Her body hurt, but it was a pleasant, welcome hurt in all the right places. The sex had been glorious. She never had imagined it would be like that, primal and playful at the same time. Spike had always anticipated her needs, had kissed and touched her in the exact right spots. Was it a vampire thing? He surely heard her blood rush, her heart beat. Did he also hear her skin whisper to him, feel her nerve endings twitch under his touch?
Her stomach growled and she smiled. Whatever it was, the night surely had left her hungry – in a normal, physical way. She turned and went into the kitchen to rummage through the fridge.
Soft footsteps down the stairs interrupted her foray. Guiltily she looked up from her plate to give Tara a welcoming nod.
“Sorry, didn’t want to wake you,” Buffy mumbled through a mouthful of peanut-butter sandwich.
With a twinkle in her eyes, the blonde witch looked her over and shook her head. “Pancakes? You look like you need a hearty breakfast today.”
Buffy watched as Tara opened a drawer and put a skillet on the stove, then placed a bowl and a fork on the counter top. “Buffy, can you hand me the buttermilk from the fridge? Oh, and I need some eggs.”
While the girl mixed ingredients, Buffy cleaned up and set maple syrup and plates for three. Upstairs she’d heard the shower running, so Dawn would be down soon.
“Hmmm, so, had a good night?” Tara inquired.
Buffy blushed. “Is it so obvious?”
Tara nodded. “You glow – and not just your aura.”
Before Buffy could answer, Dawn shot into the kitchen. “I love pancakes! Why do I get pancakes on a normal school day, Tara? Oh, Buffy! You’re up already? I didn’t hear you in the bathroom…” Dawn narrowed her eyes and looked Buffy over suspiciously.
“You weren’t home, right? This affair tied you up the whole night? What about Spike?” she cannonballed at her sister.
“Who said he tied me up… I mean, no… there was no tying up, just… Oh my God!” Buffy buried her bright red face in her hands.
Dawn clapped her hands over her ears and momentarily squeezed her eyes shut. “Too much information! I don’t want to know any details about what you did last night. I’m much too young and impressionable. Images like that will scar me forever. Feel free to give me any details when I’m seventeen, but now I just want to think that you played Checkers with Spike, or Gin Rummy or… whatever.”
Buffy groaned and hid her burning face behind her hair.
“Why are you laughing, Tara? Don’t burn our pancakes!” Dawn squeaked.
Through her fingers, Buffy saw Tara slide helplessly to the ground, her whole body shaking in laughter and tears running down her cheeks. Her sister picked the spatula out of Tara’s limp fingers and hastily rescued the pancakes.
“Gin Rummy…” Tara gasped between bouts of giggles. “Checkers…”
Buffy raised her head and broke into giggles herself. She held out her hand and pulled the white witch off the floor. Buffy threw an arm over Tara’s shoulder and they leaned onto the counter in a helpless pile of girly laughter.
“Oh, come on! How old are you two? Twelve?” Dawn gestured with the spatula, and then sighed with exaggerated resignation. “Alright, I’ll play the chef this morning.” She turned and started making stacks of funny-shaped pancakes.
Half an hour later, they had decimated the pancake pile. Buffy leaned back and rubbed her tummy. “I don’t think I’ve eaten since the whole mess with Riley started yesterday morning. You wanted answers, Dawnie, so shoot away.”
“Uhmm, why did Riley come back? I thought he had a new job in the jungle and he was married now? What did he do to Spike and how did you get them to leave?”
Tara listened and added some questions of her own while Buffy explained the previous day’s excitement to her sister. It took a while to squelch Dawn’s curiosity, but finally even the teenager was satisfied.
“Next time, I want to help too. I’m old enough now,” Dawn pleaded. “I’m nearly as old as you were when you got Called. I could’ve fetched you stuff for the spell or you could’ve sent me as a messenger. Say yes, Buffy! Pretty please?”
Buffy laid her hand on Dawn’s shoulder. “I’ll think about something for you to do to help the next time, I promise.” She held her hand up as Dawn hopped enthusiastically off her seat. “Don’t get your hopes up. It might be something boring like making sandwiches or watching the phone.”
