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She got a flat.

A flat fucking tire on Christmas Eve. In the middle of the night, off the edge of a desolate road, in below freezing temperatures, with no gas station in sight.

Just. Her. Luck.

Buffy kicked her tire and cursed fluidly. Shivering, huffing out smoke, she knelt to try loosening another lug nut. It had taken five full minutes to remove the first one, and in between numbers two and three she took a break to warm up in the car. Her gloveless hands were as cold as the pavement.

She was genuinely concerned she might run out of gas by the time she was done here. Which would be nothing short of poetic, because her phone was dead.

Yeah. Her life super sucked right about now.

Buffy groaned with one final push, and like a miracle moment, she felt stubborn lug nut number four loosen. She inhaled deep, frigid breaths while rotating. After a minute, it fell clean off with a wind chime ping, and she picked it up to tuck the bolt inside her coat pocket for safekeeping.

She took a minute to catch breath before moving on to the last.

As Buffy worked, she ground her teeth, an odd gratefulness spiking determination. Often, she thought herself inept when it came to mechanical tasks, such as changing a tire. God knew she was far from an automobile expert; but when left without a choice, self dependence came rushing to the fore, and here she was playing mechanic.

Well, maybe not mechanic, but Buffy was a firm believer in the phrase, "You never know how strong you are, until being strong is your only choice." While it might be bordering on dramatic to reference the quote now, credit must be due in some capacity because she had never done this before.

She knew the steps of a tire change only because she'd seen Xander do it once, then another time when she rolled over some glass and Al found her cursing up a storm outside her shop. The sheriff had characteristically offered assistance.

For both incidents, she'd watched the men work idly, handing them necessary tools when asked. Never had Buffy been left to her own devices at a time when her car decided it wanted to be temperamental.

Until tonight.

At least she'd gotten the tree. It was sparkly and green and all the colorful lights worked perfectly. Why her luck ran out after that, and her tire couldn't have popped in the well lit Walmart parking lot instead of the cold barrenness surrounding her now, was beyond understanding. Likely, someone Important out there had a bad sense of humor, and a bone to pick with her.

She remembered feeling that telltale lurch as she sped down the empty road. A bang, a drop, and that horrible moment where she lost total control. Buffy had to clamp her hands around the steering wheel so hard to regain it there were imprints left behind in the fake leather.

She coasted to a stop, put the car in park and turned her hazards on before braving cold reality. Literally, as she was forced from the warmth of her vehicle to inspect the damage done to previously durable tire tread.

Buffy then proceeded to stomp and swear for five minutes straight, working up enough warmth to spark her own fortitude before getting to work.

She rummaged through the back of her car, found the jack, the owner's manual she hadn't lost by some miracle, and finally the spare tire. She had all the necessary tools to mend her problem. The question just remained whether or not she could.

As she pushed down with all her weight and felt the fifth lug nut give way, Buffy experienced a moment of prideful reassurance, and hope.

Suddenly, lights glared from behind her. They alighted the Jeep's cherry paintjob with alacrity. It was the first sign of human activity she'd seen in what felt like a year, but Buffy still wrestled with the concept of flagging them down.

She didn't even know if the driver would stop, and if they did, could she be risking her safety, or would her luck prove to be changing and supply her a helpful gentleman who knew everything there was to know about changing tires?

Taking a deep breath, Buffy glanced over her shoulder and noticed the approaching vehicle was slowing down.

No choice then, the stranger had already made up their mind.

Rather, he had.

She squinted as the car continued its slow journey forward. Headlights dimmed, and she could finally distinguish the make and color...

An ancient DeSoto, as black as the night around her.

*You have got to be kidding me.*

The familiar vehicle rolled to a crunchy halt thirty feet away. Buffy stood up and threw another vicious kick to her flat tire. Someone, somewhere, really had it in for her.

Her heart beat erratically, anger and frustration hitting the inside of her chest like canon shots. Buffy crossed her arms and waited, spine stiffening, as the man she hadn't seen or spoken to in a month rose from his driver's seat.

