Author's Notes:
I felt like adding to the glut of Holiday fic, so here you go! :) This is in no way meant to be deep or thought-provoking, and may require the occasional suspension of disbelief over how our heroes act. The holidays can make you act a little crazy, you know.
Ever so loosely based on 'When Harry Met Sally' - the premise that Harry and Sally make a pact to spend New Year's Eve together anytime they're alone.
I'm currently through S5, and hope to post a chapter a day, but don't hold me to it. I thought S2 would be the hardest to write. It turns out it wasn't, because when Buffy starts getting visions of Dru, she only questions whether Dru is alive, not Spike. And she's not surprised to see that he's alive later on. So obviously she did meet up with him on New Year's Eve. Right?
Season Two – 1997
.
.
Buffy flopped down on the stool next to Xander, sucking thirstily at her diet Coke as Willow did the same on the other side of her. "I think my jivin' feet are plum tuckered out for the night," she said, taking off a strappy shoe and massaging her arch with a grateful moan. "If I leave now, I can make Mom happy by watching the sparkly ball drop with her."
"Oh come on, Buffster, the night is young and so are we! You really going to choose to ring in the New Year with your parental unit over us cool cats at the Bronze?" Xander asked.
"Yeah," she nodded. "I really am. Mom's been kinda blue. That whole being a divorced woman during the holidays thing is still new to her, you know? She wants me to commiserate with her in single woman solidarity over large tubs of ice cream, and what kind of daughter would I be to turn her down? Even if I'm not exactly amongst the ranks of single women myself… but she doesn't know that."
Willow waved her drink in Buffy's face. "Explain again how come you're flying solo tonight, when you and Angel are normally making with the smoochies? I still don't get it."
"Me either," Buffy said, her mouth turning down in a pout. "I guess when you've rung in, what, two hundred and fifty or so New Years, the two hundred and fifty-first isn't quite as exciting anymore. He had some business out of town… I tried hinting that it would be nice to have my boyfriend back home by tonight, but…" She shrugged. "I decided to be mature Buffy instead of clingy Buffy. It's just another night, right? Nothing special."
"Sure," Xander said. "You guys have been joined at the mouth so much lately, your lips probably need to take a break anyhow. Before they fuse to his and you create some strange vampire-Slayer hybrid."
Buffy rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse. "Me and my well-exercised lips are gonna go take care of that vamp heading for the back, and then I'm going to vamoose. See you guys next year," she said, pulling the two of them in for a quick hug.
Away from her friends, Buffy let her perky demeanor fall away as she followed the vamp down a deserted hallway, grumbling to herself about stupid boyfriends who didn't understand how important these special occasions were to a girl.
"Hey," she said, and the vamp turned, right into her stake. She looked at the wooden in point in surprise. "Well that was easy."
"Oi, Mort!" a voice called through one of the open doors at the end of the hall. "Hurry it up already!"
Buffy hurried on Mort's behalf, pushing open the door and freezing in surprise. "I thought you were dead!" she said stupidly.
Spike glared at her from his wheelchair, the red and raw burns that covered the side of his face making his countenance even more ferocious. He sat up from his slouch with careful deliberation, bringing two fingers to the side of his neck and laying them over his jugular in a mockery of taking his pulse. The vampire looked off into the distance, then mimed looking at a watch.
"Whaddya know, Slayer, you're right. 'M dead after all. Thanks for the tip, run along now." He waved her away, taking a pull off the bottle in his other hand, amber liquid sloshing about as he grimaced in pain.
"What? No!" she countered, waving her stake, outraged at his casual dismissal of her. "Obviously I didn't kill you hard enough last time."
"So you gonna stake the cripple? How very sporting of you." Spike sighed, then shrugged off his jacket with a wince and made a show of pulling his black shirt tight over his heart. "Right, mind the leather, then, and make it quick."
Buffy cringed at the sight of his hands, which looked even worse than his face. Pity flashed through her, which she so didn't want to feel. Trying to shrug it off, she snapped, "It's not cripple, it's handicapped… or handicapable… or…" She flushed, feeling about six years old when the vampire began to chuckle.