Seeing her sister so excited, Buffy immediately hoped there would be a reasonably safe task for Dawn when the next emergency arose. Time didn’t stand still and her sister was growing up so quickly. If they excluded her, she might just run off on her own and get into deep trouble. Buffy wished she could protect her from all the bad outside in the world, but that wasn’t possible.
“For a change of topic, what should we do on Christmas?” Buffy asked brightly, shoving aside all her thoughts about Dawn as a regular member of the Scoobies.
“Can we do a party on Christmas Eve?” Dawn piped up. “We haven’t had one for ages!”
“Elin told me that Willow might be able to leave the house now that she’s getting stronger. They might drop by for a while,” Tara said hopefully. “Maybe do a buffet with all kinds of snacks and desserts, and the whole gang could come?”
“Spike’s got to come too, right, Buffy?” Dawn asked.
“Of course, Spike’s invited, so is Giles. We’ll have to see if Anya and Xander have any other plans, but this should be a real Scooby Christmas,” Buffy confirmed.
Buffy looked around the living room.
Everything looked ready for the guests. She smiled sadly as she looked at the huge fir tree crowding up one corner of the room. She and Dawn had spent the afternoon hanging all the ornaments and angel hair on the branches. They’d unpacked the boxes from the attic and carefully unwrapped the decorated glass balls and carved wooden figures which their mother had so carefully stored away after their last Christmas. She had come back from hospital just before Christmas and was still weak. Also the loss of Riley had hurt Buffy a lot, so it had been a quiet and fairly subdued holiday. Had they known that it would be their last one together…
She was glad that all her friends were coming; maybe they could fill the void that the death of her mother had left, with new memories of a happy Christmas.
In the kitchen, mulled wine simmered on the stove and the scent of freshly baked cookies and homemade eggnog filled the air. The table in the dining room was already heaped with dishes of cold turkey, cranberry sauce and greens, roast beef and potato salad. Tara had been cooking and baking the last few days, happily humming Christmas tunes. Ice-cream filled the freezer and fruit salad and puddings rested in the fridge, ready to be devoured.
A tap on the front door jarred Buffy out of her reminiscence. She opened it and was immediately swept off her feet by a grinning Spike. He swirled her around and placed her under the mistletoe that Dawn had insisted they hang from the ceiling in front of the entrance.
Blue eyes sparkling, he pulled her close and kissed her soundly on the mouth. He reached up with his hand and plucked one of the berries off the branch and pocketed it. “Merry Christmas, pet!”
Buffy threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down into another, more thorough kiss. Her lips moved softly over his and her tongue licked and caressed its way into his mouth. Springy curls at the nape of his neck enticed her fingers to play with them.
“Merry Christmas, Spike. I missed you,” she murmured between kisses. “I know it’s been less than a day, but your kisses are so yummy.” Her lips trailed along his jaw and down his neck, nipping at the tender skin.
“I hope not only my kisses,” Spike chuckled.
“Uhmm, the other… things, too,” Buffy admitted. She felt heat rising in her cheeks.
They were jerked out of their reverie as Dawn rumbled down the steps. “Spike! Look what I got for you!” She waved a red Santa hat in her hand. “Merry Christmas!”
“Oh no, Niblet! I’m not wearing that. I’ll look like a right poofter!”
“Oh, c’mon, don’t be a spoilsport, Spike. It’ll fit you perfectly!” Dawn pouted.
Buffy pulled back from Spike. Over his usual black jeans he was wearing a bright red t-shirt which let his mussed hair gleam like fresh fallen snow. She smiled. “Dawn’s right, it’ll really suit you tonight.”
Helplessly, Spike looked at his Summers women and shrugged. “If it makes ya both happy.” He grabbed the offending hat and slapped it on his head.
“It will!” a cheerful chorus answered him. Buffy and Dawn each grabbed a hand and pulled him into the living room.
The party was in full swing. The plates were heaped and everybody munched away happily. Buffy watched Tara standing at the buffet as she coaxed Willow to eat. Her friend still looked alarmingly thin and fragile and she’d been very quiet the whole evening. Surely, so many people around overwhelmed her a bit, but it was so nice to finally have the whole group together again.
“Ouch!” Dawn suddenly cried out. “Stupid me!”
Buffy turned around in alarm to see her sister holding out her bleeding finger. Red drops welled up from a cut and dropped onto the white tablecloth. The knife in her hand clattered to the floor as Dawn stared at the wound.