A high pitched squeak followed the swinging door like its shadow, escaping into the silence to trickle down her arms. Spike left his vehicle behind without hesitation. He moved confidently at first, then paused to drop all the swagger like a heavy bag. It was as if he'd forgotten who he was for a moment. Or who she was.

It didn't matter. Buffy glanced at the lug wrench, lying cold and forgotten on the ground. Her heart was thudding and the quiet had grown as suffocating as the cold.

He eventually moved again, towards her, his head bent. "Buffy," the man greeted.

It took a minute to get her chattering teeth under control. "Why are you always around when I have car trouble?" she muttered bitterly.

His mouth lifted on one side, just a tiny bit. It was a foggy reflection of the smirk she knew. "Bad luck?"

She swallowed, then, allowing room for pride, said, "You didn't have to stop."

He wouldn't have, if it'd been someone else. If it had looked like the job was getting done. Except he was powerless to continue on after realizing who it was stuck on the side of the road. "Yes, I did."

"I don't need your help."

He ignored her and looked to the ruined tire. "You got the bolts off."

She nodded after several still moments. Indecision hung in the air. He moved forward again and tried not to react to her flinching backward two steps. Spike knelt quickly beside the forgotten wheel brace, and stuck his hand underneath the car.

"What are you doing?"

He turned, and gave her a patient look that appeared veiled somehow. Buffy tightened her grip on her arms.

"Have to know where to jack it up," he explained.

She went quiet again. Watching him kneel there, in a cold road with sludge and ice patches, was more than awkward. The need to get away was not nearly as strong as the urge she felt to make Spike leave, and refuse his help.

Buffy didn't think she'd have much luck trying it.

"The owner's manual's in the front seat," she offered starkly, reluctantly. He looked up again. "It tells you where to put the jack-"

"Already found it." Spike stood quickly and averted his eyes once again. He went to the back of the Jeep, gaze fixed on the ground, and hauled out the spare tire.

Buffy watched in silent trepidation as he finished the rest of her work. She shivered convulsively, sticking her trembling hands in cold pockets. A thud here, furious cranking there, grunting, more cranking. A sort of melody began.

Any disappointment over not getting to complete the job herself- if not exactly happy about the labor, then at least proud she could accomplish the task -was promptly flattened. Spike worked quickly and efficiently. He hadn't said much upon getting out of his car, or anything at all that might be expected from him after the way things had ended. If she thought about it too much, Buffy might be shocked he even bothered stopping to help, but she was trying so very hard not to question motives right now.

Her brain started to fog with memories and questions. She watched without watching as he removed her ruined tire, popped the new one on, and brought the Jeep back to the ground.

They hadn't spoken. She hadn't seen him, and he hadn't called her. In the back of her mind, beside the attempts she made daily to forget about their relationship and what time she'd spent with him, Buffy told herself she was grateful for the silence.

In reality, she was. She'd been terrified at first that her discovery of those pictures would lead to restraining orders and constant paranoia. Hell, even now she would be accusing Spike of following her had he shown up just ten minutes earlier; but even fear had to bow to logic once in a while.

Amazing, since Buffy had admittedly been looking over her shoulder for weeks. It wasn't until Giles arrived, and she found herself thinking more and more about what everyone in town would be doing to celebrate the holidays, that she wondered whether or not Spike had plans of his own. It was definitely a change from her regularly scheduled concerns.

Buffy wondered if his silence would last. She had questioned, though briefly, if she wanted it to. She figured Jack would be seeing him a lot, then she figured Spike must have a life outside of town she didn't know about, friends she'd never met. He ought to. Otherwise, that meant he'd be alone on Christmas, in a big empty house filled with more dust covers that heartbeats.

"Nuts."

Buffy blinked, her frown evaporating in lieu of confusion. "Huh?"

"Nuts," he repeated in a monotone.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, I need the lug nuts."