"Well, that's how you know I'm evil, innit Betty. I don't run with the PC crowd, now do I?" He snorted as her cheeks flamed brighter, shaking his head. "These holier-than-thou young girls they send after us vamps… So, you gonna do me or what? 'Ve better things to do than wait around for you to grow a pair."
Glaring at Spike, she strode towards him, wooden stake held high. "Oh that's it, mister. You are so going down, wheelchair or no." He didn't react other than to thrust his chest out farther, head turned away, eyes closed. She raised her weapon, waiting for him to say something – anything – then lowered it in bewilderment when he didn't. "You're really just going to let me dust you?"
Spike slumped back into his chair, eyes downcast. "Does my unlife look worth living to you? You put me in a sodding wheelchair. Maybe for all eternity, I don't know. S'not much to look forward to, you know." He raised the bottle to his mouth once more, draining it then tossing it carelessly to the side.
The pity welled up again. "You won't… heal?"
"Dunno," he shrugged. "And you know what the real kicker is? You broke my bloody back, so s'not just my legs what won't work. Can't even get little Willie up for a good shag, never mind fetch my own dinner. Only consolation is I don't need to worry 'bout taking a piss like a real boy."
"Ew. And ewwwww," Buffy said to his confession.
Spike eyed her speculatively. "'Course, Slayer blood is something else. If you're feeling sorry for a fellow, maybe you could sit on my lap, let me have a taste, wriggle 'round a bit while you're at it. Might perk things up." He flared his nostrils, sniffed at her. "Oh-ho, virgin blood too, at that. Whattsa matter with Angelus, he can't get it up either?"
She slapped the good side of his face. "Either you're the most disgusting creature on the face of the planet, or you're really itching for me to turn you into an impotent pile of dust."
"Was just a thought," he muttered mulishly. "Since you're not making with the sacred duty, thought you might be inclined to help me out." He craned his neck to look around her. "Oi! Mort! Ready to leave now!"
Holding her hand up high, Buffy said, "Big fellow, yay tall, dresses worse than you, thinks mullets are the height of fashion? Yeah, he won't be coming to your rescue anytime soon."
"You bloody bitch," Spike snarled. "You staked Mort too? How the hell am I going to get home now? Knew it was a mistake to head out tonight. Should never have listened to the minions. Cheer me up. Pffft."
"Um… what about Dru?" Buffy asked, hesitant to bring her up. She didn't know why, but somehow she didn't want to make the vampire feel worse than he already was. It's the wheelchair, she thought to herself. Automatic sympathy points.
Spike's face fell, and he looked so forlorn she had to bite back an apology. "She's gone." Were those… tears?
"I'm sorry," burst out before she could stop herself.
He glanced up sharply. "Why, Slayer. I didn't know you cared."
"I don't," she retorted, then winced at the lameness of her comeback. This sympathy for the devil thing was really throwing her off her game.
One of Spike's hands crept up to ghost over the burns on his face. "No, don't suppose you would. You saved your honey, right? S'all that matters to you." He peered around her again. "S'pect old Angel'll come lumbering through the door any moment now, finish off the job you didn't start." He stared expectantly at the empty doorway.
"Angel's out of town for the week," Buffy said, surprising herself once again by telling him the truth, and even more surprised at her bitter tone.
"What? The wanker didn't want to snog his way into next year with his pretty little girl? Christ, no wonder you're still a virgin. His dick did fall off."
"No it didn't! It works just…" She shut up as Spike's eyes began to gleam with mirth. "It works better than yours, that's for sure."
Rolling his eyes, he said, "For the first time in a hundred and fifty years, at any rate. Bet he'll be thrilled to know he's got the better pecker for once."
The distant thump of music that had been underlying their conversation suddenly died down, and Buffy heard a voice ringing out in its place. "Okay, listen up folks! Our countdown is going to start in just a few, so be sure to grab a party hat and a complementary glass of non-alcoholic bubbly for the big moment, along with your preferred smooching partner!" She'd turned to the door to hear better, but at the words smooching partner, Buffy glanced back at Spike, surprised to see him watching her intently.