At the other side of the table, Buffy noticed that Willow tensed. She stared as if hypnotized at the blood dripping off Dawn’s finger. The witch’s tongue licked her lips and her pupils widened. In the cozy light of the dining room it was hard to see, but her eyes seemed to be swallowed by black, moving shadows. She put her shaking hands on the table and her red hair fell over her face, obscuring her eyes.
“Willow, sweetheart, are you okay?” Tara put her arm around Willow who stiffened but after a short moment sank into her embrace.
“I feel weak, my legs are shaking. Can you help me to the couch, Tara?” Willow’s voice was small and shuddering.
As Tara led her out of the door, Buffy saw Willow’s head turning back to the dark red stain smudging the tablecloth. Her hand started to reach for it, but then she turned and both witches left for the living room.
What was that? Buffy stared after Willow’s back. Had she imagined it? Dawn’s blood seemed to have triggered a strange behavior in Willow and that was bad, very bad. She didn’t want to spoil the festive evening, but she’d have to talk to Elin and Giles about it pretty soon.
Guiltily, Buffy turned back to her sister and examined the wound. It was a clean but deep cut into the tip of her index finger. “We’ll put antiseptic on it and wrap it with band-aid. It’ll be fine by tomorrow,” she consoled her sister. “I know it stings a lot at the moment, but that’ll pass soon.”
“I’m such a klutz,” Dawn mumbled, looking at her finger.
Buffy put her arm protectively around her sister and hugged her. “No, you aren’t.”
Buffy smiled at the group assembled in front of the TV screen, watching a rerun of the movie ‘A Christmas Carol’. Since so many Brits were there, they’d voted for a British classic instead of the usual ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’. Willow was leaning into Tara with a tired smile on her drawn face. Xander and Anya were sharing the huge armchair, snuggled closely together.
Elin sat beside Giles who’d put his arm over the headrest of the couch, his fingers hidden by Elin’s strawberry mane. Buffy looked them over more closely. Was something going on between those two? If she looked at it objectively, Giles wasn’t that old and he was still an attractive man after you got past his usual Watcher stuffiness. Also, he’d had his old friend visiting him two years ago during the attack by the ‘Gentlemen’. Surely he wasn’t too old to enjoy female company and Buffy liked the calm and competent healer.
Spike and Dawn were sitting in front of the coffee table on the floor, arguing.
“’s not right to watch the bloody movie instead of reading the book. It just doesn’t do the story justice. The book was modern at the time, it was full of social criticism, not this sentimental soppy story they made out of it,” Spike argued. “At least they choose British actors; Patrick Stewart is doing an ok job there and I know that guy who plays the Ghost of Christmas Past from somewhere. Creepy smile.”
“Come on, who reads books anymore? It’s boring,” Dawn protested.
“Bit, it’s only boring because you‘ve these modern, lifeless, revised versions. Destroys the rhythm of the verses, it does. It’s not just about the story; it’s about how it’s told that makes it a classic.”
“Shhh, shut up, Spike,” Xander hissed from his perch. “Others actually want to watch the film.”
“No, I don’t,” piped up Anya. “I want to go home and make love to you, Xander. Isn’t Christmas the time for love and…”
Xander clapped his hand over Anya’s mouth as everybody started to laugh. He blushed and stage whispered, “Haven’t we agreed not to talk about that in public, Ahn?”
“Why, we’re not in public, aren’t we? We’re with friends. Isn’t it normal to talk freely when you’re with friends?” Anya asked bewildered.
“Don’t mind me,” said Dawn and plucked her fingers into her ears, starting to sing ‘Jingle Bells’.
“Anya, chill! Dawnie’s old enough not to get scarred by a few juicy remarks, Xander.” Buffy laughed. “You two can’t leave so early. Have you forgotten that we decided to open the presents tonight while everyone’s here?”
“Yay! Present time!” Dawn agreed, clearly still listening in to the conversation. She sprang up and turned off the TV where the credits were rolling by. She pulled the stacks of parcels out from under the tree branches, sorting them by the labels and passing them out.
Eagerly, she ripped off the wrapping of her largest present and stared at the contents, confused. It was a set of loosely cut trousers and an open jacket made of padded cotton, and a long, white belt: a karate uniform. It was accompanied by a foam stick. She picked up the card.