She blinked. "Oh." Buffy reached inside her coat pocket. Carefully, but quick, she offered him the fistful. Spike opened his palm and her fingertips grazed it, causing her to lurch back uncomfortably and look down.

Spike clenched the metal in his hand and swallowed thickly, turning away.

Evidently, finding out the guy you were dating stalked you for two years prior wasn't enough to quell the fire.

Even quicker than he'd done the rest, Spike reattached the bolts and tossed the wrench, jack, and ruined tire into the back of the Jeep. He paused before closing it.

"You've got a tree back there, ya know."

"Um... yeah, I just got it."

"Bit late, aren't you?"

She shrugged stiffly. "My cousin is visiting me. I didn't have time to do it before, so I thought I'd surprise him."

Spike shut the door with a solid, dull slam. "Nice Christmas gift that'll be."

She muttered, "'Tis the season."

"Right." Spike broke eye contact, though Buffy couldn't say he'd been actively maintaining it. Strange, there was no stutter, but she kept thinking back to the first day they'd met where he could barely say her name let alone look her in the eye.

"I guess I should get going."

"Suppose so."

She took a deep breath. "Thank you," she managed.

He caught her then, in his gaze of fluid, bright blue. He said nothing, but Buffy read the message clearly. She didn't need to say thank you. He wouldn't have- couldn't have -done anything less than come to her aid, if he saw she needed it.

He couldn't say no to helping her.

Holding her breath, Buffy swallowed hard and walked to her car. She knew that if she tried, it would hurt mercilessly to inhale.

She was opening the driver's side door, and nearly sliding in, when he spoke up.

"How have you been?"

Her eyes fell closed. She didn't want to compare lives, or hear him ask things like that. "I've been... good. Busy." She let the door hang wide open and turned to face him. "You?"

"Fine," he lied, and she could tell.

The quiet became laden with disappointment.

Until, "I want you to know somethin'."

She swallowed, nodding jerkily despite the blaring of intuition's safety alarms. "Okay."

"I won't be bothering you anymore."

Her brow pinched.

"I swear. I haven't been followin' you. I was on my way to meet some friends. I didn't know you were out an' about."

She believed him. If for no other reason than chances seemed to be in favor of her screwy luck tonight.

"I haven't..." He stole a breath of courage, which she envied, before continuing. "I haven't done that in a long time. Since before we-"

Buffy nodded, just to halt his attempt to explain. She understood what he was saying; and, incredibly enough, she believed him again. Truly believed him.

"I don't want to hurt you, and I know you don't want me around." His voice cracked just there, but he recovered fast. "I'll respect that. But if you ever need help, or you're ever in between a rock and a hard place, I'll come runnin'."

She licked her dry lips, rubbing her palms together. The midnight wind was picking up. "You don't owe me anything, Spike. I don't want, or need you to 'come running.'"

"That's not why I'm sayin' this," he claimed. "I know you're uncomfortable 'round me now. I understand it. I know what I did was wrong. I wouldn't do it again, if I could go back." His shame glowed, brief yet vibrant. "I won't do it again. But I still..."

Hopelessness echoed like a soundless drum in his eyes. Love she had to admit, if for only a second, seemed true and pure, shined as brightly as headlights in the dark. "I'll always be there for you, if you need me."

She'd heard that before; it had cost her years of hope she couldn't now afford. Besides, the situations were wholly incomparable. Buffy looked away, and stiffly said, "All right."

Her hand yanked hard on the door handle. Quickly getting into the driver's seat, closing herself to the cold, she waited a moment to watch through the windshield as Spike retreated to his own vehicle. Shortly after, Buffy drove away, heading for home.

Spike continued on his own way, in the opposite direction.

***

He felt sick.

It only took two minutes before he had to pull over and dry-heave over a snowbank. He certainly didn't regret not having eaten today, but despite the nausea, Spike realized getting a burger might not be totally unrewarding before he dipped into the spirits tonight.

And he would be dipping. Very, very heavily.

