to sit on the couch. "You read Sumerian and you don't know Christianity 101?" he paused, "Sorry don't have any wine glasses."

He opened the bottle of wine and poured the two girls each a glass, though he only poured a small amount for Dawn. A glass of wine was a very subjective thing, and he had no idea what Buffy considered 'one glass'.

"Hey," Dawn grumbled when she saw how much less Spike had poured for her than for her sister.

Next he poured himself a glass of whisky. Sipping it, he smiled. It had been awhile since he'd bothered to get anything really good to drink. Between the chip and having a soul, money was much tighter than when he'd simply killed people for what he wanted, hundred dollar bottles of whiskey were defiantly not in his budget.

"Sure you don't want any?"

"I'll try a little," said Dawn.

"NO!" both Buffy and Spike said at once. They looked at each other and all three of them laughed, even Dawn although she pretended to be disappointed.

"So we know my excuse, why aren't you two with those near and dear today?"

"We are." Buffy said, her voice firm, as she smiled at him. Spike hadn't been fishing for a sign of her affection, he was just used to being the outsider when it came to her life. Not to mention several months as a ghost tends to make a fellow feel not quiet there. Even so he warmed inside, before he reminded himself that it just meant they were friends, nothing more.

"Besides, Dad's in some sort of supper overcompensation Christmas overload. The whole Sunnydale getting swallowed by the earth kind of freaked him," Buffy continued, "I think he's bought his third set of extra presents for us, so it helped for us to get out of the house while he gets things ready for tomorrow."

"Oh, presents! I almost forgot my not last-minute-way-to-obvious present." Dawn said fishing in her purse. Buffy just glared at her sister. "Here you go Spike."

"You really didn't have to." he said, although he was rather thrilled. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had given him anything. Well, anything other than jewelry that caused him to burst into flames.

She handed him a small gift, wrapped in gold foil, and tied with a red ribbon. He snapped the ribbon with his fingers, then he carefully slid his index finger between the layers of paper at the top of the gift, so as to loosen the tape, and not tear the paper. He wasn't aware of the care he was taking, in not tearing the paper. The only times he had even been given a wrapped present he had been alive, and back then such paper was rather expensive. It was habit to preserve it so it could be reused.

As he saw what lay beneath the paper, his face lit up, and he laughed. She had given him a copy of "The Nightmare Before Christmas" on DVD. She and Spike had watched it together half a dozen times at least.

He still remembered the night they had first watched it together. He had agreed to watch her for the Scoobies and they had gone to rent a movie. They had argued about what they were going to watch. He wouldn't let her watch anything R rated afraid of what Buffy might have thought of him corrupting her little sister. Anything not R rated that she wanted to watch he complained was a chick flick, and good and wholesome. "What are you trying to do, turn me into some sort of white hat, nancy-boy, fuzzy puppy-dog?"

"Oh, what about this. It's got vampires, and witches, and ghosts, and lost of scary things."

"It's bloody claymation 'bit. Oh, what the hell."

Despite his worst intentions, he'd liked it. From then on it was their movie. They watched it half a dozen times at least. That was until she had started drawing comparisons between him and Jack Skelington. Pointing out that both of them tried to do good things, but weren't very good at it, had caused an argument that had the evil vampire swearing he would never watch it again.

Dawn had gambled that the new ensouled Spike would be of a different mind.

"Thank you bit." he said as he hugged her. "Well, I suppose you'll be wanting your gifts then." He crossed the room, and by extension the apartment, to a small writing desk.

"Spike it's okay, we know you didn't expect us." Buffy hurriedly replied.

He chuckled as he pulled two small gifts from the on top of the desk. She wasn't expecting me to have gotten them anything, he thought.

"I meant to mail these off to you, but I figured, what with the coming back from the dead, I should send a note. Wasn't sure what to say." The truth was he'd spent hours, possibly even days when you added it all together, trying to write to Buffy.

"Here you go 'bit." He handed Dawn a gift wrapped in red paper, with snowmen on it, and a green ribbon. On top was a envelope for a card.

Eagerly Dawn pulled off the ribbon and opened the envelope and read the card:

Merry Christmas Dawn,

Read this, don't tell your sister, and I'll finally teach you to ride a motorcycle.

Love,
Spike

Curious, Dawn ripped through the paper, to find a copy of "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance". Dawn giggled mischievously, remembering the many times she had tried to convince Spike to teach her to ride a motorcycle, and understanding that lessons were her true gift.

"I'm going to hold you to that you know." she said as she hugged him.





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