“Oh! Oh my God!” With a loud squeal she jumped up, uniform and wrapping paper flying from her lap. “Official training?!” She swung her arms around Spike and hugged him, then threw herself into Buffy’s embrace. “You’re the best sister ever!”
She picked up the foam stake and playfully attacked Spike. “I’ll learn how to fight!”
Spike deftly caught her hand and unarmed her. “Not now, Niblet, wait for the training room.” He smiled at her pout. “It’ll take time and dedication; you can’t learn to fight in a few lessons.”
“He’s right, Dawn. I trained for years before I was allowed to go out into the field,” confirmed Elin. “I still train more than once a week to keep fit. But it’s worth it and you have the best trainers at your disposal.” She smiled at Buffy and Spike.
“I’ll help too,” Giles added. “You’ll have to build up strength and endurance first. After Buffy approached me with the idea, I revised the Council’s training plan for potential Slayers so you can get a proper introduction into the basic skills. Buffy will take care of the weapons training and Spike… well, Spike will show you his dirty tricks.”
After Dawn had calmed down, Buffy picked through her presents. Anya had given her a handbook on demons in which she’d marked all the dangerous ones with properties valuable for the shop. Trust Anya to combine commercial benefit with her gift.
Buffy looked up from the silk scarf Dawn had given her when Spike sat down at her side. He put his arm around her and handed her a small package. Smiling and curious, she tore off the wrapping. Inside was a slim book, a reprint of Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol’ from 1843.
On the first page was a dedication: “When you smile at me, it’s like looking into the sun, blinding me, making me feel human again. William”
Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at the flowing, graceful letters and his elegant, Victorian signature.
“I used to read it to Mother on Christmas Eve. It was a ritual we never missed,” Spike’s voice murmured into her ear. “I haven’t had a Christmas since my mum died. You don’t know how much this evening means to me, to be here with you…”
Slowly, Buffy bent over and kissed him on the cheek, her hand cupping his jaw. She looked into his eyes, so full of longing and joy that it made her heart overflow. She became aware that the room was falling quiet and her friends were watching them. Deliberately, she kissed Spike on the lips, her mouth lingering on his.
“Thank you, Spike. Merry Christmas,” Buffy murmured softly, the warmth in her heart flowing out in her words.
Then she looked around and smiled. “Let’s make a new tradition.” She offered Spike the book and asked, “Will you read it to me, to us?”
A delighted smile curled Spike’s lips and his fingers caressed her hand as he took the book from her grip. Slowly, he raised her hand to his lips and pressed a tender, gentlemanly kiss on it. “It’ll be my pleasure,” he accepted, his eyes sparkling in anticipation and gratitude.
They settled back into their seats and turned off the ceiling light; the room was now only lit by the soft glow of the electric candles on the Christmas tree. Spike opened the book reverently to the beginning of the first stave.
His warm, baritone voice filled the room, its tone conjuring images from a London long past. “Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that…”
Xander’s head sank onto Anya’s shoulder and his eyelids fell closed.
Jessie was dead.
Xander pulled his hand back hastily as he eyed the door knob. Jesse was dead, he knew that. Yet, the door knob looked at him with Jesse’s face – and winked. He blinked and the illusion was gone.
He shook his head and trotted down the steps into the damp basement. “What the hell…” Xander stopped abruptly and his jaw went slack.
Jesse stood at the base of the stairs, his shirt hanging loose over his trousers, his mouth curled in a sarcastic grin.
“Hell has nothing to do with this, Xan-man. Still not the brightest kid on the block, right?” Jesse waved his hand and it went right through the railing. “Okay, you’ve got three guesses. What’s incorporeal and standing in your sorry excuse of a room?”
“Are… you’re… ghost?” Xander stammered.
“Your grammar’s a mess, but you got it,” Jesse confirmed and looked around the basement, his mouth twisted in disgust. “Man, it’s a wonder you ever got laid. This’s pathetic.”
“Hey, look who’s talking! The first girl who dragged you into the bushes was only interested in your blood,” Xander protested, finally finding his wits again. Damn if he would let a ghost insult him, even if it looked like his dead pal Jesse.
“Ouch! Don’t need to remind me. I died a virgin that night.” Jesse crooked his head. “You know that I died then and there, right? You only staked the vamp that took over my body.”