What kind of bullshit fate did he have that caused a run in like this? The woman he loved, who hated him, on the side of the road in the middle of the bleeding night, in freeze-your-tits-off weather.

What kind of sick fucker was he that despite the wretched pain it had caused, he wanted to do it all over again?

Seeing her face, even in the dimness allowed by a winter's moon and two sets of headlights, felt like laying sights on the sun. She was always like that, always warm and golden, even when turning a cold shoulder. Just hearing her voice sent shivers through his gut. Listening to her say things that didn't remind him of the idiocy that cost him her trust both shocked and provided peace, though the latter remained forever temporary.

And when she let him speak, let him promise to never hurt her again, it mended something. Without shooting him down, or tossing threats because she was scared, allowing herself to stand in front of him, it took a weight off his chest. Spike didn't know how badly he needed to recite the facts again until Buffy didn't refute them. Until she seemed, just maybe, to believe him.

The possibility, no matter how slim, that she might not consider him a threat to her safety anymore was what gave Spike the strength to get back in his car and continue driving. It was what slipped an agent of peace into his common, everyday heartache.

It was what fueled his determination to leave her alone, and never cross the line again.

***

Buffy awoke with a start on Christmas morning. Her eyes shot open as a gulp of air hit her lungs. She blinked furiously and looked around the room, cold sweat gathering in the small of her back.

She was on the couch. Staring at her kitchen and the haphazardly put together Christmas tree dotted with tinsel and old glass ornaments. She blinked again. Dim morning light was streaming through the curtains, colliding with twinkling bulbs nestled inside fake evergreen needles; while her heart beat like a racehorse's, her mind besieged by a string of feathering pictures.

Weightlessness. That's what she remembered. A floating sensation, followed by drowning, and a myriad of underwater faces. All male, all familiar and unique. Some were old, some were new; only a couple had been heart stopping.

She had dreamt about the past. Old lovers, the few; and old flames, the various. A collage of pictures flitting by as she fell deeper and deeper beneath the surface. She saw what appeared to be sparkler flashes burning the faces one after another, turning them to bubbles and ash. Until finally, she shot awake, gasping and shaken.

It was still hard to breathe.

Buffy sat up and rubbed her forehead. The house was quiet. Giles was asleep.

She sighed gratefully and relaxed marginally. A moment to establish some sense of calm before she saw him today was really too important to pass up.

It didn't matter that Giles was the one man who hadn't made an appearance in her dream. She'd only ever dreamt about a few men in her life before, and never the majority, and never all at once.

It was true Buffy had gone on many dates, but few serious relationships ever sprouted from them. Angel had made a cameo in this last mental riddle, one of the clearer pictures, and less shocking than the rest of her exes. Spike had shown up, as well.

She supposed he was the least surprising of the bunch, what with their run in earlier. It had taken her hours after setting up the tree to fall asleep because of that. Thinking about it still left her feeling off balance.

Not because Buffy was perturbed. At least, not due to fear or anything like that, but it had more to do with the emotions that were conjured while standing beside him.

Spike hadn't forced his way into her life again. Rather, he stumbled upon her by some wacky twist of fate, and he didn't ask for anything, or try to start an argument. He had already decided to help her change her flat before he'd even gotten out of his car, and that selflessness, all the kindness he gave without demanding attention or repayment, left her with doubt.

Doubt on whether or not she ought be afraid of him at all.

Buffy groaned and laid back down, her head squashing throw pillows. Asides from his little speech, she couldn't say Spike had done anything out of the ordinary or stalker-esque.

She'd had this image of him in her mind, ever since finding those pictures, that he was hiding a great deal of illness and obsession from her. That the next time she saw him there could be crying, bitterness, shouting, possibly even cruel name calling. She hadn't genuinely believed that seeing him again might conjure something as unbefitting as respect.

Was that what she felt? Were gratitude, relief, and regret the sorts of emotions that could swirl together and create a new perspective? Was the sudden reprieve from a month's worth of tension enough to cloud her judgment, and rewrite the rules on forgiveness?