"So that's my cue to hurry home, my Mom's waiting for me…"
His eyes never left hers. "Right. Seeing as you've no one here to smooch. Do us a favor then, help me outside, will you? I can probably make it home on my own from there."
"Cause you don't have anyone here to smooch either."
"Since you dusted Mort, no." He chuckled when her eyes widened in surprise. "Not him, lamb. Pillock of a minion was supposed to bring me some pretty young thing, start the New Year off right. Probably better this way." His hand ghosted over his ravaged face again. "No bird wants to kiss a fella what looks like this anyhow."
Buffy bit her lip, then slid behind Spike's wheelchair. And I'm helping him why? She shook her head in disgust, but nevertheless took hold of the handles and began to push him into the hallway, towards the back exit. "So… you just wanted somebody to kiss? Not snack on?"
"Oh, I would have had a nice snack after, don't you fret. Once she was all comfy in my lap…"
Letting go of his wheelchair, she smacked the back of his head. "Remind me why I'm helping you?"
Really. Why?
"You feel bad for crippling me?"
"Less and less."
He twisted to look up at her. "I'm very sorry, Slayer, for all the evil I've done, and I resolve to turn over a new leaf in the New Year. Become a reformed vamp and all that."
Buffy chose to ignore the mischief dancing in his eyes. "I'm holding you to that." She shoved him through the back exit, far less gently than she could have, ignoring his yelp of pain, and maneuvered him around the trash and to the end of the alley. "So, um… Have a nice night?" she said as she stopped in front of him, shifting from foot to foot.
Inside, the chant of, "One hundred… ninety-nine… ninety-eight…" rang out.
Spike cocked his head, listening to the countdown. "Slayer. You won't make it home in time for the ball drop."
"I guess not."
His eyes locked on her lips, then slid back up to meet hers. He shifted uneasily. "Maybe we could… wouldn't be so terrible…" He shook his head and looked away. "Uh, never mind. Have a good one. Thanks for the help," he said, waving his hand vaguely.
Buffy stepped a little closer to him. He looked so lost and alone. It tugged on her heartstrings, against her better judgment. "Since neither of us has our preferred smooching partner…"
Spike's head whipped back to face her. "Yeah?" he asked quickly. She made an uncertain gesture and he leaned forward, the streetlight illuminating his ruined face more fully. "Wouldn't mean a thing, right?" he said.
"Right. Because mortal enemies share a New Year's smooch all the time."
"It'd be a shame to ring in the New Year all alone… an' seeing as we're both here…"
"Right. We could… be alone together… Would it hurt if I sat on your lap? Just, you know, for a better angle…"
What am I doing what am I doing what am I doing? This is more than pity…
Thirty-nine… thirty-eight…
He settled back into his chair, letting his hands rest on the arms, and Buffy clambered onto his lap, careful not to hurt him. "No biting," she said, brandishing her stake.
"Be a good way to go," he leered.
She placed her hands on either side of his face, her caress light. "I can't believe I'm doing this."
"Don't quite believe it either. But hell, maybe it'll be a new tradition. Anytime we're alone on New Year's Eve, we'll be alone together."
"Like an evil Harry Met Sally?"
He chuckled. "Stranger things have happened."
"On the Hellmouth? True."
Five… four… three…
Buffy leaned in, surprised at how rapidly his chest was rising and falling.
Two…
His cool breath washed over her lips, flavored with smoke and whiskey. She looked into his bright blue eyes as his arms wrapped lightly around her, just enough to draw her in without making her feel trapped.
One…
Buffy pressed her lips to Spike's in a chaste kiss. His own kiss was light and sweet, leaving her lips tingling.
Happy New Year!
She jerked away so fast she fell off his lap. "Right. Well." His chest was heaving in time with hers. "I still hate you," she blurted. "Violently. I violently hate you."
"You too," Spike agreed with a sneer. "Hope something eats you on your way home. Tears your throat out and bathes in your blood."
"Okay. Good." She feathered her fingertips over her lips. "Here's to not seeing you for the rest of the year," Buffy said, then spun away, hurrying down the street. "And this never happened," she yelled over her shoulder, her heart pounding in her ears.
She could just hear his reply as she turned the corner. "Happy New Year to you too, Slayer."