“My friends told me that again and again, but it didn’t feel like that, not for me. You looked at me, Jesse, not some demon. I staked you, I staked my friend.” Xander shuddered.
“Harsh. I couldn’t have done that,” Jesse admitted. “You were always stronger.” He looked around the room again. “So, up for a ride?”
“Ride?” Xander asked.
“Well, you know. Christmas, three ghosts visiting… The whole shebang.”
“But I’m not a miser…”
“Oh, you are, man, you are. Just not with money…” Jesse looked at him compassionately. “You were the heart of the group, but your heart’s getting dry and wizened.”
He pushed Xander back onto the orange-red settee.
“Sleep. Wait,” Jesse instructed.
With that he faded away.
“Ho, ho, ho!” the merry voice jarred Xander out of his sleep.
He jumped up from his seat and stared at the figure, sitting cross-legged on the washing machine, wearing an open, bright red Santa suit over black jeans and t-shirt.
“What’re you doing here, Spike?”
Spike plucked nonchalantly at his coat and smirked. “Didn’t choose the outfit, believe me. It comes with the job. Up, get moving, we haven’t much time.”
“You’re kidding! They chose you as the Ghost of Christmas Past?”
Spike jumped from his perch and bowed with a flourish, nearly dropping his hat. “The one and only.” Unceremoniously, he grabbed Xander by the elbow and propelled him along, right through the wall, out into the sunshine.
“Hey, why aren’t you burning up?” Xander inquired.
“Ghost, remember? Now c’mon, let’s see where you brought us.” Spike looked around the playground. “Cute.”
“I didn’t do anything…” Xander stared at the two small kids, playing in the sandbox. “Oh! That’s Willow!” He slowly stepped nearer. “Can they see us?” he asked.
“Nope.” Spike settled onto a nearby bench. “Feel free to tickle yourself if you like. Won’t hurt you.” He leaned back and held his face into the sun. “Wonder if I’ll freckle…”
Ignoring Spike, Xander stepped closer. His younger self was playing with his red toy fire engine and Willow watched him, wide eyes full of adoration.
When her mother came and picked her up, she protested. “Want to stay with Xan, mommy.”
Mrs. Rosenberg eyed the brown haired boy and shrugged. “We’ve got to go home now, Willow.”
“But it’s Christmas. Can’t I stay longer?” Willow pleaded, holding her hand out towards little Xander.
“Nonsense! We’re Jewish. We have no Christmas.” Mrs. Rosenberg turned resolutely with the crying, struggling Willow in her arms. “Stop crying, you’re not a baby anymore. Big girls don’t cry.”
Little Xander sat alone in the sandbox, watching his friend being carried from the playground. When nobody came to pick him up, he trudged home on his own after a while. He remembered that particular Christmas. His father was away on a business trip, the last one before he got fired. There’d been no tree and no festive meal.
But Willow didn’t have a Christmas either, and that was consoling him a bit.
“Off we go, then!” Spike jarred him out of his memories and propelled him through the nearby garden wall into a dark backyard.
Snow was silently falling onto the ground, covering a sleeping bag.
Spike pulled his hat firmer over his ears and eyed the scene. “What’re you doing out here in the cold?”
Xander shuffled embarrassed his feet as he watched his younger self sit up and look around in wonder.
From the house, he heard loud voices arguing, followed by the crash of porcelain shattering on a wall.
“Oh!” Spike exclaimed. “I see.”
“It was the first time we had snow at Christmas,” Xander said quietly. “It was a wonderful, enchanted night.” He watched as his earlier incarnation scrambled out of his sleeping bag and held his face up towards the snowflakes that were merrily dancing in the crisp air. The flakes melted on his outstretched tongue.
“Buffy told me later that the snow stopped Angel from committing suicide,” he added.
“A shame, that,” Spike drawled.
To his surprise, Xander chuckled. “Right, man. What a shame.”
“You again,” Xander sighed resignedly.
“Yup, busy night, this one. At least the attire’s better.” Spike whirled around, his black leather coat swinging. “Just this tinsel-crown is getting on my nerves.” He adjusted his headband of fir twigs wound with red and green beads.
“Can I take a picture?” Xander grinned. If he had a picture like that to show around, it might make this whole charade worthwhile.
“You know that you’re dreaming, right?”