Was she breeching that tunnel? Buffy knew she couldn't let him near her again, not like she had, like before... But was there room for some kind of civility, or even peace?

Did she believe him when he claimed he'd be in her corner, at all times? Yes, she really did, but would he expect more from her if she were to ever pick up the phone? More importantly, was it fair of her to even think she could?

Buffy turned over and groaned again, this time louder, muffling it with a pillow. The distant sound of wind beating the windows followed by icicles falling reminded her of the weather, and she clenched her hands absently. They were covered in glitter, which likely meant so was her hair and every article of clothing on her body.

Buffy allowed a second for mental reprieve and looked down at herself. Sure enough, her sweats were sprinkled in gold and silver from various ornaments. Her socks were covered in dirt and artificial pine needles, while her T-shirt looked like one of Santa's elves had thrown up on it.

She didn't mind being festive, but this was ridiculous.

Buffy rose from the couch and maneuvered around several boxes. She walked right into the tree skirt she'd left lying on the floor, and sighed wearily before grabbing it.

"What on Earth?"

Her eyes shot up to catch a rumpled looking Giles standing in the doorway. She took in his wrinkly clothes and crooked glasses yet to be shined, messy hair, the gray sticking out by his ears. His feet were bare, too. She didn't think she'd ever seen Giles without shoes before.

"You're up."

"Yes, I don't really know why, truthfully, but..." He looked past her, to the display of lights and glitter staged with a star on top. His sage eyes softened. "Buffy, did you do all this?"

She looked behind her, then back at him. The tree skirt wrinkled in her hands. "I forgot to add this," she said, and held up the circle of red satin.

Giles' sleepy smile was filled with warmth. He came forward and wrapped an arm around her in fatherly adoration. "You didn't have to put up a tree in the dead of night for me."

"Does that mean you don't like it?"

"Oh, do not start."

She grinned. "It wouldn't be Christmas without a tree."

"No, I suppose you are right." Giles looked away from the shining display and down at her. "It is lovely, dear." He squinted suddenly. "You, I'm afraid, are showing the brunt of your work."

Buffy laughed and tugged sheepishly at her not-so-white T-shirt. "I think a shower is in order."

"Indeed." Giles hugged her again and took the tree skirt from her hands. "Now I'm awake, so I will finish up in here. Then, I'll start breakfast. You go clean up. We have quite a day ahead."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "I can't let you do work, Giles, you're my guest."

"I've known you too long to be considered such. Now go, before I take back my offer to cook."

"That would be a huge loss," she deadpanned.

"Ah, sarcasm so early in the morning. How refreshing." He swatted her with the uniform Christmas fabric he held. "Off with you. You look like something a reindeer dragged in."

Buffy rolled her eyes again but followed orders, secretly uplifted by his obvious pleasure, and the fulfillment of a job well done.

Of course, it didn't take very much to impress Giles. She often joked that he was her number one fan, the person who always had faith in her, and always offered support.

It was why she'd been so determined to find him a tree. All it had taken was one sentence, but she'd known then and there that she could make his visit better and brighter with a little tinsel and Christmas cheer.

As Buffy closed the bathroom door behind her and opened the shower curtain, turning on the water, she thought how a filling breakfast and Giles' happiness were more than enough repayment.

It had been a while since she'd had a Brit cooking in her kitchen.

Buffy froze with the thought, then quickly stripped out of her clothes. Could she not have five minutes without thinking about Spike? It seemed the only reprieve she'd gotten in the last forty-eight hours was owed to sleep, and her surrogate father's attention.

Frustrated anew, and tired all over again, Buffy hopped in the shower and cranked up the heat.

If she was going to enjoy Christmas, she was going to have to start fresh, forget about the night's past, and push Spike from her mind. Starting now.

At least, she would give herself points for trying.
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END NOTES: Sorry for the delay! Hope everyone reading enjoyed this chapter, let me know what you thought if you can!





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