“Well, a guy can dream…”
Spike snorted. “C’mon, this trip won’t take much time.” With a short shove through the wall, they were standing on the porch outside the Summers’ residence.
“What am I supposed to do here?” Xander asked, staring through the window.
“Dunno. I’m only the guide. Just watch.” Spike leaned back against the railing and pulled out a crumpled package of cigarettes. “Let me enjoy a fag in some peace. Deal?” He plugged the stick between his lips and ignited it with his silver lighter. Spike pulled in a deep breath and exhaled the smoke in a series of tiny, perfect rings.
Xander turned towards the house. What was he supposed to see and learn here? He was in there, for heaven’s sake. He’d already lived through this. But that was also true for the previous events. So Xander pressed his face against the window pane to the kitchen and watched.
He saw his fiancé, chatting animatedly with Buffy and Tara, washing dishes. Buffy laid her hand on Anya’s arm and smiled at her. Tara giggled over some funny thing the ex-demon had said. Dawn pulled at Anya’s sleeve, asking a question.
They really liked Anya, didn’t they? She was part of the group, accepted by all despite of her sometimes erratic behavior and penchant for uncensored comments and observations.
Then his girl turned and a bright, happy smile lit up her face. She grabbed present-Xander’s hand and pulled him under the mistletoe to kiss him thoroughly. The others watched them and applauded.
He went over to the living room window. Time seemed to have sped up, like a film on fast forward. He cringed as he saw himself doing the ‘Snoopy dance’. Seen from the outside, he decided to definitely never, ever make such a fool out of himself again. But on Anya’s face Xander saw enjoyment and honest admiration as she watched his performance.
“That’s real love for you,” Spike commented dryly.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Not you again…” This definitely wasn’t his night. Someone was not very inventive here.
“You think I’m keen about dragging you around all night long?” Spike snarked as he looked down at his brown suit and pulled at his red-dotted bowtie. “At least they spared me the ugly cap.”
“They gave you antlers instead, with green, glittering little reindeers at the tips. Not high on the Zaget’s Guide either,” Xander observed. “Where to now? It’s the future Christmas’es now, right?”
“The ones that might come. They’re only possibilities, depending on what you chose to become. These ones always give me headaches.” Spike grimaced and propelled the resisting Xander along.
Future Xander was sitting in an armchair in a small, decrepit hotel room, turning a picture over and over in his hands. Outside, the street was lined with Christmas decorations and people were passing by his window with happy faces and parcels under their arms. Inside the room however, there was no sign of the holiday.
The phone rang and Xander jumped, bumping into Spike who was standing silent and unaffected behind him.
“Yes?” Future Xander’s voice was lifeless. He didn’t look much older, but he moved slowly and his face had a yellow tint and was puffy and unshaved.
“Buffy, didn’t expect you to call.” Dull eyes stared at the far wall as he spoke.
“No, I’m not well. What do you expect?” His voice was cold and angry. “I’m not feelin’ the holiday spirit, thank you very much.”
He listened, his body tense. “You say that often enough, but, sorry, I can’t forgive you, no more than I can forgive myself. Anya’s dead and you killed her. It doesn’t matter that I drove her to become a vengeance demon again, you’re the one who killed her.”
He held the receiver away from his ear and eyed it for a moment, listening to the tinny sound coming from the earpiece.
“Don’t call me anymore.” He crashed the receiver back on the hook and grabbed the half empty bottle of whiskey beside his chair. He took a long swig and leaned back.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then sighed and looked down at the picture. It showed a happy, smiling Anya in a white wedding dress. His thumb tenderly stroked her face before he said, “Merry Christmas, Ahn.”
Full of horror, Xander looked back at Spike for an explanation. “How? Why? When?”
“You left Anya at the altar. Ran off into the rain.” Spike’s lips were small and he looked grim. “Dunno why you did it. When she killed several boys on a vengeance gig, Buffy had to go after her. You don’t know what that did to her. It nearly destroyed her too.”
Spike turned and spoke over his shoulder. “I always liked demon-girl. That’s one of the nastiest things you can do to a girl, you know, leave her on that particular day. Way I figure, it was her way to commit suicide.”
Xander looked in horror at his possible future and shuddered. “No. No, I’d never do that to her. I love her!”
“We’re here, so face it, whelp, you might. People do lots of horrid things in the name of love.”
Grabbing Spike by the sleeve, Xander pulled him through the nearby wall. “Let’s go. Nothing can be worse than that.”
They entered a homely kitchen, full of delicious smells. Anya stood at the stove, stirring cranberry sauce. A little girl with blond curls sat in a baby chair at the counter and watched with a delighted smile twinkling in her brown eyes.
As the doorbell rang, Anya shouted, “Can you get the door, Xander?”
His future self opened the door and welcomed Buffy and Spike into the house. Behind them Dawn waved, carrying a toddler on her hip.
“Look who dropped in on us from New York!” Buffy explained. “Hope you don’t mind a surprise guest and a half?”
Xander smiled and tickled the baby boy under his chin. “How’s Tiny Tim?” The boy hid his little face on Dawn’s chest, his brown curls falling over his surprisingly sky blue eyes.
Spike squatted down and addressed the dark haired four-year-old looking out from behind Xander’s legs. “Hey buddy, you’re growing fast. How’s my namesake doing?”
“’ello, Uncle Spike. Wanna see my new bicycle?” Little William answered him.
“Don’t spoil the kid. You two look great. How was Cleveland?” Future Xander clapped Spike on the shoulder. “Come on. Dinner’s nearly ready and you know how Anya hates it when we’re late. I’ve got some O-neg in the fridge for you.”
Xander looked up at the grinning Future-Christmas-Spike. “Okay, that was better. Weird, but definitely better.”
He watched the happy company pile into the dining room for Christmas dinner. “Can you tell me what I did right this time?”
Spike shrugged. “That’s for you to figure out.”
A hand shook his shoulder. “Xander, wake up. Time to go home.”
He opened his eyes and looked into Anya’s face. “You’re so beautiful, Ahn. I love you so much…” he murmured, still half caught in his dream. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, you and the kids.”
His fiancé smiled brightly at him. “We don’t have kids. But that’s a nice idea; let’s go work on them.”
As they went out of the living room to pick up their coats, Xander stopped by Spike and clapped him on the shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Spike!”
Finally, everyone had left and only the lights from the tree illuminated the living room. Buffy was lying on the couch, her head resting in Spike’s lap. His fingers combed tenderly through her strands, gently massaging her scalp.
“I haven’t given you my present yet,” she murmured sleepily.
“It can wait, pet. This evening was present enough for me. You know that, right?” Spike bent down and kissed the tip of her nose. “Just one year ago, I never dreamt that I would be here, celebrating Christmas together with you and all your friends.”
She reached up with her hand and caressed his face, tenderly running her fingers along his prominent cheekbone. He turned his head and kissed her on the palm. His hand cupped over her fingers and pressed them against his mouth.
“Your present, it’s a promise,” she softly told him. “We’ll get your chip out.”
Spike jerked forward and looked down into Buffy’s eyes. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I talked with Giles about it, and he’s researching the chip. We still have the files from the Initiative. Also Elin will support us. If it can be safely removed, we’ll get it out.” She looked directly into his concerned eyes.
“I didn’t mean that it’ll be dangerous for me. It’s too dangerous for you, for the Bit. What if I can’t control the demon? Buffy – think about what you’re suggestin’, luv.”
“That won’t happen. I know you, Spike. I trust you. You don’t need the chip to hold you back, not anymore. What if I’d been too late? What if Riley had staked you before I could get to you?” Her fingers folded around his, squeezing his hand in her anguish.
“I don’t want you helpless around humans. I want you able to defend yourself.” Her voice was adamant.
Spike took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Alright.” He let out a small laugh. “If you trust me so much, I should start to trust myself. Thank you.”
“It’s getting real late, dawn’s coming soon,” Buffy said quietly and sat up.
“Right. I’ll scamper off. See you tomorrow?” Spike reluctantly started to stand up.
“Why don’t you stay, Spike? You haven’t seen me yet in my yummy sushi pajamas.”
A smile started at the corners of his mouth and spread across his face. It was like watching the sun rise over the calm waters of the sea, the light spreading and streaming over the grey surface, breaking into thousand glittering sparks, illuminating the world with a golden glow.
“Merry Christmas.” Buffy leaned up and softly kissed Spike.
“God bless us, every one,” he murmured.